A Grand Deception (10 page)

"No, look! Isn't it beautiful?" She ran toward the crumbling archway without a worry about its stability. A strand
of hair escaped from under her bonnet and blew across her
face; she continued without attempting to brush it aside.
Once inside the structure, she stopped in her tracks. There,
standing before her was the Earl of ... no.

It was Sherwin. His dark hair tousled, and wearing his
wire-rimmed spectacles, he'd been examining some inscription on the wall. She'd startled him, and he turned at her
sudden entrance.

They stood there for what felt like an eternity, staring at
each other. Motionless. Speechless. Breathless.

"I beg your pardon, Lady Muriel," he whispered. His
voice sounded deeper than usual, as if laced in sleep. Then
he bowed before departing as suddenly as she had arrived.

Muriel stood amid the ruins alone. She never would have
thought he would be here. If she had given it some thought,
of course this was a place he would wish to visit, just as she
did. But why now? Why had he been here just as she arrived? The chances of them arriving at the same place at
the same time ... it seemed too much of a coincidence.

Yet he could not have known she would be here. And Muriel had had no idea of Sherwin's presence before she arrived.
Clearly they were alike, still very much alike, in so many
ways. She supposed he truly hadn't changed that much.

No, he hadn't.

And hadn't he looked more like himself, his old self, the
one Muriel remembered, when he wore his spectacles?
She preferred him that way, studious and handsome. How
she wished he could have remained to inspect and study the
ancient walls with her. She would have so liked to have his
company.

"Lady Muriel?" Sir Samuel entered from the same portal
as she had. "Is there anything amiss? I saw someone running
out."

"No, everything is fine." But it wasn't. Muriel's reason
for visiting the site seemed to dissolve like the crumbling
walls around her.

Somehow her discovery of this Roman wall wasn't as momentous as she'd first thought, once she'd realized that the
opportunity of sharing it with someone who would enjoy it
with her seemed more important.

Sherwin returned home in ample time to dress for the Devonshire dance practice. He now stood in the middle of his bedchamber with Lewis, going through his usual dressing
ritual.

A green vest hung next to his Egyptian brown jacket, his
mother's choice for this morning's gathering.

"I wish to wear the light-blue-and-white-striped silk
waistcoat, Lewis." Sherwin felt the colors of the clouds and
clear blue sky better suited his mood. The words had tumbled out of his mouth. What his mother might think about
his voicing an opinion regarding his clothing, he wasn't certain. Making his own preferences known to his valet was
tantamount to countermanding Lady Amhurst's orders.

Lewis stilled, standing motionless for several moments.
For the first time Sherwin noticed that the valet had been
taken aback.

"Her ladyship instructed me that you should don the green
brocade," he replied in unsteady tones. "She was very
insistent that you should look especially your best for this
morning."

"Of course." On the whole, Sherwin had no complaints.
"That's fine. Proceed." He held out his arms, allowing the
valet to slip on the green vest and settle it onto his shoulders
before fastening the buttons at his midsection.

His morning had started out wonderfully. Sherwin had
risen early, as his mother instructed, and left the house before
the rest of London woke. At that time of the morning, his
barouche had rolled along the deserted streets alone. He knew
where the Roman wall was located but had had no idea how
to get there. Actually, Sherwin found getting around anywhere an overwhelming task.

At Eton, if it were not for the other students he could follow, he would be at a loss as to his direction. The city was
no better. Sherwin was continually confused as to how he
had arrived at a certain place, and he had no idea how to return from where he had come. It had always been so for
him.

To make getting about worse, he did not know how to
ride a horse, nor did he know how to drive a pair; thus his
need for a coachman.

After Sherwin had arrived at the Roman wall, his visit
had been cut short, which hadn't pleased him. Running into
Muriel had been completely unexpected.

In that moment they'd met in the ruin, he remembered
exactly what had drawn them together: her inquisitive nature
and their mutual thirst for knowledge. It had been similar to
the first time they'd met. She had discovered him in her favorite chair reading her copy of Publius Vergilius Maro's
Aeneid. At first Muriel had been furious that he dared touch
her books, but then, when she'd realized he was reading the
untranslated version, respect had replaced her anger. They
had been friends ever since.

