The American Heiress (35 page)

‘Come upstairs with me, Jim, come and look at the picture. Maybe I’m fancying things that ain’t there.’

‘Not likely, Bertha! If I go up there, I’ll be workin’ all night. Ain’t a man entitled to a spot of leisure once in a while, with his best girl?’ Jim put his arm round her waist and drew her to him. She let her head rest on his chest for a moment but then she remembered the look in the painted Cora’s eyes and pulled back.

‘I must go, Jim.’

He released her reluctantly, saying, ‘Remember, Bertha, all we do is wait on them.’

But she was gone, her dark bombazine skirts rustling against the stone stairs.

Upstairs, the drawing room was now full to bursting. Women were having to turn sideways to pass each other on account of the enormous width of their leg-of-mutton sleeves. Heads crowned with ostrich plumes and diamond aigrettes twisted and craned to get the best view of the new Duchess. There was general agreement that she was pretty, in an American way, ‘vivacious rather than soulful’, but more interesting was the speculation as to the extent of her wealth. A viscount who had visited the United States on an unsuccessful gold prospecting expedition assured his listeners that every slice of bread that passed American lips was made from Cash’s finest flour. Another man said that the Cash family ate all their meals from gold plate, and that in their house in Newport even the servants had bathrooms. There was much talk about the Duchess’s settlement. One countess had it on very good authority that she had half a million a year. A silence followed this remark as her listeners tried to estimate how many noughts there were in a million. It was agreed that reviving houses like Lulworth was the very best use for American money, and there was generally expressed relief that the new Duchess appeared to be a woman of some taste. Her gown was much admired, after it had been identified as a Worth, and there was satisfaction that her jewels, though fine, were not overwhelming. There was surprise at the presence of Mrs Stanley, given her previous friendship with the Duke, but the feeling was that inviting her had been a stylish gesture on the part of the Duchess. There was some confusion among the more frivolous-minded guests at the presence of the Prime Minister and the Foreign Secretary – did the new Duchess intend to be a political hostess? It was really too tiresome if that was the case as there were far too many serious-minded hostesses and not nearly enough fun. Mr Stebbings, who had come hoping for a tête-à-tête with the Duchess about his work, was disappointed to see her so firmly hemmed in by philistines, but he had been rewarded by the sight of
The Yellow Book
on one of the occasional tables. He had picked it up and been gratified to find that the volume fell open at the page on which his poem ‘Stella Maris’ appeared, and as he read it through, he felt the usual prickle of surprise at the felicity of his own expression.

The prevailing mood of satisfaction was rendered all the more piquant by the fact that there were a significant number of people who had not been invited. This was a satisfyingly select gathering. Even those who had previously condemned American forays into English society as impertinent could find nothing to criticise. Only Charlotte Beauchamp looked restless, her eyes constantly straying to the door to see who was arriving. Some of the less generous members of the party put her lack of composure down to being in the house of a rival to her status as the most fashionable woman in London. Charlotte Beauchamp was possibly the more beautiful, that Grecian profile was without parallel, but the new Duchess had such a scintillating smile.

Sir Odo, however, did not think his wife was restless because she was in the presence of a rival. He knew that Charlotte would never allow herself to show weakness. ‘You are the most beautiful woman in the room tonight, my dear.’

She turned to him in surprise. ‘A compliment, Odo?’

‘No, merely a statement of fact. Why do you keep looking at the door?’ he asked.

‘I was hoping to catch Louvain before he gets mobbed by all his would-be sitters.’

‘Are you sure he’s coming?’ Odo asked.

‘Oh yes, he told me he’d be here.’ Charlotte stopped, realising too late that she had made an admission.

‘Do you have something in mind then, Charlotte?’ Odo looked at her closely. ‘It really is too bad of you to work alone. You know how I enjoy our little games.’

Charlotte adjusted her glove, pulling the kid leather taut over her knuckles. ‘But I wanted to surprise you,’ she said, stretching out her fingers. ‘I wanted the satisfaction of seeing your face when you realised how clever I’d been.’

‘Really?’ Odo took one of her hands in his own, folding his fingers around her kid-gloved fist. ‘I hope we understand each other, Charlotte, that we are on the same side.’

She pulled away from him, but he held on. ‘Don’t do that, you’ll wrinkle my gloves. Lady Tavistock is looking at us, you don’t want her to think that we are having a scene, do you?’

Odo released the hand and she shook it out. And then as if by mutual consent they moved in opposite directions, greeting the people on either side of them with enthusiasm.

Cora had moved from her station at the top of the stairs. The line of guests had dwindled to a few latecomers who had come on from the theatre. She was talking to Mrs Wyndham and Lady Tavistock, telling them how parties in Newport were conducted.

‘The balls there never start till at least midnight. It gets so hot during the day there.’

‘It sounds too, too exhausting,’ sighed Lady Tavistock. ‘I can barely stay awake past midnight these days.’

‘Oh, I think you might manage to stay awake for one of Mrs Vanderbilt’s fancy dress affairs.’ Cora said brightly. ‘Last year she brought the whole cast of
The Gaiety Revue
from New York to perform after dinner. And the favours were all replicas of jewels worn by the court of Louis the Fourteenth. It was quite spectacular.’

