Emily Hendrickson (16 page)

“Why,” he improvised, “tell her you simply were carried away and could not make up your mind, so you took them all. Surely she will understand that?”

“Mama might, but I doubt Grandmama will. Unless she has something else to worry about,” Chloe replied in a considering voice.

“In that case, perhaps we should think of something!” St. Aubyn said with a dashing twinkle in his eyes that quite captivated Chloe until she absorbed what he had said.

“What?” she baldly asked. “I doubt there is little that would ensnare her attention.”

“It must be of such a magnitude that all else pales into nothing beside it.”

“Hullo, St. Aubyn,” Sir Augustus Dabney said as he approached them. “Plan on White’s for dinner?” He surveyed Chloe with curiosity, noting the quiet propriety of her dress and the maid trailing behind her.

“Gracious, the time!” Chloe exclaimed in horror. “How good of you to remind us,” she said in heartfelt gratitude to the amazed Dabney, who had been hoping to needle one or both of the two, who appeared so intensely absorbed in one another that they seemed to see nothing or anyone else.

“Later,” she murmured to St. Aubyn, then scrambled into the hackney that promptly appeared when St. Aubyn had raised his cane in summons.

Sir Augustus stared after the departing vehicle with a puzzled expression on his face. He tilted his head, then said, “She looks different, somehow. Agree, St. Aubyn? Wonder what happened.”

He was not offended when St. Aubyn muttered some vague words of reply and then marched off in the opposite direction. Sir Augustus was quite accustomed to being ignored. Why else did he dress like a peacock if not to gamer attention he would otherwise never know?

Chloe rushed up the stairs to her room followed by a cautious Ellen, who kept peering about to see if they were observed.

Scroggins came into the entry just as the two women whisked around the top step and along the hallway to the upper floor. He glanced up at the rustle of skirts, but ignored it as nothing of importance.

In her room. Lady Chloe sank on the bed for a moment to catch her breath. She exchanged a look with her maid, then said, “Did you ever know a day such as this?”

“Rose isn’t likely to forget it, for sure,” Ellen said. “She was terrified, but she is a game girl. I think she will do.”

“I trust she will. St. Aubyn said his man Rogers would keep an eye on her until they reach the country.”

“Mercy,” Ellen said with a hint of amusement. “Poor man.”

Chloe contemplated the scullery maid’s future at the country estate belonging to Mr. St. Aubyn and wished she might be there to check on the girl. It would be terrible if she were rescued from one pitfall only to plunge into another.

Then she rudely caught herself up, for there was no way she might accomplish such a matter. She had gone quite far enough today.

As if divining her thoughts, Ellen said, “At least she has a chance to make her way now, and with good food and a bit of work, she’ll likely grow up to serve for a good many years.”

“Dinner, Ellen. If I am late, Grandmama will ask all manner of embarrassing questions. In her view, selecting a gown or two does not take any time at all,” Chloe concluded, thinking of the little time spent at the unfashionable mantuamaker where her grandmother had taken her.

Within a brief time Chloe changed into another dress, a soft gray and white muslin that swirled about her figure in a way neither her grandmother nor the mantuamaker had anticipated. Ellen had taken needle and thread to alter the depressing gown into something halfway decent.

At the dinner table Chloe was relieved to find her grandmother totally absorbed in her own thoughts.

With nothing more to do than consume her meal, she ate well until the sweet arrived.

“I received a note just before dinner. Anonymous. But I am disturbed by the contents of it, nevertheless.” Lady Dancy said with a look of speculation on her face that quite daunted Chloe.

“What did it say?” she obediently queried, as she supposed she was expected to say.

“That you and St. Aubyn had an assignation this afternoon at a mantuamaker’s establishment on Bond Street. Is that true?” Sharp eyes seemed to penetrate Chloe’s bones and skin to her very soul.

Her worst fears realized, Chloe searched her mind for a truthful reply that revealed enough without too much.

“Well, I did have an appointment to go for a drive with him in the park,” she began.

“I thought as much,” the dowager said with a narrow-eyed look at her granddaughter. “So?”

“Well,” Chloe said, the very words dragged from her honest little heart, “I went to the mantuamaker alone with Ellen—Laura was unable to go along with me. And Mr. St. Aubyn chanced to see me enter the shop. He stopped in to inquire if I still intended to go for a drive with him.”

