Lady Jane's Ribbons Page 5

  If he returned. It was a very big if, for the journey to Brighton took all of five hours, even in a crack coach like the Iron Duke, which meant ten hours on the road, excluding whatever time he spent there. She glanced at her little gold fob watch. She’d last seen him at about eleven that morning, and then he’d driven to Thames Street and had the Iron Duke made ready, so he couldn’t possibly have set off much before midday. She sighed, for even if he drove all the way to Brighton and back at breakneck speed, with barely a halt in between, he still couldn’t be back in London much before eleven tonight, at the very earliest. Then he’d have to change and drive to Lyndon house in Berkeley Square, which meant it would be nigh on midnight before there was any chance at all of seeing him at the ball! And what if he’d forgotten it anyway and intended staying overnight in Brighton?

  Oh, no, surely he wouldn’t…. But, unfortunately, it was only too possible; she knew her brother only too well.

  And she had problems of her own if he wasn’t there to escort her to the ball, because she didn’t have her companion, Mrs Rogers, either. Sometimes it was very tiresome being a single lady in society. Under the circumstances she’d be reduced to just Ellen, which wasn’t really the thing but surely wasn’t so dreadful a sin – at least she didn’t think it was.

  SIX

  Shortly after this, she was seated at the escritoire in the blue saloon trying to write a letter to her favorite aunt, Lady Agatha Derwent, when through the open windows she distinctly heard the sound of a carriage above the noise of the crowds. Could it be Henry? Had he remembered after all and turned back? Swiftly, she got up and hurried to the balustrade overlooking the vestibule, but as she gazed down to see who was admitted, the hope faded abruptly away, for it was Charles Moncarm, Marquis of Bourton, who stepped inside and handed his hat, gloves, and cane to Melville.

  ‘Is Lady Jane at home?’ she heard him ask.

  ‘I’m up here, Charles.’

  He smiled up at her. ‘Good afternoon, Jane.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Charles. Please come on up. Melville, will you serve some tea in the blue saloon?’

  ‘Very well, my lady.’ The butler bowed and withdrew.

  Charles came up the staircase toward her. He was twenty-seven years old and of medium height and build, his wavy brown hair worn in the side-whiskers which were fast becoming the rage with gentlemen of fashion. He wore a mulberry coat and gray trousers, and there was a ruby pin in the center of his discreet, uncomplicated cravat. His looks were agreeable rather than handsome, but his hazel eyes had a certain appeal which made him far from unpopular with the opposite sex. To Jane, however, he was simply Charles, the friend she’d grown up with and liked so very much, and who would never amount to anything more, no matter how much he wished it otherwise.

  Reaching the top of the staircase, he drew her hand to his lips. ‘It’s good to see you again. Six months is far too long.’

  ‘It’s good to see you again too, Charles.’

  ‘I hope I haven’t called at an inconvenient time.’

  ‘No, I was just about to try and write to Aunt Derwent.’

  ‘Try? I thought letter writing came disgustingly easily to you.’

  ‘It does usually, but today I’ve got so much on my mind. Shall we go to the blue saloon?’

  He pulled her hand gently through his arm. ‘Can I be of any assistance with this whatever it is that’s on your mind?’

  ‘Not unless you can produce my odious brother out of thin air.’

  He closed the saloon’s elegant double doors behind him and leaned back against them for a moment, looking curiously at her. ‘Produce Henry out of thin air? Have you lost him then?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking. He’s taken himself off to Brighton, would you believe, and on Blanche’s big day! I could box his silly, selfish ears for him.’

  ‘From your tone, I’d hazard a guess that it’s his infernal coaches that have caused this.’

  ‘Yes.’ She explained what had happened. ‘So you see, I really don’t know if he’s going to be there tonight or not. If he doesn’t get there, he’ll be positively thrusting Blanche into Dursley’s horrid arms, and her father will be doing all he can to help her on her way. Oh, Charles, what am I going to do?’

  ‘What are you going to do? I fail to see that there’s anything you can do.’

  ‘Should I warn Blanche what’s happened?’

