Picture Perfect (11 page)

‘Hudson, my violet dress, please,’ Justine said, stretching like a cat and allowing her undergarments to settle comfortably into place.

‘Very good, Miss Beresford,’ Hudson said. ‘Miss Black, what will you be wearing tonight?’

Justine would look stunning, Annabel thought, the violet dress would cling to her curves and she would seem to blossom out of it, the perfect example of a sophisticated young lady. She knew she had nothing of her own which would compare with it., so she wouldn’t try to. Annabel decided that she would present a quite different look.

‘I shall wear my cream dress,’ she said without hesitation. It was the most simple and demure of the dresses she had had made, and it was Mrs Black’s favourite among them. ‘You will be the picture of elegance in this,’ she had said firmly when Annabel had suggested that cream might not be showy enough for the salons and ball rooms of the London season. ‘You’re very pretty and a dress like this will show that you need resort to no arts to make yourself more desirable. In this dress your youth and beauty will speak for themselves.’ Although she had privately doubted that she would do anything other than blend into the background in the cream dress, looking now at herself in the cheval mirror in Justine’s room, Annabel could see the wisdom of her mother’s words; she looked picture perfect.

When she and Justine entered the dining room Lord Beresford rose to his feet. ‘Hannah, you look quite beautiful,’ he said. ‘You both do of course, but Hannah...’ He had made no attempt at all to use her given name, but Annabel found she couldn’t resent it when he seemed so overcome with his own good fortune in having her back.

Dinner was a much simpler affair than on Annabel’s first night in St James’ Square, Lord Beresford’s brother and his wife, whom Annabel felt quite able to address as Uncle Patrick and Aunt Elspeth, were undemanding company, and their eldest son Jeremy was an amiable conversationalist, even though his only topic seemed to be horses.

‘I haven’t ridden for a week,’ Annabel told him at one point. Jeremy looked shocked.

‘Do you have someone reliable to exercise your horse?’ he asked.

Annabel nodded, ‘Bill, our groom will take Daisy out, but I am missing the chance to get out in the fresh air and have a good gallop.’

‘A groom!’ Jeremy looked quite upset and proceeded to lecture Annabel on the huge array of bad habits her mare would probably have slipped into in the absence of her mistress.

Although she enjoyed talking horses, Annabel was very glad when it was time to leave for Almack’s. She felt the same rising excitement she had felt at the start of her first ball, her feet felt light as if they were ready to float around the dance floor. A glance at Justine told her that her sister felt much the same. Justine’s eyes were bright and she smiled mischievously at Annabel as she leapt nimbly into the carriage. Almack’s was situated only on the other side of St James’ Square where the Beresfords lived, but Justine had explained to Annabel that absolutely no one would dream of arriving at the Assembly Rooms on foot, so even though it must surely take as long by carriage as it would to walk there, the Beresfords would drive in style. Justine was humming a waltz under her breath and suddenly Annabel wondered if she were anticipating more than just magical music and dancing. Would Mr Denham be present, and did he and her sister plan to find a quiet corner for themselves? She felt her anticipation of the evening dim a little, but at that moment the carriage drew to a stop and the ladies were handed out.

After the non-stop socialising of the last few days Annabel had assumed that she had met all of the Beresfords’ London friends and that no-one else could possibly be interested in her story, but the moment the Beresford family was announced, she found out she was wrong. ‘Lord and Lady Beresford with their daughters Hannah and Justine,’ the doorman called out over the bubbling crowd that already seemed to fill the main room. There was the slightest of silences from the people nearest them, then the chattering seemed to redouble and further and further across the room Annabel saw faces swivel in her direction. Some seemed simply to mark who she was and turn away again, but others remained staring as if she were going to follow her extraordinary tale of being lost and found with some other equally entertaining act.

