Rondo Allegro (59 page)

“He’s no fool, Master Henry as was,” she said to her
particular friend, Mrs. Pillbury, the housekeeper at Colby Hall, as they sat in
the latter’s sitting room over their tea and buttered scones. “
He
knows what’s o’clock. It’s that being
a ship captain, Diggory says, and I think he is right. He was used to watching
over those seamen, and if there is a worse parcel of rogues than sailors, I
hope never to witness them. Eagles an’t in it! What’s more, if he don’t know a
thing, he is not afraid to ask, and he listens to a body when she tells him how
it’s always been done.”

o0o

The first snow to stick on the ground fell a few days
later, developing rapidly to a blizzard that by Christmas Eve left a white
world, clear as glass and shockingly cold.

It was the day of the Elsteads’ ball. Parrette, put on her
mettle, had made certain that Anna would stand out in pale peach silk, with an
overskirt draped crosswise from the high waist, and embroidered from the waist
down to the hem and all the way around in gold, green, and crimson figures of
Egyptian birds.

Crimson glittered at her neck and ears, and in her simple
but elegant headdress, woven in among her high-dressed curls. Harriet, too,
knew she was looking her best in white muslin beautifully draped and artfully
embroidered with flourishes of cherry blossoms and leaves. When she met Anna at
the stairs, she exclaimed, “Oh, you look beautiful! Are those rubies?”

Emily, coming in behind as they gathered in the foyer, heard
Anna laugh. “No! I own no rubies, or even diamonds. These are mere trinkets, garnets
set in filigree. My father bought them for my mother.”

“They are a lot prettier than most ruby necklaces I have
seen,” Harriet began enviously. “Not that I have seen that many. But, I did not
know Henry was so tight-fisted. Has he not given you any jewels at all? Not
even a wedding band?” she added belatedly, noting Anna’s bare hands as she
pulled on her gloves.

“My wedding band was lost in the orlop aboard the
Aglaea
,” Anna said lightly. “And you
must recollect that your brother has spent most of his time at sea, where I am
certain there is a dearth of jewels to be had, even if he wished for them.”

“Well, at all events, I think those will be thought the
prettiest things in the room, even if they are garnets,” Harriet said
generously, and then broke off as Perkins brought Henry downstairs.

The snow squeaked under the wheels as the family rode toward
the Groves for the Elsteads’ ball. Of the family only Harriet anticipated the
revelries with uncomplicated emotions. Her ambitions therefore reached no higher
than dancing every dance, as this was considered a family event, and therefore
practice for the girls not yet out.

Anna quieted her own apprehensions about not knowing English
dances beyond the minuet by reflecting that Henry of course must sit out, therefore
she must. No one would have the least interest in her as a partner.

Emily’s anticipation was entirely taken up with her
ambitions. She had engaged Frederick to dance with the new Lady Northcote to
make certain (she said) that the lady had a good time at her first ball in
Barford Magna. Where Frederick led, Emily knew, many of the young men followed,
Providence only knew why; and in the meantime, he was too simple to reflect
that if Lady Northcote was kept busy on the ballroom floor, there would be more
time for Emily to devote to laying Henry’s ruffled plumage.

All went at first as she planned. The house was full,
decorated with holly boughs and all the potted plants in the conservatory that
her mother had insisted on building as a bride, because she had been impressed
with the greenhouses at Chatsworth on her single visit.

Henry was welcomed by all, and conducted by Mrs. Squire
Elstead to the best chair in the place. Emily was pleased at how handsome he
looked—even the bandage bestowed an interesting air upon him. That scar marring
one side of his face could be ignored if one took care to sit upon his other
side, but at least he was not rendered hideous by a missing limb. She only
hoped that when the bandage came off, whether he saw or not, there would be
nothing to disgust in the appearance of his eyes.

Because his father was too stout to dance, Frederick was to
lead out the foreigner as principal woman of rank. Emily turned down two
offers, claiming her widowhood was too soon for dancing, and watched
complacently as her brother approached Lady Northcote.

Then everything fell apart when the lady responded, “I do
not know your dances. All I can perform is the minuet.”

