A Heartless Design (19 page)

Every time he thought he found something new, it always led back to Miss Bering and Mr Jay. He decided that his mother’s party couldn’t come quickly enough.

* * * *

That same evening, Cordelia attended a small dinner at the Ramsays’ home. Cordelia fended off several questions from Elly regarding Lord Thorne, and begged her friend to drop the whole matter.

“I do not wish to even be mentioned in the same sentence as him, Elly. There is absolutely nothing between us.” The lie stuck on her tongue. Thorne had made his specific interest in her very clear, and she wondered how long it would take for him to offer an arrangement that any true lady ought to refuse. Cordelia didn’t know if she would refuse. Despite the dangers of a potential affair, he had an appeal she couldn’t deny.

Elly relented on that line of questioning, and the rest of the dinner was pleasant enough. Topics ranged from the political, such as the threatened embargo of British ships from French-controlled ports, a topic that worried Mr Ramsay a great deal, to the smaller social issues of the Season. Cordelia heard more about the likely pairing off of young ladies in their coming out Season, and—from one guest—speculation about the finances of certain families.

“Take the Thornes, for example,” the man was saying. “The finest ancestors one could ask for, with an honor granted by the Conqueror himself, and yet now they are scarcely more than beggars.”

“I think you exaggerate,” Elly said smoothly, barely glancing at Cordelia to see her reaction.

Cordelia pricked up her ears, as she seemed to do whenever Sebastien Thorne was mentioned.

“Not by much,” the other said. “Mark my words, either the new earl or that young daughter must make a sterling match to restore the family’s fortunes. I hear Lady Mary Marshall has 30,000 pounds a year, and that the Countess of Thornbury has expectations in that direction. For her son, that is.”

Cordelia kept her eyes on her plate. A title and 30,000 pounds! If those were the qualifications necessary to grab the attention of Sebastien Thorne, Cordelia might as well not exist.

When she left, Cordelia felt oddly drained by the occasion, despite the fact that it was merely dinner at her friend’s home.

Jem had waited this time. He saw her into the carriage and began to drive away. Looking back, Cordelia’s eye was caught by another carriage, this one with a lantern blown out on one side. She remembered seeing the same vehicle on her way to the Ramsay house’. She gave up all pretense and watched it from the back window. It followed them until the moment Jem turned into the drive of the Quince Street home.

Jem jumped down to open the door when the carriage halted before the house. Cordelia stepped out and hurried up the steps, where the front door was already open.

Stiles stood in the hall to take her wrap. “Good evening, my lady. Do you plan to retire immediately, or shall I keep the study lamp on?”

“No, Stiles, I shall be going upstairs right away.”

“Very good.” He paused, seeing his mistress’s frowning expression.

“Stiles, have you checked the locks on the doors and windows tonight?”

“I check them every night,” he said somewhat stiffly. Then Stiles looked at his mistress more carefully. “Has something happened to concern you, my lady?” 

“It may be nothing,” Cordelia said. “I saw something odd tonight. A carriage followed me all the way home. The left-hand lantern was blown out, which is why I could tell.”

“That man wants to scare you.”

“Hayden?”

“Who else? He didn’t get the plans, he lost his opportunity to hurt you, and now he seeks another. You must not go anywhere unprotected, my lady.”

“That thought won’t help me sleep,” she said.

A hard light glinted in Stiles’ eyes, and it was suddenly much easier to picture him as the smuggler he used to be. “I shall personally check every door and window in the house, my lady. If anyone is fool enough to try to get into this house again, he’ll regret it.” Then, just as suddenly, the proper tone of a butler returned. “I’ll have Bond bring you up some chamomile tea. Sleep well.”

* * * *

Cordelia had heard from neither Hayden nor Thorne in two days, nor had she seen anything particularly odd around the house. She hoped that the whole business was over, even though she knew that was unlikely.

The evening of the Countess of Thornbury’s party approached all too quickly. Bond dressed her in a gown of shell pink silk. The cap sleeves were entirely Belgian lace, dyed the same shade as the dress. Long silk gloves completed the outfit.