“I see.” There was a slight pause, then the dowager said, “And?”

“That was most of it, ma’am.” Chloe pleated her napkin with nervous fingers, her mouth dry and heart a-flutter. Not being a devious girl, she suspected that did she try to lie it would be perfectly obvious.

“Would I be displeased if I discovered the remainder of that ‘most’?”

“I trust not,” Chloe said fervently.

“I shall say no more about it, then. It is most likely the work of a jealous woman. The handwriting looked vaguely familiar, although I could not place it. Perhaps you can?”

Thankful that her grandmother placed sufficient faith in her to give her this chance, Chloe accepted the note to peruse. “I believe it to be Aunt Elinor’s,” Chloe concluded. Her aunt had made no attempt to disguise her handwriting, most likely figuring that Chloe would never see the missive.

“Indeed. The troublemaker! Well, I shan’t fall victim to her wiles and ruses. You look well enough after such a fatiguing day. I daresay it would be a good thing were we to attend the theater this evening. Prepare to leave within a short time.”

Astounded at the turn of events, Chloe left the table to fetch her gray velvet cloak. What a blessing her grandmother had neglected to inquire if Chloe had indeed gone for that drive with St. Aubyn. She doubted if it made much difference to the dowager one way or another, and perhaps that was why she ignored the matter.

Behind her, while she awaited Scroggins, the dowager watched her charge leave the room, noting the more confident carriage and head held high. Something had happened, and she wondered if it had anything at all to do with that dashing scoundrel, St. Aubyn.

Chloe enjoyed the theater, although the charming St. Aubyn was not present to delight the eye. While the actors droned on about some utterly silly dilemma, she dreamed about her pretty gowns and dashing new habit of leaf green that St. Aubyn had insisted she order.

The day of the Sefton ball Chloe lingered about in the vicinity of the back staircase, thinking of one excuse after another to be close by in the event of the delivery of her pretty gown. Ellen promised to keep a sharp eye and ear on the rear door, so that when the boy came, she might be the one to receive the box.

“ ‘Tis here,” came the whisper at long last. Ellen hurried up the stairs and into Chloe’s room, followed closely by her mistress. The gown was reverently placed on the bed for both to admire.

“I hope…” Chloe began. “Oh, I hope.”

* * * *

Across London Julian leaned back in his leather chair at White’s, watching the scene from the bow window with his friend Brummell.

“And how goes the affair a la Lady Chloe?” the beau inquired in his lazy manner. He studied the view beyond while idly swinging his quizzing glass to and fro.

“Affair? There’s no affair. Merely trying to help the girl,” Julian answered with matching ennui. “She is a nice child and deserves better than her grandmother is forcing upon her.”

“Is that not Twisdale coming here with Dabney in tow? I keep forgetting that Twisdale is still tolerated among us.” Brummell sighed and sipped his wine with a pensive air, as though debating the vagaries of the prevailing rule. “Curious pair,” Julian admitted, then lapsed into silence while considering what the unsuitable duo might be up to at the club. This so intrigued him that he signaled to Brummell that he would monitor the conversation.

“I believe they headed for the reading room, old chap,” Brummell murmured.

Without a word, Julian slipped from his comfortable chair and casually strolled about the club, silent and remaining in the shadows. It was somewhat thin of company this day, considering there must be some five hundred members. At last he saw Twisdale and Dabney seated on a pair of chairs on the far side of the room. There appeared no way he might sidle up to listen to what they plotted—for plotting they must be. They had the look of schemers.

Catching the eye of one of the waiters, he motioned to him. When the man drew close, Julian made his proposition and offered a shiny gold coin, which was promptly accepted.

From the comfort of a cushioned chair, Julian watched, concealed behind the convenient pages of a newspaper, as the waiter began to check for wineglasses, wipe a table, and in general linger about the area where the two conferred. The concentration of the pair was such that they scarcely appeared to notice the man.

It was some time—with the waiter circling about as discreetly as he might—before he returned to report to Julian. With a nod of the head, Julian led him into the hallway. “Well? I trust you learned something?”

“Indeed, sir. Know you a Lady Chloe, by chance?”

