The Hermit's Daughter (14 page)

Sally stood, with the blood draining from her cheeks. “Seven thousand! It can’t be nearly that much.”

“You are forgetting our presentation gowns, and stabling for all our mounts, and the opera box, and Almack’s, along with the house to keep up.”

“There was no need for Derwent to tell Monstuart the precise sum.”

“He didn’t actually tell him. They got talking about all the expenses, you know, and adding them up, and it came to seven thousand.”

“You mean Monstuart weaseled it out of him, pest of a man.”

“He was trying to be helpful, Sally. And then there is another thousand or so for our own ball that is coming up. I am looking forward to that. Ronald thinks Monstuart may break down and give us some of our money. He was quite pleasant tonight, don’t you think?”

“I most assuredly do not.”

“He was very sweet to me. He suggested I get a blue phaeton to match my eyes—I would be all the crack, he said. Only I don’t want one. I could never drive a high-perch phaeton like Lady Dennison. She’s in town, did you know? I expect that explains Monstuart’s good humor.”

“Very likely.”
Sally rose and paced the room to give vent to her temper. “I hadn’t heard she is here.”

“He had dinner with her, but she isn’t allowed at Almack’s, so he came without her.”

“Naturally he couldn’t miss the treat of Almack’s. He doesn’t even like the place.”

“Ronald says that since Monty is getting us the tiara, we must invite him to our ball. Will you invite Mr. Peacock?”

“I think not.”
There was no point flying in the face of polite society, and she was not so enamored of Mr. Peacock that she meant to spike her own guns.

It was a relief to hear that, despite Monstuart’s continuing coolness to her, he was reaching a better footing with Ronald and Melanie. It was encroaching of him to inquire so carefully into their expenses, but there might be a good reason for it. He could hardly let them fall into debt. As Sir Darrow had said, he would look a flaming jackass if he did. That ray of hope was somewhat dimmed by Lady Dennison’s arrival in town.

Mr. Peacock came to call at Cavendish Square the next afternoon. He asked for Miss Hermitage but was equally happy to talk to Lord Derwent.

“I hoped to arrange our picnic at Richmond Park,”
he said.

“We’ll have to speak to the ladies before setting a date,”
Derwent replied. “Of more interest to me, Peacock, is to have another go at faro. After picking up an easy five hundred guineas last night, I shouldn’t mind having another shot. A chap can always use money.”

Peacock uttered a bored laugh. “Surely money is no problem to you. You’re rich as Croesus.”

“My guardian holds the purse strings.”

“He’d have to loosen them to pay your gambling debts; A man of honor cannot leave those hanging.”

“I don’t plan to lose,”
Derwent said. “I’m on a winning streak. I can feel it in my bones.”

Peacock smiled affably. “I never saw such a natural player—and coupled with skill. If you’re interested in making some real blunt, Mrs. Brody’s establishment is the place. It’s a private club on Poland Street, with no limit to the stakes. She serves a tasty midnight supper. Shall we say—this evening?”

“I’m taking the ladies to a rout, but I can get away early. I’ll meet you at Mrs. Brody’s around eleven-thirty.”

When the ladies returned, Derwent told them of Peacock’s call and mentioned the picnic.

“I shall not be home whenever Mr. Peacock calls,”
Sally told him. “He has no reputation, Derwent. You should not see him either.”

Derwent gave a superior little smile and said not a word about his plans for the late evening. When they all set out for the Eldridges’
rout party, high spirits prevailed. It was enjoyable to be at last in London, attending ton parties, outfitted in fashion. The coiffeur had been called to Cavendish Square to arrange the ladies’
hair. Sally had abandoned her
Grecque
style for the tousled
Victime.
It suited her well, lending a gamine touch to her appearance. She wondered whether Monstuart would comment on it, while assuring herself that she could not possibly care less what he thought.

When Monstuart proved not to be at the party, however, she was disappointed. It was a perfectly charming do. With no large balls occurring that evening, society was split up into three or four routs, with a small squeeze at each. Several of Monstuart’s colleagues were at Eldridge’s rout and took advantage of their leader’s absence to be presented to Miss Hermitage. She had a much more interesting selection of partners than usual and was hard put to understand why the evening was so flat.