“But we begin with the minuet,” Frederick said, laughing.
“My mother would think nothing of a ball that began with anything else.”

Harriet took Anna’s hand. “Why did you not speak up? Of
course there was mourning, but . . . Well, at all events, as for
the country dances, why, there is nothing easier! If you can do the steps, then
you just watch everyone around you, and you’ll have the figures.”

Anna laughed. “So! If you will teach me, I will be happy to
learn.”

“Then we shall commence following the minuet. Cicely! Come
help me. You shall call, since this is your house.”

Emily watched her own sister come readily to Harriet’s
imperious beckon, exactly as she had since they were small, no matter how hard
she had tried to break her sister of the habit. Cicely and Frederick were
entirely too biddable, but at least their docility served well now.

She turned away, losing interest, so she missed the moment
that Robert Colby, newly returned from his season in London and his extended
stay among people of rank, glimpsed Harriet Duncannon for the first time in
four years.

Robert had come to lead, and to be admired for his knowledge
of the latest idiom, the latest dances and plays, and the excellence of his
London tailor. He had not expected to discover his old friend Thomas Rackham
taller than he by at least a hand.

But, he saw on entering the Elsteads’ ballroom, there was
not a decent waistcoat in the place, the cravats were as laughable as those old
codgers still powdering their wigs. He fully expected to amaze the girls he had
grown up with, and indeed, pretty little Cicely Elstead was staring at him in a
gratifying way, but who was that elegant girl with squint-eyed Jane Rackham?

She turned—Harriet Duncannon? Her flapping braids had
somehow been knitted up into something very like the way the girls wore their
hair at Almack’s, and her gown was somehow the nicest in the place, excepting
only for the married women. She was laughing in the old style, but it was
different.
She
was different, vastly
changed in a way he could not have predicted.

Their eyes met, Harriet dipped her head . . .
and then, before Robert could make his leg and claim the first dance, she
imperiously beckoned to Thomas.

Perforce Robert turned to Cicely with a smile and an affect
of carelessness as the line formed behind Frederick Elstead and the stunning
baroness that everyone had been talking about.

Ignoring the dancers completely, Emily advanced on Henry, to
discover him in conversation with her own father, Dr. Blythe, and Sir Robert
Colby.

She changed direction, sighing with impatience, and glanced
at the dancers in order to avoid elbows and knees. Of course Lady Northcote
performed beautifully in the minuet. Emily had expected nothing else, and
finding Mary Elstead at hand, whiled away the tedium in talking nothings.

When the country dances began, Henry was lost entirely from
view by a tight circle of broad blue and green and brown coats, as the men
surrounded him to chatter about that tiresome war: she heard “Nelson,”
“Wellesley,” and “India.”

In the center of the room, the elegancy of the ordered dance
had fast turned into a romp as the younger girls coached the foreign woman in
the steps of the country dances.

Anna was relieved to discover that the basic steps were
little different than similar dances in France. It was the patterns that had
altered. But those, she could follow, and Cicely began to call.

Emily watched derisively as the dance reeled, turned, came
together, weaving circles and squares and lines two by two, the foreign woman
moving with a grace that caught the eye. Cicely and her friends all danced on
their toes, the newest fashion, one Cicely had gained at her school and passed
on to her friends. But they were not nearly as assured as Lady Northcote, who
seemed to float. Almost the only ones not watching, besides the inveterate
whist players, were Henry with his bandaged eyes, Dr. Blythe, and Emily’s
father,
still
talking away at Henry,
while he downed what appeared to be his fifth or sixth glass of wine punch.

Emily turned her gaze back in time to see Anna execute a
pretty
rigadaun
, as perfect as any
opera dancer.

Emily stilled. Was that it? What if Anna Ludovisi, whose
connection to a duke Emily still did not believe, had become an opera dancer?
She had no jewels—knew nothing of English dances—but she could discuss all the
details of opera.

Bitter fury surged through Emily. She knew it was entirely
fancy, that she was putting together clues out of airy nothing, but at the same
time she could not but reflect it would be just
like
Henry to marry his mistress out of hand, just to spite Emily,
newly widowed and helpless.

