Anne Barbour (5 page)

Tally knew she should simply let the subject drop, but she found herself incapable of doing so.

“I believe I met her once — when she was Clea Montmorency. She is very beautiful, is she not?”

She pictured the golden vision of loveliness who had held the center of attention, including that of Lord Chelmsford, at that disastrous come-out ball.

“I suppose some would call her so,” sniffed Cat.

“Come now, love,” her husband interposed with a chuckle. “You know very well she is a diamond of the first water. She has held every eligible male under her pretty thumb since her come-out.”

“And the diamond certainly went to the highest bidder.” Cat’s soft voice was edged with uncharacteristic malice. “Do you remember? She and Chelmsford had been in each other’s pockets for months, when she suddenly became betrothed to old Bellewood.”

“But what happened?” Tally stopped short, wishing she had bitten her tongue before betraying any interest in the viscount and his romantic entanglements. “I mean, between Miss Montmorency and the viscount,” she finished lamely.

“No one is sure,” replied Cat. The story put about by Lady Belle, as she became known, is that her father had some sort of dispute with his father. They grew up as neighbors, you know, in Buckinghamshire. Another theory, one which is my personal favorite, is that captivating Clea thought it would be more pleasant to be married to an earl than to a viscount, particularly one who was even wealthier than Chelmsford. But, even after she was married to poor Bellewood, she acted as though she and her Jonathan were the most star-crossed pair of lovers to exchange hearts since Romeo and Juliet. She cast anguished glances at him from across the room and went pale when his name was mentioned — all that sort of dramatic nonsense. Chelmsford acted in a similar fashion; he was so devastated that for a while we all thought he might put a period to his existence!”

“That didn’t last long, as I recall,” put in Richard dryly. “He was seen with a different ladybird on his arm every week, and how he managed to wiggle around all the lures that were cast out to him without being eaten alive, I don’t know.”

“Yes,” retorted Cat, “but when Clea’s husband obligingly passed on to his reward last year, there was Chelmsford, back at the old stand, all but singing outside her window. And didn’t she just eat it up!”

Richard turned to Tally.

“My wife does not care over much for Lady Bellewood,” he pronounced in an informative tone.

“Mm-mm, yes,” replied Tally gravely. “I somehow sensed that.”

Cat, unable to withstand their teasing, allowed a smile to curve her lips.

“Nonsense. Beyond the fact that she’s selfish, arrogant, and hard as nails, I daresay she’s perfectly amiable when one comes to know her.”

With mock dignity, she swirled a bow to her husband, somewhat marring its effect by sticking her tongue out at him. She turned to Tally and offered her arm.

“I shall escort you to your room, dearest, as I can see your eyes are fairly drooping.”

With this, the two ladies made their exits, each with much on her mind.

Chapter Four

Tally’s preparations for the ball were minimal. She had only one gown that could be considered adequate for such an occasion, an India muslin robe of a rather startling shade of yellow. Thanks to the ministration of Cat’s maid, Tally’s hair had been tamed to a semblance of propriety, but even Lisette’s talents were no match for the thick chestnut rope that hung nearly to Tally’s hips. Fastening the strand of pearls bequeathed to her by her mother, Tally scuttled into the small salon just as an exquisitely gowned Cat was being assisted into her cloak by Richard.

“Good Heavens!” were Cat’s only words on observing her friend’s entrance.

“I’m sorry to be so late,” apologized Tally, “but Lisette seemed to experience some difficulty with my hair.”

“I should imagine so,” murmured Cat. “It’s no matter, however. Heaven forefend that we should arrive on time. We should be laughed at as provincials.”

Indeed, by the time Mr. and Mrs. Thurston arrived at the town home of Lord and Lady Jersey with their guest, Lady Talitha Burnside, the gathering had already been voted a sad crush. No hostess could, of course, hope for a higher encomium. Tally thought she had never seen so many human beings packed together. She shyly acknowledged the introduction to her hostess and followed Cat to the bulwark of matrons who lined the far wall of the huge ballroom. She exchanged proprieties with these formidable ladies, and soon found herself engaged in a
bourée
, enjoying herself, as she rarely had in her previous foray into the world of the haut ton. Her card was not entirely full, but it held a respectable list. This was due, Tally was aware, to Cat’s good offices, but she did not allow this fact to dim the glow of the first night of what she considered her New Life.