  ‘I rather think not. What if he arrives in time after all? You’d have upset her for nothing, wouldn’t you?’

  Jane sighed and nodded. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Besides, I’m sure Henry will do the right thing and present himself in good time. If he doesn’t, I’ll escort you.’ He led her to the sofa. ‘Now then, sit down and relax a little. You look positively fidgety.’

  ‘So would you be if Henry was your brother.’

  ‘I hardly want Henry as my brother, since that would make you my sister, and that’s not how I want things to be at all.’

  To her relief, Melville came in at that moment with the tea, which was prompt because it had been about to be served anyway. The butler placed the elegant silver tray on the table before the sofa and then withdrew again. Jane poured the tea into the dainty pink-and-white porcelain cups and handed one to Charles. ‘What have you been up to while I’ve been away?’

  ‘Don’t change the subject.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware that we were discussing any particular subject.’

  ‘I was pointing out to you that I don’t regard you as my sister.’

  ‘I know you don’t, Charles.’

  ‘I’ve thought a great deal about you since you so providently handed Ardenley his congé, and I’ve come to the conclusion that now is once again my opportunity. You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?’

  Slowly, she nodded. ‘Yes, but I wish you wouldn’t.’

  ‘I can offer you a great deal, Jane.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I love you very much.’

  She met his steady gaze then. ‘I know, and I love you too, but it isn’t the right sort of love.’

  ‘But it’s still love, and I believe it would grow into that other sort of love. We could do very well together, Jane.’

  She shook her head. ‘It wouldn’t work, Charles. No, hear me out. I couldn’t be satisfied with what you and I would have together, for it simply wouldn’t be enough. I’d need to feel very differently about you in order to marry you.’

  He put his cup down. ‘Meaning that you’d need to feel as you did about Ardenley?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And where did that get you?’

  ‘Don’t, Charles….’

  ‘No, I want to know. If that love was so wonderful and fulfilling, why did he keep the Duchess of Brantingham’s charms so very close all the time? You’re deluding yourself about that so-called love, Jane; it was a fleeting passion which was as intangible and inconsequential as a will-o’-the-wisp!’

  ‘It was a little more than that, Charles,’ she said quietly.

  He was silent for a moment. ‘Maybe it was, but the fact still remains that it came to a very unhappy conclusion.’ He studied her for a moment. ‘That is, if it is concluded.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘I wonder.’

  ‘Can’t we talk about something else? The weather perhaps? Or the queen’s return?’

  ‘Both are exceeding tedious subjects.’

  ‘Then shall we gaze at each other in amicable silence?’

  He smiled then. ‘No, I’ll just say my final piece and then remove myself so that you can continue your letter writing. I’m not going to give up yet, Jane. I’m determined to win you, and I rather suspect that I will after tonight.’

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘When you are faced once and for all with Ardenley’s love for Alicia. You haven’t seen them together, have you? You dashed off to Cheshire to lick your wounds, and that was that. Maybe you’ve thought about him being with her, but you haven’t seen t
hem for yourself. And maybe, too, in your bitterness, you’ve forgotten that although Alicia may have a rather scandalous reputation, she’s still a very beautiful and fascinating woman, certainly beautiful and fascinating enough to keep her hold on a man like Ardenley.’ He got up then. ‘I’ll ask you again, Jane, and again, until you accept, of that you may be sure. And remember, if you need me to escort you later, just ask.’ Leaning over, he kissed her lightly on the cheek and then left.

  Later, with the letter to her aunt completed at last, Jane went up to her rooms to begin her lengthy preparations for the ball, and in the first instance that meant taking a bath. Ellen undressed her and brushed her long dark hair before pinning it up into a loose knot on the top of her head. Then the maid drew a screen around the elegant copper bath tub in the center of the little bathroom, and Jane stepped into the deliciously warm, lavender-scented water. She leaned her head back against the soft pink cloth which had been draped around the tub, and closed her eyes. The bath was meant to be relaxing, but she had far too much on her mind for that. First there was Henry and his atrociously ill-timed flight to Brighton; then there was Charles; and finally there was Lewis….