Annabel longed to run straight back to the carriage and leave and she fervently wished her own family were present, but Lady Beresford took her arm and firmly led her into the melee, across to an alcove where Mrs Padgett was holding court with her daughter Amelia in attendance. ‘My dear, you and Justine are going the sensation of the season,’ she murmured as they wove their way through the crowd. ‘You will be courted and feted where ever you go and offers will soon be made, have no doubt. But don’t accept any without consulting your elders, you are worth a considerable sum nowadays and the fortune hunters will not hesitate to prey upon your naiveté.’

Annabel nodded mutely and concentrated on appearing as composed as possible despite the rapid beating of her heart, while Justine seemed to take the curious looks they were receiving as no more than her due. Perhaps, having completed one season in society already, Justine was used to being the centre of attention, she was certainly vivacious and had plenty of friends, but Annabel was used to seeing herself as Henry’s little sister and Madeline’s younger cousin, not at all as someone who drew all eyes upon herself as she passed and the experience was quite unnerving. She only hoped that her distress didn’t show, she would hate to embarrass the Beresfords with her gaucheness.

They greeted Mrs Padgett and Amelia and Annabel soon found herself gazing out at the sea of dancing couples while society gossip passed over her head. After a little while Justine tapped Annabel discretely on the arm. ‘I think someone on whom I gather you made a big impression recently is about to ask you to dance,’ she said, her eyes sparkling. There was a footfall behind her and with a sudden blossoming of hope, Annabel turned. It wasn’t until she found herself confronted with Dermot Leahey, the artist, that she realized how much she had wanted to find herself face to face with Jack Denham. Struggling to conceal her disappointment and mild dismay, Annabel greeted him.

‘Miss Black, or should I say Miss Beresford,’ Mr Leahey began.

‘I am continuing to be known as Miss Black,’ Annabel said hastily, hoping he wouldn’t quiz her on why she had decided not to take up the name of such a prominent family when she had every right to. But Mr Leahey did not seem to posses Jack’s natural curiosity.

‘Miss Black,’ Mr Leahey said, bowing and kissing her hand. His lips felt cold and limp and Annabel had to quell the urge to wipe the back of her hand on her skirt; Mr Leahey did not compare well with Jack Denham. Not letting go of her hand Mr Leahey smiled in what he probably assumed was an inviting manner, ‘Will you do me the honour of partnering me in the next dance?’ he said.

There was absolutely no polite way to refuse, and despite Lady Beresford’s optimistic words, young men were not queuing up to ask her to dance.

‘I should be delighted,’ Annabel forced herself to say as the musicians struck up. Fortunately they were playing a country dance tune and the opportunities for conversation with her partner would be very limited. Mr Leahey was unlikely to offer her another painting if they were only going to meet for a few seconds as the two concentric circles of dancers passed each other in opposite directions.

The dance was a spirited one and after the first few steps, Annabel began to feel its magic taking her over. Each partner she faced in turn assisted her in a side-step that became almost a jump as the music sped up, before whirling her around, their hands crossed, then for a brief moment the steps were simple while the dancers got their breath back and then a new partner would snatch her up.

The musicians increased their tempo again and Annabel laughed as she and Lord Kent nearly came to grief in too enthusiastic a twirl, then strong hands caught her by the waist and she found herself lifted off her feet, flying through the air in time with the music, and there she was, face to face with Jack Denham.

‘Do you know who I am?’ she asked mischievously.

‘I knew the moment I laid my… eyes on you,’ Jack said, and Annabel could see that he was laughing at the way her own eyes had widened involuntarily when he’d paused.

‘
We could be deliberately fooling everyone,’ Annabel pointed out as Jack spun her round, ‘we could have exchanged wardrobes.’

‘
But you didn’t,’ Jack said. ‘I know beyond a shadow of a doubt. Anyhow, I did not identify you by your style of dress.’ Then neatly he handed her to her next partner.

‘Au revoir,’ Annabel said breathlessly,

‘Most definitely,’ Jack said, leaving her wondering what he meant.