Though Cordelia was fair skinned, the color reflected on her skin to bring out a blush, and the contrast between the light gown and her midnight hair was striking enough that Bond didn’t want to distract from it, so Cordelia’s headdress was restrained, little more than a wide ribbon and a few long ivory feathers. She allowed Cordelia to wear only a simple silver locket and a coral ring of her mother’s.

“There you are,” Bond said proudly, putting finishing touches to her hair. “Done up like a princess.”

Cordelia laughed. “Then should I not be draped with diamonds or some such?”

Bond shook her head. “All the jewels in the world can’t make a plain woman beautiful. Only God’s grace can do that.”

“Well, I shall try to be graceful as I can.”

Leona was waiting for her downstairs in the drawing room. The older woman was perfectly attired in a slim gown of stormy grey. Her gloves were black, and she wore a ruby at her throat. The colors ought to have made her look somber, but her impish smile belied the outfit. “Are we prepared?” she asked.

“As much as one can be,” Cordelia said.

“Then let’s be off!”

* * * *

Standing in the main ballroom of the townhouse, Sebastien Thorne plastered a smile on his face and endured a series of interminable encounters. His mother had, quite frankly, tricked him. The “few eligible ladies” she mentioned actually numbered over a dozen, and the one who campaigned the hardest was Lady Mary Marshall. She managed to hover at the edge of his vision, and just when he thought to escape, it was time to partner her in a dance.

To be fair, Lady Mary was a charming young person. She was quite pretty, with wide blue eyes and thick waves of brown hair cast over one shoulder. She was witty for nineteen, but that meant little to Thorne, who was used to older companions. Lady Mary was not much older than his sister. The idea of wedding her would have made him laugh if he were in a better mood. As it was, he found himself eager for the end of the dance.

Before the music concluded, though, another figure appeared in the corner of his eye. The glimpse of black hair was enough to make him turn, and then he nearly forgot the next steps in the dance.

From the entrance to the ballroom, Cordelia Bering watched him with a cool expression. Her eyes took in the whole scene, and whether she was impressed or not he wouldn’t dare guess. But she herself was impressive, and he knew he wasn’t the only man there who noticed. The pastel silk she wore hinted at the perfection of the flesh it concealed, and it highlighted the darker pout of her mouth. He wanted to reach out and touch her from across the room.

Lady Mary said something, and he was forced back into the moment. “Excuse me?” he said.

“You are somewhere else, sir,” she said, her voice smooth and teasing.

“Pardon me. I did not mean to be.” With an effort, he finished the set and led Mary off the floor. He returned her to her chaperone, who was ensconced against the wall with several other matrons, and turned around, hoping to see Cordelia again.

* * * *

Cordelia stood not far from the ballroom doors, waiting to be introduced to the countess. She was terribly nervous that the dress had been a poor choice. She worried it made her look as if she were trying to appear young, like that lovely butterfly who had been fluttering near Sebastien. She felt old and out of place, despite Aunt Leona’s assurance that she looked perfect.

An older woman in a stunning gown of sapphire blue approached them.
That must be the countess
, Cordelia thought.

A second later, her guess was confirmed. “Mrs Wharton,” said the blonde lady. “How delightful to see you.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Leona said easily. She took a half step back to reveal Cordelia. “May I present my dear niece, Miss Cordelia Bering?”

“Of course,” the countess said, focusing on Cordelia. Eyes accustomed to assessing now assessed her.

Cordelia curtseyed briefly. “I am so glad to meet you, Lady Thorne. You were most kind to include me in your invitation.”

“Well, the Season would dull quickly if we never met anyone new,” the countess said with a smile. Then she turned and gestured imperiously. “Oh, Sebastien!” 

Cordelia looked over. Thorne was walking toward them, looking exactly like an earl should. Cordelia felt a fluttering in her stomach. Whether she trusted him or not, she knew that she was attracted to him. A different teen-aged girl, as blonde as the countess, accompanied him. A sense of panic began to well up in Cordelia’s stomach. She was not used to this sort of setting.

“I’m glad to still see you here,” his mother said when Sebastien met them. “I expected you to vanish halfway through the evening.”

“If I had, I would have missed reacquainting myself with these two ladies,” he returned, bowing extravagantly.