  Her thoughts traveled back to the first time she’d met him. It had been at Kensington Palace the previous June, when society had attended the christening celebrations of the little Princess Victoria, daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Kent. After a while, she and Lewis had slipped out into the gardens overlooking Hyde Park, and had walked between the flowerbeds which had been a riot of roses, geraniums, and honeysuckle. How sweet and warm the air had been, and how still. Above them had wheeled the rooks and jackdaws for which the palace was famous, and the sound of music had drifted out from the great assembly within. Not a word had passed between them – indeed, they’d hardly spoken at all from that first fateful moment when Henry had introduced them. As he’d taken her hand and drawn it to his lips, his gray eyes so dark and clear as they’d gazed into hers, she’d felt a shock of emotion pass through her such as she’d never known before. Then, as they walked in the gardens, their hands had brushed together again, oh, so briefly. He’d pulled her into his arms, her body crushed close to his, her lips bruised with the passion of his kiss, a passion she’d returned. She’d lost her heart and soul to him, and both would be his until the day she died; but he’d only been toying with her, he had no heart, and his soul was cold.

  ‘My lady?’ Ellen’s voice roused her.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Your gown has been delivered.’

  ‘Oh, good. I don’t suppose there’s any word of the earl?’

  ‘No, my lady, I’m afraid not.’

  Jane finished her bath and then put on her wrap. Ellen had turned back her bed for her to sleep, because the ball was bound to go on until almost dawn, but it was impossible with all the din still going on in the street. The queen had evidently appeared on the balcony again, for the noise was tumultuous.

  She must have managed a little sleep in the end, for Ellen was suddenly bringing her some tea, and the crimson and gold of sunset was slanting into the room. The crowd was still chanting.

  Jane sat up, looking hopefully at the maid, but Ellen shook her head. ‘There’s still no word, my lady.’

  Jane’s heart sank. He’d forgotten completely, she knew that he had. What was she going to say to poor Blanche? And what was she going to do about her own escort? She didn’t really want to ask Charles, not so quickly after his proposal – she’d feel a little awkward being so alone with him. No, it would be better to take Ellen and trust that her predicament was understood.

  ‘Ellen, I’d like you to come in the carriage with me tonight.’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  She only picked at the tempting cold chicken and salad Ellen brought for her. She knew she should eat before an occasion like the ball, but her appetite seemed to have deserted her.

  Afterward, she sat at the dressing table for the maid to apply the face lotion she always prepared before balls and other such tiring assemblies. It was a mixture of cream, crushed grapes, and lemon, and it smoothed and refreshed, leaving the skin perfect for the subtle application of cosmetics. Opening the elegant japanned box of Chinese papers, the maid took out the ones she required. It was considered very vulgar to apply heavy rouge to the cheeks and lips, but a little shading was very necessary if one was to look well under the harsh glare of many chandeliers. The papers were applied very sparingly, leaving a soft pink on Jane’s lips and cheeks, and the merest hint of pearly white on her nose, to prevent it from shining in the heat of the ballroom. The touching of a little of Yardley’s excellent lavender water to her throat and wrists and behind her ears completed this part of her toilet, leaving only the pinning up of her hair and the donning of her clothes and jewels.

  At last she was ready, her hair put up into an intricate knot from which fell a single long curl, while her face was framed by a froth of little curls. Around her forehead she wore a plain golden circlet graced by a large, bright amethyst surrounded by diamonds, while more amethysts and diamonds shimmered from her ears and at her throat, making her eyes seemed even larger and more violet than usual. The gown was exquisite now that the bead decorations were complete, for they caught the light so softly that they resembled the sparkle of frost. Silk stockings, satin slippers, a delicate lilac-and-cream shawl, and a spangled reticule put the final touches to her appearance, leaving only the bringing of the painted fan from the silver casket on the dressing table.

  Outside, above the continuing clamor of the crowds, she heard her carriage arriving. It was time to go. She glanced at her reflection in the cheval glass. What lay ahead tonight? Would Henry do the right thing and turn up after all? She lowered her eyes. And would she be able to conduct herself as if she was completely indifferent when she saw Lewis and Alicia together? Had she enough of the actress in her for that?

