Before the Storm (10 page)

It was a pity though that Mrs Garland would have to rely on newspaper reports for an account of the magnificence that awaited her daughters when they nervously descended, hearts fluttering with panic and excitement from their carriage in front of Lady D’Eversley’s huge white stone mansion on stately Grosvenor Square. They hugged each other with glee as they looked up at the tall windows, which were brightly lit up with thousands of candles, while the distant happy sounds of good times, of music and laughter floated down to the torch lit street below. Finally, unbelievably, the life that they had desperately desired for so long was within their grasp and it was just as glorious as they could have ever possibly imagined.

A large crowd had gathered to watch Milady’s guests arrive and they cheered and shouted florid compliments as the two Garland sisters tied on their sequin and lace trimmed black velvet masks then delicately lifted their floating skirts and made their way up the marble steps into the house, where a flurry of pretty pink cheeked maids divested them of their ruffled silk and tulle cloaks then directed them up the magnificent cream and gold staircase to a large ballroom on the first floor, which overlooked a small but well tended garden.

‘Now there’s a pretty piece!’ a red faced man exclaimed to the gentleman next to him as Eliza floated past him on the stairs, raising his glass of champagne to her in tribute. ‘I wouldn’t mind seeing her without a mask on.’

They arrived at the anti chamber to the long, high ceiling yellow painted ballroom, where a fearsome looking red headed butler who was acting as master of ceremonies took their invitations then announced: ‘Mademoiselle Séraphine de Choiseul-Clermont and Mademoiselle Violette de Choiseul-Clermont’ as a hush fell on the room beyond and everyone turned to stare, their eyes glittering behind their masks.

As Sidonie had hoped, Jules’ plan was both simple and effective. After all, what could be more natural than that his sisters should travel from Paris to London for his wedding day?
 
The fact that no one had ever met Mesdemoiselles de Choiseul-Clermont, who lived in relative seclusion in Paris just made it all the easier. Eliza had been hesitant at first, fearing that their deception would lead to an even graver social iniquity and cold shouldering once they were rightly identified as designing adventuresses but Venetia had shrugged off her fears as so much ridiculous
bagatelle
and in the end she had been persuaded to go along with the plan.

Now though, as she and Clementine hesitated on the threshold of the ballroom and faced the curious and hostile stares directed towards them, her uncertainty returned and she began to wish that they had never attempted such folly. Silently she reached for her sister’s hand and they exchanged a look. ‘Shall we make a run for it?’ she whispered, half jokingly.

Clementine laughed. ‘I think that now we are here, we had better just get on with it,’ she replied. ‘Besides, it’s too late now as here comes Venetia to welcome us.’

‘My dear ones!’ she cried, hugging them both. ‘Don’t you dare run away, you rogues!’ She looked gorgeous in a low cut lilac satin and gauze gown with a wide black velvet belt at the waist. Her usually crimson hair gleamed pinkly through the thick layer of white rose scented powder. ‘Come and meet Lady D’Eversley! She is desperate to make your acquaintance!’

‘Are Phoebe and Matilda here yet?’ Eliza whispered as they walked through the thick crowd that lined the sides of the dance floor, where a dozen couples were enthusiastically dancing an intricate country dance, accompanied by an orchestra playing in a flower bedecked stall at the far end of the room.
 

‘No, not yet,’ Venetia replied, smiling and bowing to everyone that they went past. ‘I do hope they get here soon. We ought to have arranged for you all to come together really. Ah well.’ They had reached a tall, slender lady in deep blue silk who acknowledged them both with a smiling nod. ‘This is our hostess, Lady D’Eversley. Madam, may I present to you Mesdemoiselles de Choiseul-Clermont?’

‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance, ‘ Lady D’Eversley murmured, looking them both over approvingly. ‘Paris fashions?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Eliza lied with what she hoped was a reasonable French accent, making sure to throw in a few hesitancies along the way. They had let Sidonie in on the secret and she had done her best to teach them all how to speak. ‘Thank you for inviting us to your ball. It is so delightful to meet Jules’ English friends at long last.’ Sidonie had done well - Lady D’Eversley was utterly convinced.

