Kate Moore (11 page)

“You haven’t even told me your name,” she said. Her chin was high, but there was a bright tear on her cheek.

“If I tell you my name, can we talk again?”

“Last night you wanted to kiss me,” she said.

She turned slowly, and he felt his stomach take a swooping dive like a swallow. “That hasn’t changed,” he admitted, looking into those blue eyes.

“Your name?” she demanded.

“Kirby,” he said.

13

The evening of the opening subscription ball of the season, the ladies of the Lacy household descended her ladyship’s stairs, conscious of the late hour and the patronesses’ insistence on timely arrival.

“Susannah, you promised you would not wear a cap tonight,” remarked Evelina somewhat crossly.

“I promised I would not wear a cornette, Aunt. No one will remark on this sort of cap at all, and I shall remain among the chaperones all night,” Susannah replied.

“It’s Almack’s, dear. You must wear feathers. I’m certain I have some that would look well with that lavender gown.”

“No thank you, Aunt.”

“Think of Juliet, dear. She mustn’t be thought a dowd,” Evelina pleaded.

“Oh well, Mama, I don’t suppose it really matters, does it?” Juliet said.

They had come halfway down the last flight of steps. Chettle was beaming up at his mistress from the entry.

“Has the carriage been brought round, Chettle?” she asked.

“Yesh, mi . . . la . . . dy,” he said.

He stepped back, bowed with sweeping formality, and crumpled in an undignified heap upon the marble squares of the entry.

“Ooooh,” Evelina wailed.

Two footmen rushed to the fallen man’s side. One pulled the bell rope. Evelina scurried to Chettle and went down on her knees on the marble tiles. A maid poked her head into the entry, took one wide-eyed look at the scene, and dashed off through the door to the kitchens.

“Poor dear man,” Evelina said to the footmen. “How is his head? I distinctly heard his head crack against the tiles.”

“Felt nothing, ma’am,” said one of them. “Fair foxed he is.”

“Not again,” cried Evelina. “Mrs. Chettle will be in a taking.”

Susannah and Juliet had reached the bottom of the stairs, and from where they stood, the smell of sherry was unmistakable.

Mrs. Chettle strode into the entry with a swish of bombazine, looking very stern. She cast an offended glance over her husband’s prostrate form and lifted Evelina to her feet. “Now, my lady,” she said. “You mustn’t trouble yourself about this foolish old man.” She turned to the footmen. “Thomas and James, you will convey Mr. Chettle to his bed.”

The two footmen grasped Chettle’s shoulders and feet and lifted him off the floor. Chettle groaned.

“He lives,” breathed Evelina.

Mrs. Chettle turned back to her mistress. “There my lady, Chettle is alive, and you may take Miss Juliet and Mrs. Bowen to Almack’s just as you planned.”

“But we must send for a doctor. I must see that Chettle has received no injury to the skull,” Evelina protested.

“You go ahead, Mama,” said Juliet. “We don’t have to go to Almack’s tonight.”

Juliet’s suggestion brought all movement in the entry to a halt and drew every eye but Chettle’s to her.

“Not go to Almack’s!” Evelina cried, dropping her air of trembling helplessness. “My dear, you don’t mean it. You must be seen there. Your papa may think it a foolish extravagance to attend, but if you want anyone other than Brentwood, you must go.”

Juliet shrugged. “If you say so, Mama.”

“Wait here,” said Evelina in more commanding tones. “I won’t be but a minute. I must see Chettle comfortable. Then to Almack’s. Brummell’s all to pieces and who knows what they will be saying about Byron.”

The footmen bearing Chettle lurched off, followed by Evelina and Mrs. Chettle, debating the wisdom of sending for a doctor. Juliet yawned and looked about as if expecting a comfortable sofa to present itself for her convenience. Susannah stole a glance at her cousin. This was not the girl who a fortnight earlier had wanted scores of suitors. Susannah had not yet confronted her cousin with Lord Warne’s suspicions, but now she studied Juliet closely.

The girl was gazing into a tall mirror, her head tilted to the left, staring absently at her own image. Her golden hair was fashioned in curls about her face. Under her evening cloak, she wore a simple white gown, its dainty sleeves dotted with pearls, its filmy skirts ending in a lace border above the white kid slippers.

“Juliet,” Susannah began, “have you seen that highwayman again? Here in London?”

The girl leaned forward, apparently intent on arranging the curls that framed her face. “What makes you think I have?” she asked.

