Mask of Duplicity (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 1) (25 page)

“Yes,” Beth replied. For the first time since she had arrived in London she felt relaxed, and sensed that here were two people she could possibly come to like.

“My commiseration on the death of your father, Miss Cunningham,” Edwin said, bowing slightly. “Your brother is a sergeant in the dragoons, I believe. Is he here tonight?”

Beth looked around. “No,” she said with obvious relief. “I cannot see him at the moment, but I’m sure he will make an appearance at some point. I will introduce you, if you wish.”

“Not particularly,” said Caroline bluntly. Beth looked at her, shocked, and then at Sir Anthony, who was wearing an expression of the utmost innocence.

“Just exactly what have you told Mr and Mrs Harlow about me, Sir Anthony?” Beth asked

He held his hands up in a defensive gesture.

“I have told them only what your cousin Edward has told the whole of London already.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

“That following the death of your father, you and your brother have been happily reunited with the rest of your family, and that you are in London for the first time. And...ah...” He hesitated. Beth glared at him.

“What Anthony is afraid to tell you,” Caroline said, “but of course you need to know, if you don’t already, is that it is also common knowledge that you have a dowry of twenty thousand pounds, and that your brother and cousin will be willing to consider any suitor who can buy your brother a commission and your cousin a little more political influence in the House of Lords.”

“Do I surmise by the expression on your face, Miss Cunningham, that some of this was unknown to you?” Edwin asked, perturbed by the angry flush that suffused Beth’s face.

Out of the corner of his eye Sir Anthony saw the determined youth he had earlier rescued Beth from making a beeline across the room towards them. He placed his arm around her shoulders in a friendly way.

“So, my dear friends, what do you say we retire to the library for a spell, and we can continue this conversation over a glass of fine claret?” Without waiting for a reply, he began to steer her firmly from the room, Edwin and Caroline following.

“Will your brother and cousin not object to you leaving the party?” Caroline asked as they achieved the sanctuary of the library.

Forgetting propriety in her anger, Beth threw herself onto a chair and kicked off her shoes.

“To hell with Richard and Edward too,” she said rudely. “Is that really what they’ve been telling everyone?”

Sir Anthony moved over to a cupboard by the wall and there was presently heard the pleasant sound of wine being poured into crystal. Edwin and Caroline sat down on a red and white striped silk sofa.

“Yes. Well, not quite as bluntly as Caroline has just put it, but the essence is true. Surely you knew?” Edwin said.

“I knew about Richard, of course, but I had no idea that Edward was looking to profit from my marriage. It seemed strange that he had accepted me back into the bosom of his family so quickly, but I was stupid enough to believe that he genuinely wanted to make a new start. I should have known there was an underlying motive. I am too naïve.” Beth accepted the glass of wine Sir Anthony held out to her, and sipped at it thoughtfully. “It seems nobody does anything in society without a selfish motive,” she said.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Caroline said. “Even though Isabella, Clarissa and Charlotte are not really my sort of people, they are kind and generous. I don’t think they have any selfish designs. And there are other genuine people around. You just have to look for the signs.”

That was probably true, but gave Beth little comfort, not knowing what signs to look for. She felt very downcast, and wondered if she would ever know whether anyone liked her for herself, or merely for the advantage she could bring them.

“What are the signs?” she said, depressed.

“This claret is a sign,” Sir Anthony remarked suddenly, sitting down opposite Beth and holding the glass up to the candlelight. “By drinking this, we are showing the utmost consideration for our host, Lord Redburn. He suffers most dreadfully from the gout, and by drinking his secret store of fine claret we will be saving him from a severe attack of inflammation later.”

“To say nothing of saving him from the embarrassing spectacle he’ll make of himself at two a.m.” Caroline said laughingly, drinking deeply.

Beth looked questioningly at the company.

“Lord Redburn is a drunken old sot and a glutton,” Sir Anthony explained. “Every two months he throws a ball, to which he invites all the most beautiful young ladies. While they are all dancing and becoming intoxicated on the free-flowing champagne, he incarcerates himself in his room with a few male friends and a bottle of brandy. I have no doubt that is where Lord Edward and your brother are now.”