‘Ah no,’ she replied in rapid French. ‘The honour is all mine. How charming to have you here. Jules has always spoken so fondly of you all. Are your other sisters downstairs?’

She’d spoken too quickly and Eliza, who had not understood a word of it peered at her in confusion for a moment before deciding that smiling and nodding was the best policy. ‘You are too kind,’ Clementine, who had been paying attention to her French lessons with Sidonie, interjected, saving the day.
 

‘Mademoiselle Athénaïs de Choiseul-Clermont and Mademoiselle Honorine de Choiseul-Clermont,’ the butler announced and again everyone paused and turned to stare as heads held high, Phoebe and Matilda, dressed in matching pink satin gowns, their faces hidden behind red velvet masks stepped boldly into the room.

‘My goodness,’ Clementine gasped as she stared at their friends who were making their way slowly towards them through the almost reverently parting crowd. Eliza watched them in chagrined silence, bitterly wishing that she had thought of something so eye catching and clever as matching dresses.
 

‘Darlings, how astonishing you look!’ Venetia exclaimed, rushing forward to hug first Matilda and then Phoebe, who flicked Eliza a quick, almost challenging look before demurely lowering her blue eyes. ‘Look how everyone is staring at you! Oh, but this is just wonderful!’

‘Oh dear, have we caused a fuss?’ Phoebe asked in mock concern, reaching up to touch the diamond and ribbon choker that glittered around her white throat. ‘I do hope not.’

‘Nonsense!’ Venetia cried with a laugh. ‘You knew exactly what you were doing.’ She smiled up at Jules as he came to stand beside her. ‘What do you think of your sisters, Monsieur le Comte?’ she asked with a mischievous laugh as he bent down to kiss her on the shoulder, risking the scandalised looks of a few nearby women who raised their eyebrows at each other then pointedly turned away. ‘Don’t they look beautiful?’

He produced a small eye glass from the pocket of his sea green silk coat then pretended to seriously look each of them over from the top of their elaborate hair to the sequinned silk and velvet high heeled shoes on their feet. ‘I don’t think that I have ever seen them look better,’ he said at last with a smile, putting away the glass. ‘The change that the Channel crossing has wrought in your complexions is nothing short of miraculous!’

Venetia laughed. ‘I think you should dance with Eliza,’ she whispered to her fiancé. ‘All the young men are circling and clearly need to be shown the way.‘ She winked at her friends.

Clementine watched enviously as her sister went off on Jules’ arm and took her place on the parquet dance floor, closely followed by both Phoebe and Matilda who immediately had their hands requested by earnest young men. ‘It will be your turn next,’ Venetia said, slipping her arm around the younger girl’s waist. ‘It’s only because you look so much younger than the others.’

Clementine laughed. ‘I know, although I must confess to feeling a little slighted by the lack of partners.’ She sighed. ‘I suppose that all the young men assume that I have nothing interesting to say.’

Venetia gave her a twinkling, side long look. ‘That will all change, never fear!’ Her face
 
fell. ‘Oh dear, here comes one of my most ardent admirers! I fear that I am about to be wrest from your side and forced to dance!’ She discreetly jerked her head in the direction of the red faced man who had admired Eliza so shamelessly on the stairs. ‘He’s an Earl so I have no choice but to dance with him should he request it. What a bore when I would much rather stay here with you!’

‘It is of no matter,’ Clementine said with a laugh, unfurling her painted fan which was decorated with scenes from the story of Venus and Adonis. ‘It’s very hot in here isn’t it? I think I will go outside for a while.’
 

‘There’s a very pretty verandah leading off from the ballroom, ‘ Venetia whispered as her elderly admirer advanced relentlessly upon them. ‘I’ll come and find you just as soon as I can be rid of him!’

Clementine smiled and went on her way, gently pushing through the dense crowd that packed the sides of the ballroom. She attracted curious looks from almost everyone that she went past, their eyes glittering behind their velvet and silk masks. She’d always thought masks had a rather devious, sinister look to them and now she was certain of it and even felt scared by them.