Muriel's appearance that morning had startled him, but
her reaction upon seeing him had taken him completely by
surprise. She had softened toward him somewhat, perhaps
hating him a little less.

The sentiment had been reflected in the brief smile and
sparkle in her eyes that was evident even to him. Sherwin
suspected that she was unaware of the change in her own
feelings, but he had to admit that he was pleased.

He could well imagine that her interest in the crumbling
wall was the same as his. But what was she doing there at
that hour in the morning?

After he had excused himself and left her company, he'd
dallied just outside. He hadn't thought he'd reenter, but he
could not quite bring himself to depart. That was before he
saw a man, a young man, follow her inside.

The site had not been preserved but merely remained and, most likely, was not often visited. Sherwin was certain it
hadn't meant much to most people except for him and ...
perhaps Muriel.

The appearance of her companion had given Sherwin
ample reason to return to his carriage. Leaving the premises, he had passed their empty, closed carriage. Despite his
ineptitude in all things social, even Sherwin knew the impropriety of an unchaperoned couple using such a vehicle
and could not imagine that the Duke or Muriel's aunt Mrs.
Parker would have approved.

Something was not quite right.

His mind was a jumble. He could not erase the memory of
their chance encounter, nor could he prevent the moment
of their meeting from repeating itself in his mind.

"You are dressed, my lord," Lewis announced. "I hope
you are pleased."

Sherwin stepped back from the full-length glass to where
he could clearly see himself.

The color of his waistcoat stood out in contrast with
the brown of the jacket and the fawn of his knee breeches.
He narrowed his eyes in consideration. It was then he realized he didn't care for green.

Muriel and her aunt entered Devonshire House after one in
the afternoon with a number of others. This gathering was
more informal than a ball.

Aunt Penny faced Muriel to unfasten her niece's cloak.
"Your eyes," her aunt whispered on a sigh. "You look no more
rested than yesterday. I insist you march straight to your
bedchamber once we return."

"Have you forgotten? Sukey and I are to drive out with Mr.
Ambrose and Mr. Stanley. They have promised us something
very special!"

"Oh, yes. How will you ever catch up on your rest?" Lines
of worry appeared upon Aunt Penny's forehead. "When did
your constitution become so delicate? I always remember
you as a healthy, robust child."

"I cannot say, Aunt Penny." Muriel thought perhaps she
might make some effort to rest and allay her aunt's concern.
She felt fine, but it appeared that those around her did not
find her so. Especially when they thought she'd slept for
more than ten hours.

After finishing with Muriel's outer garments, Aunt Penny
began to remove her own. "There is your Aunt Mary and
Constance-go at once and meet them. I shall be along
shortly."

Muriel had the odd feeling she should make a special effort to appear cheerful this morning. The possibility that her
secret might be close to discovery unnerved her. She needed
to take more care.

"Good day, Aunt Mary, Constance," Muriel greeted her
relatives.

"Good afternoon, dear Muriel." Aunt Mary's scrutinizing
gaze was as keen as Aunt Penny's. "That is a beautiful day
dress. Pomona green is a splendid color for you. It complements your hair and brings out your eyes."

"Yes" Muriel brightened her smile to demonstrate her enthusiasm, as false as it was. "It is one of my favorites. Aunt
Penny and I chose this the first week we arrived in Town"

Constance, a picture in a rose-colored dress, linked her
arm through her cousin's. "Let us continue, shall we? Her
Grace wishes those of us who are to practice to meet with
the dance master in the Saloon."

"It is quite probable that you will marry one of these young
ladies," Lady Amhurst told Sherwin over her shoulder as she led the way to the Devonshire House Saloon. "You must
make your greatest effort to be agreeable, Sherwin."

"Yes, Mother." Sherwin adjusted his sleeves, still distracted
by the meaning of his encounter at the ruins. He could not
bring himself to focus upon the present gathering.