Except that the marriage was apparently some years old.

And even if the foreigner
were
an opera dancer, she would not be the first low woman married
by a nobleman.

Enough foolish air-dreaming. It was time to rescue Henry
from those old bores. Gratitude would be the first step toward regaining his
devotion.

But before she took a step, her mother caught her eye, and
beckoned insistently. Emily was forced to comply, convinced that her mother’s
imperious gesture had got half the room watching.

On the floor, the dance ended.

Anna cast a glance toward Henry, who continued to appear
well occupied with his old friends. Yet as the third dance formed up, she
thought she might have seen that wry smile he sometimes wore.

She was distracted by the appearance of large, smiling Mrs.
Rackham, who came up while Anna was standing in the middle of the line opposite
the silent Thomas Rackham. “Lady Northcote, I believe I scarcely need say
anything, for it is clear that you are a fast learner. But if you should wish
to practice, I have the dancing master twice monthly, and all the young people
are in the habit of coming to us. We make up a little party of it. I play to
them, and they are able to make their mistakes where no one but us can see
them, and become accustomed to company manners. I can heartily assure you that
you would be most welcome.”

“I should be grateful, oh, much,” Anna said. “But if this is
a regular party, will I not be seen as the intruder?”

Mrs. Rackham, clad in a gorgeous half-dress of yellow over
green silk, shook with laughter, her diamond ear drops shimmering in the
brilliant light. “Not the least! A married woman will not have her head turned
when I say that the very young gentlemen are all agreed in admiring Lady
Northcote, my son among ’em.”

Anna understood at once that Tom Rackham, he of the high
shirt points, danced mumchance not out of boredom, but shyness. She remembered
the midshipmen, how boisterous and tender-hearted they were by turns, manfully
taking on responsibilities that one would think too old for them, and in the
next moment skylarking in the upper rigging. Manhood, she thought, was as
difficult to define as womanhood—or wifehood.

Mrs. Rackham, finding the hitherto silent Lady Northcote
both agreeable and conversable, stood back as Anna and Tom danced down the
line, and when the music ended, carried her to her own friend, Lady Ashburn,
whose pale locks Anna had glimpsed in church. Though nothing direct was said,
the women conveyed through hints that the senior Lord Northcote had disagreed
with Sir William Ashburn over a question of enclosure, a disagreement that his
son had inherited along with his land.

That appeared to explain why the Ashburns were not part of
the circles of calls. Anna found the lady’s slow voice pleasant on the ears,
becoming animated only when the question of the school was raised. She wished
the children to be taught music. “So useful as well as pleasant, and my father
always said it was excellent discipline.”

Anna nodded and agreed, distracted by another glimpse at
Henry, and the increasingly wry smile thinning his lips as he listened to
Squire Elstead talking.

On the other side of the room, Mrs. Squire Elstead had
delivered herself of a lengthy scold at Emily for being so obvious about
watching Henry. “. . . and I must tell you that I witnessed
every cat in the room looking your way. Even that muttonhead Mrs. Rackham.
Nothing
could be more fatal!”

Emily blushed in vexation, and when her mother finally
paused for breath, said in a low, furious voice, “And so you are busy goggling at
me while Papa is on his sixth glass of punch. And won’t the evening end well if
he falls down in the middle of the dishes?”

She walked away, looking for the least objectionable person
to talk to as her mother rustled away.

The foreigner was now with fat Mrs. Rackham, talking away to
that vulgar Augusta Ashburn, whose wealthy father had been the very tea
merchant to find a place for John-Coachman’s son on one of his ships. Probably
Henry’s wife could not even hear Augusta Ashburn’s Manchester accent; the woman
should not have been invited, but Emily knew her mother was cultivating the
Ashburns in case Cicely could do no better than their Bartholomew.

Disgusted with her mother, with the whole dreary set, Emily
walked to the corner opposite the musicians, where she engaged Mrs. Aubigny in
conversational French, taking care to keep her back to the room. Let anyone
dare to say she was hanging on Henry’s coat sleeves now!