All the while, behind the glow and beyond the chatter, Tally’s mind was furiously active, taking notes for her sketches. Into her mental portfolio went Lady Webster, whose small eyes glared petulantly out at the world from beneath a garish headdress. The Earl of Mindenhall followed, with his quivering moustaches, of which he was inordinately proud. Also included was Ceddy Bagshot’s quizzing glass with which he delicately punctuated his rather vapid conversation, and in went what appeared to be the entire contents of Miss Fanny Wibbleston’s jewel box, draped around her plump arms, neck, and fingers.

Tally had just added to her files Lord Clathersham’s imposing paunch, over which stretched an ornate waistcoat, dripping with fobs, when her eyes were drawn to the doorway. A newcomer had entered the room, and Tally’s heart gave a panicky lurch as she recognized Lord Chelmsford’s tall figure. As on that night four years ago, beside his quiet elegance, every other man in the room seemed to fade into insignificance.

The viscount was not alone. On his arm was a veritable Vision, dressed in an azure satin underdress, over which floated a tunic of sheerest silver net. Tally recognized her at once as Clea, Countess of Bellewood, at her most bewitching.

Her slender fingertips rested on the viscount’s sleeve, and her head was uptilted toward him, emphasizing the graceful curve of her throat. A dainty diamond tiara glistened in the spun gold nest of curls piled high on her head, and on her deliciously curved breast blazed a spectacular necklace of diamonds and sapphires. Jonathan bent over his fiancée with an expression of pleased appreciation that bordered on the fatuous.

The progress made by the pair into the center of the ballroom was almost royal. Friends were greeted, and compliments acknowledged by the
ton’s
reigning beauty. Conversation seemed to still as the viscount and his Clea greeted Lady Jersey and were bathed in that flighty lady’s most gracious smile.

Tally turned her back and began to speak brightly to the person nearest her, a timid young girl in her first Season. The conversation elicited from this maiden, whose attention was still riveted on the splendid scene taking place beyond Tally’s left shoulder, could not have been described as scintillating—or even coherent, for that matter.

The orchestra launched into a spirited country dance, and those who had gathered around the celebrated newcomers separated to form sets. Tally swung around again just in time to watch Jonathan take Clea’s slender hand into his own as the pair swung into the lively dance.

Once again Tally turned away from the enchanting picture, only to find that the shy recipient of her monologue had been whisked away by Lord Mindenhall.

“Well!” breathed a voice in her ear. “Did you observe the Grand Entrance?”

Tally’s lips curved in a faint smile. At least there was one other in the room who was not enthralled by Lady Belle’s fairy princess aspect.

“Oh, Cat. You cannot say she is not the loveliest creature in the room.”

“No,” replied Cat ruefully, “though it would give me a great deal of pleasure to be able to do so. Come along, Tally, there is someone I particularly want you to meet.”

The someone proved to be yet another perspiring dandy, who, under Cat’s minatory stare, requested Lady Talitha’s hand for one of her open dances. Then, with an air of one carrying duty to its limits, set off to procure lemonade for the ladies.

“Cat,” whispered Tally in anguished accents, “this really is not necessary.”

Cat merely turned upon her a stare of questioning innocence.

“I mean,” continued Tally, “these—candidates you have been presenting all night. I’m sure they’re all very nice young men, but at the moment I do not require a nice young man. I am perfectly happy as I am.”

“Nonsense,” returned Cat serenely. “I am merely ensuring that you have a good time tonight. And don’t tell me you’d rather be sitting on a chair discussing the best remedy for chilblains with all the dowagers.”

“No, but I know you, Cat Thurston. You have matrimony on that scheming mind of yours, and I am not on the lookout for a husband, thank you very much.”

“Nonsense,” repeated Cat. She smiled, gesturing toward the entrance to the card room.

“Look, there is Richard. I thought he would never be finished in there.”

As her husband made his way toward her, he passed Lord Chelmsford and Clea, who, having finished their dance, were recruiting their strength with a champagne cup. Clea bestowed a blinding smile on Richard and reached up on tiptoe to bestow a kiss on his cheek.

“I didn’t know Lady Bellewood and Richard were so well acquainted,” Tally remarked in some surprise.