It seemed that Lady Beresford had been right after all. After that first dance partners came to Annabel thick and fast. ‘Don’t let them press you into completely filling your dance card,’ Justine warned her in an undertone, ‘the most interesting men are rarely at a ball this early in the evening, although Patrick Cavendish is here already, it must be true that he’s on a serious hunt for a wife.’ She gestured to a handsome man across the far side of the room who was talking to a particularly pretty debutante.

Annabel tried to nod wisely, as if she knew what Justine was talking about, but Mr Denham was here, and she could not imagine finding another man more interesting than him. He did not, however, appear and ask her to dance and although she resolutely followed Justine’s advice and reserved several slots on her card, her only consolation was that he did not present himself to Justine either.

She was starting to regret that course of action some little while later when the orchestra struck up the most romantic of waltzes and she found herself a wallflower, sitting alone, unchaperoned even by Lady Beresford who was working the room, talking in turn to each of her innumerable very close friends whom she found at Almack’s that evening. The dancers swirled before her eyes and for a moment Annabel felt very alone, she was too new to society to have made any real friends and in any case Almack’s was not a place that the Blacks would ever be able to enter unless a very well placed person intervened and asked for vouchers on their behalf.

‘Would you care for some refreshment?’ a warm voice spoke softly behind her.

Annabel whirled around. ‘Oh, Jack, I thought you’d be on the dance floor.’

It was the first time she’d called him by his first name, Jack noted, he liked the sound of it coming from her and he was ridiculously pleased that she felt well enough acquainted with him to use it.

‘I have been attending to other things,’ he said wondering how much to tell her as he held out his arm. ‘Come, you look as though you could use a glass of lemonade to replenish you after all that energetic dancing.’ Unhesitatingly she put her hand on his arm and through his sleeve her touch felt warm and sure, he liked that. In the refreshment room he procured her the promised glass of lemonade but she refused any of the sweet pastries on offer.’

‘They look much too solid,’ Annabel said.

‘Really?’ Jack said, trying to hide a smirk at the thought of the finest pastry chefs in London hearing their work described this way, but she caught his expression.

‘Well, I am no expert on these things,’ she said defensively, ‘but I feel they would weigh me down when I am dancing, I want to be able to float around the room as if I were flying,’ and then she blushed as if she had said too much.

‘Oh, you do,’ Jack hastened to reassure her. ‘I am sure your dance card must be very full, but if there are any spaces left I hope you will do me the honour of flying around the room with me later.’

‘Oh, definite…’ she seemed to catch herself and remember the reserve young ladies were expected to show in public. ‘That is I believe I can accommodate you,’ but she was grinning at him as if she expected him to see through the absurdity of her words and know that she would enjoy dancing with him very much. The realisation warmed him, but he did not want to look too closely into his feelings at that point in time, there were too many complications and he was glad when she changed the subject. ‘Have you had any more exciting brushes with the world of art theft since last we met?’ she said and he could tell by the laughter in her eyes that she was teasing him and suddenly he felt moved by the desire to prove that he was not just a dilettante getting a vicarious thrill from the mystery as Charles Padgett and many others seemed to be.

‘Come,’ he said, ‘I want to show you something.’

‘What?’ Annabel asked, but she accompanied him quite willingly.

Jack grinned at her. ‘Why, Almack’s small picture collection, of course.’ He led her back to the main entrance of the ball room and out into the foyer. It was nearly empty now and they had an unrestricted view of the few paintings that graced the dark walls. ‘Look,’ Jack led her unerringly to a set of three small pictures of St Paul’s in different seasons. ‘This triptych is the most valuable work here. If the art thief steals anything it will be these.’

She looked at him uncomprehendingly. ‘What good does knowing that do? Shouldn’t the pictures have been removed for their own protection?’

Jack smiled and still holding her arm leaned in closer, anyone watching them would assume he was whispering intimacies into her ear. ‘It’s a trap.’ He debated telling her that the pictures were copies, but that was a secret best kept between himself and the copyist. ‘Don’t turn around, but there is a mirror behind you, so angled that it reflects a clear view of the triptych which can be seen from behind that tiny window above the cloak room.’