‘How pretty these French girls are,’ a plump woman with grey powdered hair said shrilly, stepping in front of Clementine and giving her a quick look up and down. ‘Paris fashions do such a lot for a woman, don’t you think?’

‘Can they speak English?’ her neighbour asked, giving Clementine a nervous look.

‘Not a word of it, I expect. You know what the French are like. Such an ignorant race.’ The grey haired woman smiled falsely at Clementine. ‘How charming to meet you, mademoiselle,’ she said slowly in bad French. Her scarlet rouge had gone on to her yellow teeth and Clementine could not help but stare at it in fascinated revulsion.

Before she could reply, a crooked blue velvet arm appeared beside her and a male voice was addressing her in French. ‘There you are, cousin. You look very hot - will you allow me to accompany you to the verandah?’

Clementine looked up to see a pair of light blue eyes smiling down on her from behind a black velvet half mask. ‘Yes, thank you,’ she said with real gratitude. ‘Madame.’ She swept a low curtsey to the grey haired woman and placed her hand on the man’s proffered arm before letting him lead her away.

‘You looked like you needed rescuing,’ he murmured as they walked to the gilt and glass double doors that led out onto the verandah. ‘I’ve never seen anyone look so piteous.’

Clementine laughed. ‘Oh dear, was I that obvious?’ she asked with a blush.
 

‘A little bit obvious, yes.’ He gave her a sidelong look. ‘Although you could have had a lot of fun with her bizarre assumption that you wouldn’t be able to understand English.’

‘How cruel you are,’ she reproved him before relenting and smiling. ‘But, yes, that would have been very amusing.’ He held the door open for her and she stepped out on to the verandah, which had been decorated with garlands of flowers and pretty, brightly coloured paper lanterns with tiny candles suspended inside. ‘Oh, how charming!’ she said, forgetting to speak in French then putting her hands to her mouth, hoping that he had not noticed her gaffe.

He smiled but said nothing, preferring instead to lean against a wall and bring a small Sèvres snuff box from his pocket while watching her stroll up and down the verandah, admiring the flowers and lanterns. ‘Lady D’Eversley really knows how to throw a party,’ he
 
remarked at last.
 

Clementine sighed, looking back through the glass doors at the dancers in their bright silk clothes and glittering jewels. ‘It’s the loveliest thing that I have ever seen,’ she said sincerely.

‘Really? Lovelier even than your mother’s balls at the Hôtel de Choiseul-Clermont? I’ve always thought them to be particularly beautiful. The one where she made the footmen dress as cherubs with real gold dust on their wigs was extremely memorable.’

She stared at him, utterly aghast. ‘Yes, of course,’ she mumbled. ‘They are also very beautiful.’ Too late she remembered that he had called her ‘cousin’ in the ballroom and now her only thought was to get away from him as quickly as possible before she had an opportunity to further betray herself.
 

‘Poor Violette,’ he murmured sympathetically. ‘You have known me all your life. What a trial I must be to you.’

Clementine laughed then, unable to help herself and liking him despite everything. ‘Yes, you are. A terrible trial.’ She looked at him curiously, taking in his slight frame, dark hair which escaped from beneath his white powdered wig and bright blue eyes which looked at her now with amusement and, she fancied, sympathy. He was a threat to the success of their evening, but nonetheless she found herself wanting to know more about him.

He offered her his arm again. ‘Will you grant your unfortunate cousin the honour of just one dance?’
 

Clementine hesitated for a moment then smiled and nodded. ‘Of course.’ She put her hand on his arm and cast one last regretful look back over her shoulder at the pretty little verandah as they returned to the crowded, fetid ballroom. The elaborate pomaded and powdered hair coiffures of the ladies were beginning to slump and unravel now while their carefully applied face paint and powder was starting to rub off in the heat, leaving pink, shiny patches on their noses and chins. Worse still, the air of the ballroom was thick with the heady, nauseating smell of cologne mingled with sweat.

They danced in silence, much to Clementine’s relief as she dreaded saying the wrong thing or forgetting her meagre French. He didn’t seem to mind how quiet she was though and instead contented himself by smiling across at her as they faced each other across the set and giving her fingers the occasional warm squeeze with his own.