“Oh, yes,” replied Cat with elaborate unconcern. “They have become quite good friends since she and Chelmsford became betrothed.” She gave a high little laugh. “It’s odd, really. Before the betrothal, Richard had little good to say of her. I expect he has come to terms with her for the sake of his friendship with Chelmsford.”

“Oh,” Tally remarked dubiously, noting the enthusiasm with which Richard returned Clea’s kiss. She was prevented from any further observations by the approach of the little party, which appeared to be in the highest of spirits.

Clea reached out a gloved hand to Cat.

“My dear,” she bubbled, her blue eyes sparkling with an almost febrile vivacity, “I was just saying to your wonderful husband that I vow he is the handsomest man in the room--except for my Jonathan, of course.”

She turned a melting gaze to the viscount, who drew his fingers along the curve of her cheek in an affectionate gesture. He turned to the rest of the group.

“My fiancée must be excused for a certain degree of partiality.”

He bowed gracefully over the hands of the other ladies present and turned to Tally.

“Lady Talitha, what a pleasant surprise to see you again. Thurston tells me you are a guest in his home.”

Startled, Tally’s eyes flew to his. By using her title, was he telling her that he remembered That Awful Night, after all? She was sure she detected a twinkle lurking deep in his smoky eyes, All at once she was seventeen again, and painfully aware of her inadequacies. Why, she agonized, was her wit and sparkle confined entirely to the talent in her fingers? Why was she so plain? Could not the Creator, who had been so generous with Lady Belle, have spared just a little beauty and charm for her?

“Yes,” she croaked in response to the viscount’s words. “I—I just arrived yesterday.”

“And will you be staying long?”

After one more scared glance at Chelmsford’s face, Tally detected a definite spark of mischief in his smile. And, why did that smile have the power to make her senses hum?

As though from the depths of a nightmare, she answered, “Yes—that is, I’m not sure. It depends...”

The last thing in the world Tally expected to feel for Clea Bellewood was gratitude, but when that lady interrupted her, Tally went limp from relief.

“But I want to show off my new present,” purred Clea, with an impatient pout. She lifted one shapely wrist looped by a sparkling bracelet of sapphires and diamonds. It matched the necklace that lay shining above her enticing décolletage.

“Jonathan gave it to me just today to wear this evening. Isn’t it lovely?” She waved her wrist delicately so that the jewels fairly blazed in the candlelight.

“It’s breathtaking, Clea,” returned Cat, her eyes wide.

“Yes.” Clea’s voice was creamy with satisfaction. The necklace, you know, was Jonathan’s betrothal gift to me, and it simply cried out for the finishing touch.”

After one more fond look, Clea allowed her arm to drop gracefully to her side, then turned her attention to Tally. In one, raking glance, Tally felt herself brutally exposed for the dowdy provincial that she was.

“Lady — Talitha, is it?” Clea queried in a tone of total uninterest. “What an extremely quaint name, to be sure.”

“My father was a biblical scholar,” replied Tally, her voice barely audible. “It means, “little girl.”

Clea’s expression clearly expressed her agreement with the biblical scholar’s choice of name for his unremarkable daughter. Then her attention turned to a subject more to her liking, “Richard,” she said pouting, “you have not yet told me how you like my gown. I had it made after you told me you thought that blue was my best color.”

For a moment Richard’s response was a blank look. He quickly recovered however, and bent his lopsided grin on her.

“And I was right. That confection makes your eyes look as though angels had fashioned them from bits of summer sky.”

Clea’s silvery laugh trilled in pleased appreciation. Cat and Tally merely gaped at Richard, and Jonathan raised his quizzing glass to favor him with an astonished stare.

“If that isn’t the outside of enough,” he snorted, in mock indignation. “Do they teach you that stuff at Whitehall? I’ll thank you to stop talking fustian to my fiancée, my good man. You have a beautiful wife of your own to pitch fulsome compliments to.”

Richard turned to Cat, and his eyes warmed.

“As well I know.” He smiled. “But I know she doesn’t require any fulsome compliments from me to assure her of that fact.”

Cat rapped his knuckles playfully with her fan.

“I hate to topple your image of me, my good man, but I am just as susceptible to a well-turned phrase as the next woman.”