  Taking a deep breath, she accepted the fan from Ellen and then, accompanied by the maid, she went down to the vestibule and emerged into the noisy evening to get into the waiting carriage.

  SEVEN

  Mr James Lyndon was a very important man of finance, acting for several members of the royal family and also for a great many aristocrats and other wealthy persons, so even had it not been for his wife’s enviable reputation as one of the finest hostesses in London, the annual ball celebrating their daughter Blanche’s birthday would have been a dazzling highlight of every season. Mrs Lyndon could be relied upon to make any occasion brilliant, and tonight was no exception, for both the decorations and the ambience were quite outstandingly pleasing.

  Lyndon House was set in its own grounds in a corner of Berkeley Square, and was approached through two pedimented gateways set in the tall wall fronting the great courtyard. There was already a crush of fashionable carriages as Jane arrived, and as she drove beneath one of the gateways, she saw that the courtyard, usually rather plain, had been transformed with tiny fountains, each one surrounded by beautiful flower arrangements in the three colors comprising Blanche’s name – white, yellow, and green, for Blanche Xanthe Lyndon. The guests exclaimed in admiration as they alighted, pausing for a moment on the herb-strewn steps to gaze around at the magical scene. Then they went up the steps to the porticoed entrance, where the columns were garlanded with still more white, yellow, and green, a mixture of laburnum, white rhododendrons, and leaves. At the doors, two little black pageboys in mock-Elizabethan clothes presented each gentleman with a white carnation for his buttonhole, and each lady with a wrist favor of tight white rosebuds.

  Ellen gazed around, her eyes wide, as the carriage halted at the steps. A footman assisted Jane down to the ground, where the bruised herbs filled the warm evening air with perfume. The splashing of the fountains could be heard above the clatter of the carriages and the music and laughter emanating from the brilliantly illuminated house. The maid remained in the carriage and would be there to chaperone her mistress home afterward. Jane hesitated, suddenly apprehensive, but then went
slowly up the steps, smiling at the pageboy as he presented her with her favor. Then she was in the great vestibule, with its magnificent black marble double staircase and priceless French chandeliers, and the scene which greeted her made her halt in wonder, for she had never seen so many flowers before, all of them in the same three colors. There were blooms, boughs, leaves, and petals everywhere, garlanding columns, draped along mantelpieces, twining up the staircase, covering console tables, adorning windows and corners, and even tumbling from the ceiling, where baskets frothing with lace and ribbons overflowed with roses and irises. It was all staggeringly beautiful and must have cost a fortune, but it transformed the house into a bower where the goddess Flora herself might have appeared at any moment.

  There was a great crush of people, and the noise was quite considerable, so that first she didn’t hear Charles calling her as he pushed his way toward her. ‘Jane?’

  She turned at last, smiling at him. ‘Good evening, Charles. What a press this is!’

  ‘Which gives me an excellent excuse for standing rather closer to you than is quite proper,’ he said, bending over her hand. He looked very dashing in a tight indigo velvet evening coat and white trousers, and there was a very large diamond in the pin adorning his white silk cravat. He smiled into her eyes then. ‘You’re more beautiful than ever tonight, Jane.’ He tied the favor onto her wrist. ‘I take it that there’s no word yet from Henry?’ He looked at her a little reproachfully for not asking him to escort her, but he knew why she hadn’t.

  ‘None at all.’

  ‘There’s time yet.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘You don’t sound very hopeful.’

  ‘I’m not. Oh, Charles, what am I going to say to Blanche and her parents? How can I possibly excuse him?’

  ‘We’ll do our utmost to delay seeing them, shall we?’

  ‘We couldn’t possibly.’

  ‘Why not? Is there a rule which says we must go directly to the ballroom? No, there isn’t, so we’ll make an extremely leisurely circuit of the house first, taking in the drawing room, the music room, the library, and anywhere else we can think of, and we’ll stop to talk to every living soul we meet, even those whose claim to actually being alive stands in question, since they seem to me to have been visited by a taxidermist at some point.’