Muriel hadn't seemed cross with him then. He remembered her cheeks flushed from the excitement of her discovery, the surprised expression, and her beauty ... a long, soft
curl brushing her smooth cheek. Her presence there proved
she still held interest in what she'd once termed "all things
Roman."

So who was this Lady Muriel who had come to London
to find a husband? Surely not the same as the young woman
who'd come to see the ruined Roman wall.

But she had arrived with that man at an unseemly early
hour. Sherwin knew he should not trouble himself with Muriel's conduct, but the unusual circumstances were worrisome.

"Sherwin! Are you listening to me?" his mother scolded
him, and rightfully so. He hadn't heard a word she'd said.

"Mama's right. That is a lovely frock." Constance glanced
at Muriel's dress.

"Thank you, cous-" Muriel meant to return the compliment, but her cousin continued speaking.

"And you have every reason to want to look your best
should you encounter him again. I suspect he will attend."
They approached the open double doors of the Saloon. Constance leaned close to whisper, "The on dit is that there has
been some sort of betrayal between the two of you-a love
triangle, perhaps?"

"Do you mean to tell me the Earl of-" Muriel paused.
Of course her cousin meant him. "What a load of rubbish.
There is nothing of the sort."

"How else can you explain how it is that you two so often
frequent the same places?" Constance's eyes went wide in
accusation. "It is done out of spite, of course."

Their accidental meetings were no more than simply receiving, and accepting, the same invitations. She and the Earl
had come across each other at a few parties, in the Park.
Constance could not know, no one could know, about their
meeting at the Roman wall that morning. Muriel still had
some difficulty reconciling that her dear friend Sherwin
Lloyd and Lord Amhurst were one and the same.

She missed him-Sherwin. Muriel had been trying her
best to forget him, which proved difficult when she kept
running into him. Then there were the times when she was
alone, and thoughts of him came unbidden.

Her gaze drifted along the guests inside the Saloon. And
there- Yes, she saw him. Muriel did her best not to look in
his direction, and perhaps it was too noticeable that she never
glanced to the east side of the room where he stood.

The soft murmurs eventually fell to hushed whispers. The
Duchess of Devonshire bid a warm welcome to her guests
and then introduced the dance master, Monsieur Gravois,
who took charge at once.

Dark-haired, short, and slender, Monsieur Gravois sported
a pointed moustache. His white shirtfront shone in stark
relief to an otherwise all-black wardrobe. He stood with the
bearing of a ballet dancer, extending his limbs and toes
when he moved from one side of the room to the other. He
chose ladies and gentlemen at random, indicating, with the
end of his long baton, where they should stand in the square
formation for the quadrille.

They first spent an inordinate amount of time correcting
hand positions. The Monsieur walked up and down the length of the room examining the various guests' appendages until he was satisfied.

Then they moved on to footwork. The guests endured
step-by-step critiques before the addition of slow music. Misplaced feet, heels, and toes were corrected. Soon the groups
moved in proper tempo across the floor. No one could say they
had not greatly improved.

All music, dancing, and instruction came to an end
when, several hours later, the Duchess of Devonshire intervened.

"You've all done very well," the Duchess commented,
seemingly satisfied with the practice. "I doubt we shall repeat
the unfortunate incident at the Shropes' the other night. What
a disaster that was!" She put off all the bad feelings that the
faux pas invoked. "Let us move on to something new, shall
we?"

"Za valtz," the dance master announced.

"Waltz!" someone cried out.

"But, Your Grace," a timid yet brave Lady Emily objected. "I have not yet been given permission to dance that
at Almack's."

The Duchess turned her head in Lady Emily's direction,
presenting her with an imperious glare. "The Patronesses
of Almack's have no say here. Tonight you all shall be attending my party."

"I beg Your Grace's pardon." Lady Emily, who'd been
nudged repeatedly by her mother, sank into a deep curtsy.

"C'est Tien, enfant." A magnanimous smile spread over
the Duchess' lips. "We need a couple for demonstration purposes" She gestured to the dance master. "Monsieur!"