“At around one a.m. he comes down to this room, and secretly partakes of several glasses of claret, to give him Dutch courage,” Edwin continued. “Then he enters the ballroom and proposes marriage to the first unsuspecting girl he sees, in the hope that she will be drunk enough to accept him. If he is unsuccessful, he moves on to the next, and the next, becoming more belligerent as he goes. It happens every time. There will be a mass exodus of young women just after midnight, you’ll see.” He winked at her.

“Except that there will be no spectacle tonight, of course, due to the fact that we will have charitably deprived him of the necessary Dutch courage,” Sir Anthony said, relaxing back. They all drank in silence for a few minutes. Beth’s depression was lifting. She was thoroughly enjoying the company of these people, and felt that she could be herself for the first time in weeks.

“Ah, I feel a proposal coming on now,” Sir Anthony said, draining his glass and reaching for a refill. Caroline swept the bottle from his questing fingers.

“Leave Miss Cunningham alone,” she warned. “She’s suffered enough tonight.”

“That’s true,” he said sadly. “And I did promise to say nothing pleasant to you this evening. Although I think I may be right in assuming that you would not find a proposal of marriage from me to be a pleasant experience, my dear?”

“Your assumption is correct, sir,” Beth replied. She was not alarmed. He was teasing her. “Is everything everyone does common knowledge?” she asked.

“Everything,” Caroline said. “Believe me, it is impossible to keep anything hidden. If you don’t inadvertently let your secrets slip to a friend, your servants will, and before you know it, all your private vices, infatuations, affairs and clandestine business dealings will be common knowledge.”

“It is possible to prevent secrets from becoming common knowledge, although few people are capable of following the simple rule to ensure absolute confidentiality,” Sir Anthony said. Although the comment was addressed to the room, his eyes were on Beth.

“And what is this simple rule, pray?” asked Caroline.

“Keep your secrets to yourself. Tell no one. Not your spouse, not your best friend, nobody. Simple, but impossible to do,” he sighed.

As light-hearted as the words were, this was a warning, and Beth took it as such.

“Do you wish to return to the party, my dear, or would you like some more wine?”

Beth thrust out her glass immediately, and they all laughed. Sir Anthony filled it.

“Do I take it then that you are a Tory, Sir Anthony?” Beth asked.

Edwin roared with laughter, while Sir Anthony stared at her, his eyes wide with shock.

“I, a Tory, my dear, good God, no. What on earth gave you that impression?”

Beth faltered. “Well, when you introduced me to Mr Harlow you expressed a less than favourable opinion of Whigs, so I assumed...”

“Never assume, my dear. The Tories are nothing more than a nest of Jacobites, a lost cause if ever there was one.”

Beth coloured hotly and just stopped herself from declaring that she was a supporter of this ‘lost cause’.

“Of course, I apologise, sir,” she said, her voice cold in spite of her efforts. “You have made it quite clear in the past that you are a committed Hanoverian.”

“Have I?” Sir Anthony said, sounding no less shocked than when she had thought him a Tory. She looked at him, exasperated. Was he deliberately trying to confuse her?

“Yes,” she said irritably. “I would think that anyone who declares themselves a close acquaintance of King George and his sons and who casts doubts on the loyalty of the Earl of Derwentwater, could be reasonably assumed to be a supporter of the House of Hanover.”

His blue gaze met hers with remarkably perspicacity.

“A reasonable assumption, perhaps, but nevertheless incorrect,” he said.

“You have found Anthony’s Achilles’ heel, Miss Cunningham,” Caroline said, coming to Beth’s rescue. “He prides himself on his utter impartiality. He is neither Tory, nor Whig, Jacobite nor Hanoverian. He is all things to all men, interested in everything, committed to nothing. He hates it to be thought that he has any partisan tendencies whatsoever.”

To Beth, who had been reared on a diet of hotly debated opinions, this was incomprehensible.

“But how is it possible to have no opinions about anything?” she asked.

“Oh, I assure you my dear, in high society you will meet people every day who prove that to be eminently possible,” Sir Anthony replied lightly.

She was not going to let him change the subject with a joke.

“But not intelligent people,” she insisted.

“I will take that as a compliment. But as I recall, Caroline did not say that I was devoid of opinion, only that I do not espouse causes. Normally I prefer to play devil’s advocate. It makes a conversation run on very merrily.”