The blonde girl was watching Cordelia with avid curiosity. “You are Miss Bering,” she said. “I am Adele Thorne. Sebastien’s sister, you know.” She was far younger than Sebastien, and the countess’s last child. By the modest cut of her dress and the excitement in her eyes, Cordelia guessed that Adele had not yet had her first Season, so being allowed to join the party was an indulgence on the part of the family.

“How do you do,” Cordelia managed.

Sebastien gave his sister a stern look, then said to Cordelia, “Please let me introduce you to Adele, though she has already introduced herself.”

The young lady blushed at her gaffe, but wasn’t silenced. “I’ve not seen you around before.”

“I don’t think either of us spend much time in society, but I am pleased to meet you,” Cordelia said. She smiled as well as she was able, considering the scrutiny she was under.

Sebastien’s mother was a bit more subtle. “I am always keen to meet my son’s acquaintances. Although I don’t know precisely how you are acquainted…”

He interjected, “I met Miss Bering when I called on Mrs Wharton a while ago.”

“I see.” The older woman nodded. She surveyed Cordelia top to toe. “So you live here in town?”

“During the Season, ma’am,” Cordelia said. “I also have a house in Bristol, where we sometimes spend our summers.”

“Bristol!”

Cordelia smiled at the lady’s reaction. “Yes, near the shore. My father, Alfred Bering, sailed before he married my mother.”

“Your mother,” the woman echoed.

“Yes. The Honorable Rosamund Russell. The only daughter of Lord Russell.”

“Indeed.” This intelligence marked a visible change in Lady Thorne’s attitude.

Sebastien shot a warning glance at his mother.

Adele surveyed Cordelia’s ensemble. “I say, that’s a marvelous gown. Is it French silk?”

“I think so, and thus I may not have another like it for a while,” Cordelia said, referring to Bonaparte’s determination to block French goods from being sold in Britain.

“Reason enough to stop a war,” Sebastien said quietly. Adele’s eyes widened. Perhaps her brother was not usually so obvious in his attentions, or she was simply unused to hearing such exchanges. He went on, “I should like the honor of escorting Miss Bering for the next set, unless you have need of her, Mrs Wharton?”

Leona waved a hand. “I am content to watch you young people enjoy yourselves.”

“We can catch up,” the countess added, her tone hinting at gossip to come.

“Miss Bering?” Sebastien offered his hand.

She wasn’t much of a dancer, but putting her hand in his felt perfectly normal, as if they had danced together many times before.

He led her to the floor, where they took their places in the lines of ladies and gentlemen. “I must thank you sincerely for agreeing to dance,” he whispered on the way.

“Am I aiding you on some matter, Lord Thorne?” She was reminded of the first time she saw him, ducking into her shadowed grotto in the garden.

“Yes, you are indeed.” He looked around. “I’d like to disappoint some people. And dancing with a beautiful and mysterious woman will destroy some dreams, I hope.”

She warmed at his comment, though she knew it was flattery. “I don’t get asked to destroy a dream every day. If I can be your diversion, I will do so.” The dance began, taking her away from him for a moment.

When they reunited, he said. “You’re hardly a diversion, Miss Bering.”

“Except in the tactical sense.”

“Not even then.”

“Come, now. Once people realize that Lord Thorne’s dance partner is merely Miss Bering of Quince Street, your pursuers will redouble their efforts.”

Another circling away and back around. Cordelia felt her skirts swirl around her ankles, and realized she was having a good time.

Sebastien did not forget the conversation. “They had better not, if they have any sense.” He looked down at her and grinned. “But never mind that. Divert me with your intelligence, Miss Bering.”

She could think of one piece of intelligence important enough to divert him. “I am being followed,” she said, as though merely noting a change in the weather.

He raised an eyebrow. “I won’t ask if you’re certain.”

She appreciated his belief in her judgment. And when the pattern of the dance separated them for another moment, she missed his nearness.

They both met again, following the steps, and she smiled when he took her hand. Thorne returned the smile, but asked in a low voice, “Will you be followed from here?”

“Quite likely.”

“But no one has approached you, or spoken to you?”

“Not since Hayden revealed his true nature,” she said. Cordelia spun and found herself temporarily partnered with an older gentleman to whom she had been introduced once before, but didn’t much remember. Her thoughts were too far away for her to engage in anything but the most superficial pleasantries.