She hardly cared when Ronald suggested they leave early. Melanie was all for it. Sir Darrow had an early case in the morning, and Mama too was agreeable to leave before midnight. As they went out to their waiting carriage, they met Monstuart just coming in. He looked surprised to see them going out the door.

“You’re surely not leaving already!”
he exclaimed.

Sally noticed that he directed his comment to her. She saw as well that he was not accompanied by Lady Dennison, and wondered if the affair was floundering. “Yes, we have had the carriage called,”
she told him.

“Where are you going? I’ll say good evening to the hostess and join you soon.”

“We are going home,”
she answered curtly. Her disappointment was rapidly turning to anger. Why must he pick this evening to be friendly, when it was impossible to take advantage of it?

“I see.”
He turned to Ronald to remind him of the meeting at Sotheby’s at ten the next morning, said a few words to the others, and went into the rout party.

Sally was in no mood for conversation and went directly to her room when they reached Cavendish Square. She felt a peevish dissatisfaction with her Season. The men weren’t so interesting as she had hoped. Peacock, who was lively, was a knave. Sir Giles Little was a boring prude, and Lord Monstuart seemed determined to annoy her.

Busy pacing her room, she didn’t hear when Derwent quietly slipped down the servants’
stairs and out the back door. Mellie didn’t have a word of criticism to offer when her husband told her how easy it was to “pluck the Johnnie Raws”
of five hundred guineas. “Don’t be too late”
was all she said. She even offered to tell Sally he was in bed with a headache if she asked for him.

Derwent’s dissipation was not suspected by the others till he appeared at the breakfast table the next morning with red eyes and a haggard white face. Sally felt like a dishrag herself and put his appearance down to trotting too hard.

He sipped a cup of coffee while his fingertips explored the sensitive area of his temples. There seemed to be jungle drums beating inside his head. His eyes felt full of sand, and his throat was raw. He was close to nausea and, on top of that, had some dim but extremely unsettling memories of having lost rather heavily at the faro table. It was the brandy he had drunk that accounted for his state. He had never taken brandy before, but Peacock and all the chaps had been putting it back like water. Peacock would know how much he had lost. Have to speak to him this afternoon, he thought.

“Is Monstuart calling for you?”
Melanie asked him.

Her gentle voice sounded like thunder.

“Monty? No, why should he?”

“This is the day you’re getting my tiara.”

“So it is. Slipped my mind entirely. I’m meeting him there, absolutely.”

“We must make arrangements for our ball this morning,”
Mrs. Hermitage said, and the ladies turned their thoughts to cards and flowers and refreshments. “You won’t forget you are to go and see the florist this afternoon, Sal.”

“I have the appointment on my schedule.”
Sally’s head was full of shillings and pence. She would not order a new gown, but add rutching and pink rosebuds to her best one to give it a new look. In the midst of thoughts of shillings and rosebuds, she found herself wondering why Monstuart did not come to Cavendish Square to pick Derwent up. He had seemed friendlier last night. Perhaps he would come back afterward to see Melanie try on her tiara. So odd, to think of little Mellie wearing that dashing Empress’s jewelry.

“I must be off,”
Derwent said soon. “Brush up your curls in readiness for the tiara, Mellie.”

The morning passed quickly. Sally felt it best to set her mother to the task of writing invitations, so that she might personally oversee the ordering of supplies. She meant to keep the price as low as elegantly possible. Derwent would not want a shabby do. Even a fairly spartan ball was wickedly expensive. There must be champagne, Jeroboams of it. Meats and seafoods and sweets, flowers and plants, musicians, extra help. It couldn’t be done for less than a thousand pounds. She took the bad news to her mother.

“You had best sign a few checks for me, Mama, and let me fill in the sum when I get the exact figure from the merchants.”

“I sign them?”
her mother asked, perplexed. “Why, you must know I turned our money over to Ronald. He is the one who writes the checks for our daily expenses. It was so awkward for him having to come to me every time he wanted five or ten guineas that in the end we just sold off the Consols and put the money in Ronald’s name at the bank.”

Sally felt a surge of panic at this injudicious scheme. “Oh, Mama, that was foolish!”