“He was at the Royston ball,” Susannah stated flatly.

“Oh?”

“He left his card, that is, Lord Warne’s card.”

“With you?” Juliet cast her a quick glance.

“No. I don’t know with whom he left it, but it came into Lord Warne’s hands, and he is not pleased.”

Juliet looked down, pulling at the pink tulips in a vase on a half-moon table. “I suppose he isn’t, but what has that to do with me?”

Susannah counseled herself to patience. “Nothing, of course, if you neither see this person nor encourage his folly.”

“Folly?”

“What else are we to call his actions? Going about London leaving the cards of a man of title and power? What good can come of such a prank?” Susannah did not want to reveal that the cards were stolen.

Juliet turned toward Susannah. “But you don’t know his reasons.”

Susannah started. “You
have
seen him. You were with him in the garden at the Roystons’. Juliet, you must not take such chances with your reputation. You will be ruined.”

“Ruined? I’m not worried about
that.
”

“But you must be. Even the least misstep and you may be the object of malicious gossip.”

“I don’t care,” said Juliet stubbornly. “I won’t end up like you, Susannah. I want something to happen in my life.”

Susannah thought of the truth, the sad, ugly, terrible truth. If she told it, would it help Juliet? “I must not be your model then. Look how happy the princess is with Saxe-Coburg. She seems to have chosen very well from among the ranks of young men suitable to her station.”

“
Young
men,” Juliet said pointedly. “All Papa’s choices are old.”

“But your mother’s choices are young enough, and perhaps you will meet someone at Almack’s whom we can add to your father’s list.”

“I don’t want anyone from a list. I want someone . . .” Juliet broke off with a considering look.

“You want someone dangerous,” said Susannah.

“Yes.” Juliet’s eyes opened wide. “You do understand.”

Oh yes.
Susannah understood.
They won’t approve of me, you know
, Randolph Price had confided in her, and she had felt privileged to share his conspiratorial glance. He had praised her for every deception that had won them a stolen moment here and there, encouraging her to take greater and greater risks, until she had put herself in his hands. Oh yes, she knew the attractions of danger. To Juliet, she said, “You must not see the highwayman again.”

Just then Evelina returned. “Come girls. I don’t mean for Ann Trentfield to have all the
on dits.
”

They presented their tickets at the door, and Susannah felt her stomach knot. The place had hardly changed in ten years, but she was no longer an unsullied miss. She had a sudden vision of the patronesses discovering her unworthiness and driving her from the rooms. Then as they surrendered their cloaks to an attendant, she laughed at herself to think that she would be accorded the least notice among the glittering company. Her ruin was long forgotten. Her long-sleeved lavender gown was plain, and, of course, her cap marked her as a chaperone.

She entered with at least outward calm until she saw Lord Warne. He was dressed in the prescribed manner in white satin knee breeches and black coat, and he looked indifferent as ever to the opinion of society. They were acknowledged adversaries now, but his gaze met hers, recalling the heated moment in the park when he had been about to kiss her again. She fanned her cheeks and looked away.

Evelina spotted Mrs. Trentfield and led them into the room, greeting acquaintances as they passed.

Then Juliet said, “Susannah, there’s a young man staring at you.”

“You must be mistaken,” Susannah replied. “Everyone is looking at you.”

“Susannah, I am quite serious. This man is looking at you.”

Susannah turned. “Where?”

“There,” said Juliet. “With the Grangerfords.”

Susannah followed her cousin’s gaze. A very young gentleman with fine expressive eyes and a head of dark curls was looking at her with a mixture of hope and inquiry.

She felt her fingers close tightly around her fan. She knew that face though she had not seen it for ten years. Time had altered her youngest brother Henry in the nicest way. He had been a roundfaced boy of twelve when she had last seen him. Now he had a firm jaw and lean cheeks with no lessening of the brightness of his eyes. It was plain that he thought he recognized her, and just as plain that he did not know what to do about it. Whatever her brothers had been told about her disgrace, they could not have a good opinion of her character. He must wonder that she dared to enter the holy of holies.

“He must think me an oddity,” she said to Juliet, striving for a light tone. She looked about for Evelina and met Ann Trentfield’s curious gaze. Susannah turned away and directed Juliet to the side of the room where their acquaintances had gathered. Garrett, Newbury, and Lord Eastham were all there, with other gentlemen eager to be presented to Miss Lacy. But when Juliet went off to dance a quadrille with Mr. Newbury, Susannah felt conspicuously alone. She shook off the feeling that her brother was watching her and joined a group of matrons and young ladies around Evelina.