‘I still think it sounds exhausting, dear Duchess. You Americans are so energetic.’

‘Well, we are still a young nation, we haven’t had time to get bored.’ And then Cora saw the unmistakable figure of Louvain with his pelt of silvery blond hair, his pale blue eyes assessing the company. He saw her and raised one hand in greeting, but before he could move towards her he was accosted by a trio of ladies, their shoulders raised like hackles.

‘Can that be Louvain over there?’ said Lady Tavistock, without a trace of her former languor.

‘Yes, he has come to show me my portrait. It is so exciting, I haven’t seen so much as a drawing yet.’ Cora was anxious to get to the painter but Lady Tavistock was still talking.

‘Well, that’s quite a coup. To be painted by Louvain already. Lady Sale and her daughters have been waiting for years to sit for him. I suppose you must have offered him a fortune.’

‘Oh, we never discussed money. He asked me, as a matter of fact. He was really quite insistent.’ She caught Louvain’s eye again. ‘He is impossible to refuse.’

‘So I’ve heard,’ said Lady Tavistock, her eyes glittering with malice. ‘Louvain always gets what he wants.’

Mrs Wyndham, alarmed at the edge the conversation was developing, looked about her for a distraction. ‘I think the Duke might be looking for you, my dear. He is over there with Duchess Fanny.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Wyndham. Will you excuse me?’ And with a grateful glance to Mrs Wyndham, Cora sailed off towards her husband.

‘You’ve done well with that one, Madeleine,’ said Lady Tavistock. ‘Quite the Duchess already. You would hardly know she was an American, apart from the voice of course.’

‘Do you know, I really can’t take the credit for her,’ said Mrs Wyndham. ‘Some of these American heiresses now are as regal as any of our own princesses. She’s certainly better educated than most English girls of her age. But what is so interesting is her fearlessness, she doesn’t seem to be afraid of anything.’

‘That’s just as well, considering that she has Fanny Buckingham as her mother-in-law,’ Lady Tavistock said. ‘I haven’t seen those emeralds in years. I wonder why Fanny decided to wear them tonight? Do you think she might be trying to make a point?’

Ivo met Cora half way across the room. He nodded his head at Louvain.

‘Who is that man over there with the peculiar hair surrounded by women? I’ve seen him before.’

‘You mean Louvain,’ Cora said.

‘The one who painted Charlotte? What on earth is he doing here?’

Cora was puzzled by the sharp tone in his voice. ‘I asked him, of course,’ she said. She went on quickly before Ivo could protest further. ‘In fact, he has brought something with him I want you to see. It’s in the library. Come with me now, quickly, before we get caught by Lady Tavistock.’

But Ivo did not move. ‘Cora! We can’t simply disappear. Not even for Mr Louvain.’ Cora caught the edge again in his voice. ‘Whatever it is can surely wait.’

Cora could have stamped her foot with impatience. But here was Lady Tavistock bearing down on them.

‘My dear Duke, I can’t wait to see the portrait, what a coup!’ And then, seeing the Duke’s face, she tittered and turned to Cora. ‘Oh my dear, was it to be a surprise? What an idiot I am.’ She looked at the couple curiously.

Cora stood frozen for a moment and then she recovered. ‘Not at all, Lady Tavistock. I was just about to show him the picture.’ And then to demonstrate she was not intimidated, she made a sign to the butler. ‘Clewes, could you arrange to have the picture brought up here.’

Lady Tavistock said, ‘To see the unveiling of a Louvain. How exciting! Your wife is so original, Duke.’

Ivo nodded. His eyes were on the object being carried into the room by two footmen, who at Cora’s signal set it down in front of him. The picture, which stood on an easel, was covered by a heavy red velvet cloth.

Cora found herself trembling with excitement. She had to stop herself from tearing the cloth down. Instead she beckoned to Louvain who was standing to her left, next to Charlotte Beauchamp. The painter approached the picture, and then hesitated with his hand on the drape. Cora turned to her husband.

‘Shall we ask Mr Louvain to do the honours, Ivo? Or would you like to be the first?’ She put a hand on his arm and looked at him in appeal.

Ivo did not answer but simply gestured to the painter to carry on. The room went quiet around them.

Louvain pulled the crimson velvet away with a flourish, letting it pool on the floor like blood.

There was a sound as the whole room breathed out. From where she stood, short-sighted Cora could only see a golden blur. She narrowed her eyes to sharpen her vision but all she could identify was the brown sweep of her hair. She needed to get much closer. Bertha had been right, she should have gone to see the picture first so she could prepare herself. Now she would look ridiculous if she started to peer at it. She had forgotten Ivo in her anxiety to see the picture better, but then she heard his voice, quiet but clear. It broke the silence that had frozen the room since the unveiling of the picture.

‘May I congratulate you, Mr Louvain, on the likeness. And such a refreshing pose. There will be time for formal pictures later, but you have caught the woman not the title.’ Cora tried desperately to see what Ivo meant without screwing up her eyes.