“Don’t give it a thought. Darrow worked it all up legally at five percent. I am very grateful for Darrow’s help in these business matters. Never fear he would make a botch of it, for he is sharp as a needle. It is almost like having your father back, taking care of us again. And if anything should happen to Ronald, even Monstuart could not keep the money from us, for the paper is signed by Ronald and all. That is the sort of thing you or I would not have thought of, Sal. I realized the wisdom of having it in writing when Ronald looked so haggard at breakfast. A touch of flu, I expect.”

“What are we to do for spending money? I am down to two guineas.”

“Ask Ronald. He will be happy to give you some.”

“Ronald should not have to pay our personal expenses. This becomes very complicated.”

“It was easy as pie for Darrow. He is keeping track of our private spending as well. It will be deducted from Ronald’s loan.”

“I don’t like it. Ronald is too unwise with money. I begin to regret we ever nabbed him.”

“Oh, no! We would not be here, having such a good time, if we had not. I would never have met Darrow again either....”
She peered questioningly at her daughter. Was this the time to tell her?

Sally was already turning away. “At least we would have our fifteen thousand safe,”
she grumbled.

She was trying to compute how many pounds of lobster four hundred people might consume, when Ronald returned from Sotheby’s. She heard the deep rumble of Monstuart’s voice and hurried to the hall. The gentlemen had already entered the Saloon, and she stopped at the mirror to rearrange a wayward curl. Two flags of pink splotched her cheeks, and her eyes were sparkling. She saw Monstuart reflected in the mirror. His dark head was held at its usual proud angle. His arrogant, angular face looked handsome as he glanced around the room. Then he slowly turned toward the hall. He was looking for her! He must be; the rest of the family was already there.

When she entered the Saloon, she was careful not to look first at Monstuart, but she felt his eyes on her. When she finally condescended to greet him, he did no more than bow, but there was a conscious look in his eyes; a look of satisfaction was the closest she could come to describing it. She gave a noncommittal smile, then turned her attention to the tiara.

Ronald opened the blue velvet box, shaped like a heart and lined inside with white satin. Nestled on the satin was the beautiful jeweled piece. It rose to a high point in the center, then swept in a graceful curve to a lower crown. The pièce de résistance was a large star sapphire in the center, roughly the size of a cherry. It was encircled with diamonds. One could not but admire it, yet it seemed more suited to a queen than a modest young bride.

“I didn’t think it would be so big,”
Melanie said. Her voice showed no admiration.

“Try it on,”
her husband urged. He lifted it out, put it on her head, and led her to a mirror. He tried to push it down lower on her head so that it would not rise to such startling heights.

“It looks like a crown,”
she objected.

Even Ronald, no connoisseur, was not entirely  happy with the effect. “You have to be dressed up to show it off,”
he said. “It don’t look half so well with a muslin gown as it will with silk.”

“I daresay it suited the Empress Josephine very well,”
Mrs. Hermitage said doubtfully.

“What is your opinion, Miss Hermitage?”
Monstuart asked, using it as an excuse to examine her. The riot of raven curls lent her a saucy air. Her morning gown reminded him of bluebells. He longed to set the tiara on her head. She was made to wear one, as the Marchioness of Monstuart would do.

“It doesn’t suit Mellie, but as a family heirloom, I suppose, it is impressive,”
Sally said.

“Yes, it will look well in the family collection,”
Mellie said, and immediately took it off.

“Dash if, Mellie, I bought it for you!”
Ronald objected, becoming vexed. “Put it on and wear it.”

“In the house? I am sure no one is expected to wear such a great, heavy thing around the house.”

Sally glanced at the wine decanter, thinking someone ought to offer Monstuart a glass of wine, since he was being biddable in allowing Derwent to spend his money. It seemed a good opportunity to nudge him toward more practical financial leniencies.

“Would anyone care for wine?”
she suggested.

Everyone accepted, and they sat down. Monstuart took a seat beside Sally on the sofa, a little removed from the others.

“Did Derwent get the tiara at a good price?”
she asked.

“It was a
steal at a
thousand guineas.”

“Were there many bidding against him?”

“No, we got it at the floor bid. The stones alone, if pried out, would more than return the price.”