Of course, hadn’t he just uttered an opinion, Beth thought; that the Jacobite cause was lost? Or was he just playing devil’s advocate, trying to find out where her sympathies lay? If so she had almost fallen into his trap, lulled by the unfeigned honesty of Mr and Mrs Harlow. She was almost certain they were genuine. But she must never let her guard down with Sir Anthony, who in spite of the fact that he was a good friend of theirs, was a different kettle of fish entirely. He was infuriating. One moment she found herself warming to him, she next she hated him. She could not make him out at all.

The door opened and Lord Edward came in, Richard behind him.

“Elizabeth, we have been looking for you everywhere. Why aren’t you dancing?” he said angrily.

Why aren’t you searching for a suitable man, more like,
she thought bitterly.

Sir Anthony leapt to his feet.

“Ah, I am afraid I am entirely to blame, Lord Edward,” he said, bowing gracefully. “Your cousin was feeling somewhat fatigued, and I suggested we repair to the library for a moment’s respite. Mr and Mrs Harlow accompanied us. We would not wish to be accused of any improper behaviour, you know.”

“Ah, no, of course not,” Edward said. “But I really think you should return to the ball now, Elizabeth. Several people have commented on your absence.”

“Ah, Sergeant Cunningham, there you are!” Sir Anthony cried, as if seeing Richard for the first time. “Let me introduce you to my dear friends, Mr and Mrs Harlow.”

Edwin and Caroline stood as Richard came forward to greet them. Their faces were closed and expressionless. They were the epitome of polite gentility.

Beth put her glass down and prepared to re-enter the fray.

“Oh, by the way, my lord,” said Sir Anthony as they left the library together. “I took the liberty of recommending that, as this is Miss Cunningham’s first ball, she might wish to leave a little early, whilst she still appears at her freshest. It would never do for her prospective suitors to see a wilted bloom, would it?” He ignored Lord Edward’s frown and rattled merrily on. “Mr and Mrs Harlow have kindly volunteered to take her home in their carriage at midnight.”

“Oh, we could not put you to that inconvenience,” Edward muttered. He wanted Lord Redburn to meet Elizabeth. He was perfect: rich, a fool, influential and old enough to die while Elizabeth was still young enough to marry again. She would have to stay to the end, wilted or not.

“Oh I assure you, it is no inconvenience,” said Caroline, laying her hand coquettishly on Edward’s arm. “In fact, it is all arranged.” This was the first they had heard of it, as Beth well knew. “Surely you do not think she will be in any danger from us, Edward?” Caroline continued, looking up at the peer’s florid face in consternation.

“No, of course not,” Edward said. “But...”

“Excellent, then it is settled,” Caroline said crisply. “We will meet you by the front door at midnight, Miss Cunningham.”

* * *

The endless round of meaningless calls continued, although in time Beth found herself able to distinguish Lady A from Lady B, as repeated exposure fixed their faces in her mind. The gossip she found difficult to remember, as she was really not interested in it and tended to drift off into a world of her own as soon as the words, “Oh my dears, you will not believe what I heard...” were uttered. This would infuriate Charlotte, whose sole purpose in life once the Cunninghams returned home was to regurgitate the day’s rumour and speculate on its verity.

She should listen, she knew that. It would give her something to talk about when visiting, and it would teach her more about how society ticked. Everyone gossiped. It was the bedrock of conversation. But she couldn’t help it. She hated gossip; it was usually malicious, often unfounded, and could cause untold misery.

Life had become more tolerable because of her rapidly developing friendship with Caroline and, to a lesser extent, Edwin, mainly because he was in Parliament all day, and she saw little of him. Because Caroline also rarely indulged in gossip and her husband did not possess a title, Beth’s cousins expressed little interest in visiting her and consequently Beth was able to go alone, often spending the whole afternoon there. Caroline had accepted her from the first as though she were an old and trusted friend, and after a few visits Beth had plucked up the courage to ask her why.

“Anthony had already given you a glowing recommendation, and you’ve done nothing since I met you to prove him wrong,” Caroline replied simply.

Beth thought back to the cold reception her brother had been subjected to at the ball, and wondered what Sir Anthony had told Caroline and her husband about him. The baronet had never been anything less than friendly towards Richard.