“Explain, man.” Julian listened attentively as the conversation was revealed to him. When done, he returned to Brummell, paused to chat a few minutes, then went on his way. He passed several friends without seeing them until Purcell came upon him.

“A brown study, Julian? What goes?”

And Julian told him what had been overheard.

* * * *

“What do you think Grandmama will say when she sees this gown?” Chloe anxiously asked Ellen. “For one thing, it is not gray!”

“Indeed, miss.” The usually reticent maid stood back to survey her handiwork and clasped her hands before her in admiration. “ ‘Tis a treat to see you, even if the dress is just short of indecent.”

“Surely Mr. St. Aubyn would never have permitted me to purchase such a thing if it were,” Chloe declared emphatically, but with a note of worry. She fingered the delicate edging of the bodice while glancing into the looking glass once again to see if that ethereal creature could really be her.

She did not miss the way the pale gold gossamer satin clung to her figure, nor the fascinating—to her—manner in which the aerophane crepe drifted about her like a delicate peach cloud. It was unlike any gown she had ever seen and she suspected she might garner more than a few looks this evening.

When she descended the stairs to the dining room, she paused at the doorway to give the dowager a cautious glance.

“Well? Is this the result of your shopping expedition? Come in here, girl. Let me have a look at you.”

Swallowing carefully, Chloe advanced around the table until she stood before her grandmama. Then she waited for the storm to break.

“Hm.” The dowager picked up a pair of spectacles she kept for reading her numerous newspapers and stared at Chloe as though examining a particularly fascinating article.

“Well?” Chloe said at last.

“You will do. Although heaven knows what Maria will say when she sees you. I hope you remember that Lady Sefton is responsible for your entree into Almack’s. If you cause her to change her mind this evening, it will be the dire consequence of your little rebellion.”

Startled that her grandmother had seen so clearly what she was about, Chloe murmured something in reply, then took her place at the side of the table.

The meal was consumed in silence, and before long the two women left the house in Lady Dancy’s elaborate Town coach. Chloe sat on edge, thinking pins and needles must be more comfortable than how she felt at the moment.

She thought that a great many eyes stared at her while she slowly made her way up the stairs at the Earl of Sefton’s lovely home. Silly girl, she admonished herself. ‘Tis your imagining, nothing more. With a fluttering heart she advanced into the ballroom where the earl and his countess stood receiving their quests. This was her first test. What would her ladyship say?

“Harriet, can this be your granddaughter?” Lady Sefton cried when she saw Chloe. “Why she has emerged from that dreadful gray cocoon you wrapped her in to become the most gorgeous of butterflies.” She bestowed a fleeting kiss on Chloe’s flushed cheek before appraising the gown again.

“Thank you, ma’am. You are most kind,” Chloe said with proper manners.

“Madame Clotilde, I vow. ‘Tis her touch, I feel sure.” Lady Sefton sighed and smiled, “Oh, to be young with a figure like yours and a fortune as well. The world will be at your feet tonight.”

Chloe smiled hesitantly, then passed on to greet the earl, who gave her a most appreciative look.

At her grandmother’s side, she advanced into the main part of the ballroom, stopping to admire the decorations and abundant flowers that filled the great ums about the room.

When Julian caught sight of Chloe his breath seemed to vanish and he had to almost remind himself to resume that most necessary of functions. The gown was as lovely as he had recalled but she looked different. Oh, her pretty auburn hair still curled about her head as charmingly as it had before and her eyes were still that entrancing mixture of blue and green, but a mysterious something had been added and he didn’t know what it was. However, she certainly did not look plain this evening.

“By Jove,” breathed an awed Theo Purcell, “that
is
Lady Chloe, is it not?”

“Mind your manners, Purcell. And remember what it was that I learned today.” Julian gave his friend an admonishing look, then turned to find that Lord Twisdale had entered the room.

“Right-o,” Theo said, also taking in the arrival of the odious Twisdale.

“He looks utterly furious,” Julian said with a great deal of satisfaction.

“Yes, he does,” Theo seconded. “You actually believe he will press her to marry him this evening? Here? At the Sefton Ball? I mean,” he added at the look from Julian, “it is not just any ordinary ball, y’know.”