“Your girl seems to be faring well, Evie,” suggested Mrs. Trentfield.

“Very well,” said Evelina. “So lovely tonight and so many beaux.”

“But is anyone likely to come up to scratch?” Mrs. Trentfield asked.

“Well, it is early yet, but I’m sure someone will. The most promising thing is that Lord Warne approached me only yesterday. He wants to arrange a small party for Vauxhall. His title is high, to be sure, but then he
has
taken an interest in the girl since her arrival.”

“Since you spread that silly story about a highwayman with the man’s card,” said Mrs. Trentfield. “She’s not his usual style, you know.”

“I’m sure she’s lovely enough, and if he means to marry, he will be conscious of his name and position and choose a girl of good birth.”

“She certainly will have pin money if she lands him, but won’t she be rather cowed by the Iron Lord?” Ann raised one sleek brow. “His carnal appetite is said to be as fierce as Byron’s.”

“Is it true, Ann, that Byron has established Mrs. Mardyn in the house?” asked Mrs. Chaworth-Musters.

“Oh I think it’s worse than that,” replied Ann. “You have heard what Lady B. told Mrs. Beecher-Stowe?”

Evelina protested that she had not and had to be informed. “Oh the unnaturalness of it,” she exclaimed, her blue eyes wide. “And Mrs. Leigh is in his house too?”

“The man apparently requires a harem,” said Mrs. Chaworth-Musters. “He’ll be better served in the East should he return there.”

“He should have married me,” offered Miss Mercer Elphinstone, a bright-eyed, red-haired flirt that Susannah had observed at the Shalford ball. “He wants managing,” she said boldly and with the obvious assurance that she could supply this lack in Lord Byron’s life.

“He wants,” said Susannah, “respect and sympathy, and some privacy in which to sort out his differences with his wife.”

The little crowd of women turned to her, their faces expressing surprise as if a chair had spoken. Mrs. Trentfield spoke for them all. “Byron’s ruined himself. And the censure he’s earned is ruin’s inevitable reward.”

“He has forfeited all claim to feminine sympathy,” Mrs. Chaworth-Musters added.

“He shall have mine,” Susannah said quietly. Byron’s heroes had expressed the pain of remorse so forcefully, she could not think of him without compassion or imagine that he was not suffering as much as his wife.

“Good evening, ladies,” said Lord Warne. He was standing unexpectedly near, his gaze fixed on Susannah. He greeted each of the ladies in turn. Then he said, “Mrs. Bowen, I believe you promised me the first waltz.”

Nothing could have prevented Susannah from showing her astonishment, but she dipped into a curtsy and accepted his arm.

“This is absurd,” she said when she recovered her presence of mind. They were about to take their place upon the floor, and the glances of others were obvious. “You must excuse me,” she whispered. “We will be the subject of talk.”

“Then we’ll spare Byron. You were defending him just now, weren’t you?”

“Yes, but . . . How did you know?”

He clasped her right hand and took hold of her waist, and the question went out of her mind. “I can’t,” she said. “I can’t dance with. . . . a cap.” She reached up with her left hand to touch the bit of muslin and lace perched on her head.

He drew her a little closer, his eyes fixed on hers. “I would remove it, but I think that would occasion more talk than you can bear. It will not impede your steps. Only smile and look on me as a friend, and we will carry this off.”

“Are you utterly indifferent to opinion?”

“Utterly,” he said. A slow smile transformed his face, lighting his eyes, making the Iron Lord vanish. “Dance with me, Susannah Bowen,” he urged.

“I can’t,” she protested, but the musicians struck the opening notes, and the motion of others required that they, too, move. And as she did so, the music freed her steps from caution.

“You can,” Warne whispered in her ear.

***

“Susannah’s dancing,” Juliet observed to her mother a few minutes later.

“And everyone is watching,” Evelina replied. “It is that ridiculous cap the girl insists upon wearing.”

“I don’t think so, Mama,” Juliet replied thoughtfully. “It is how lovely she is. I never noticed before.”

***

At the end of their waltz, Lord Warne insisted that they take a turn about the rooms before he would relinquish her company. Each moment made Susannah more conscious of the notice their dance had drawn.

“Smile,” he ordered. “Even I can’t kiss you here.”

“Are you doing this to embarrass me?”

“No,” he said with some heat. “May I not dance with the only woman in the room who is not weighing my merits as a matrimonial prospect.”