Silken Secrets (20 page)

“With a proper groom’s outfit?”

“Anything you fancy, Fitch. We’ll run up to London and visit Tattersall’s.”

“Stay at a hotel?”

“The very finest. But first you must get that load into Dymchurch. Make sure you sprinkle a little hay over the bales, in case anyone takes a look. Miss Judson and I will need the carriage at seven-thirty. I want you shaved and in a decent jacket, Fitch. The whole town will be attending the assembly. We must arrive in the highest kick of fashion. Give the carriage a wash-down, and don’t forget to brush the horses. I’ll see if Plummer can get the spots out of my monkey suit. Heigh-ho, I’m off.”

Chapter Sixteen

Fitch was as spruce as Plummer’s brush and iron could make him when he pulled the carriage up to the front door of the Hall for Lord Edwin and Mary Anne to enter. The ancient carriage could not be said to shine, but its fading paint glowed dully from Fitch’s exertions. The team pulling it didn’t shine, either, but the dust and hay had been removed from their coats, rendering them passable in the fading light of day.

Lord Edwin smiled with satisfaction, seeing not the results of Fitch’s labor but the new team that would soon stand in the harness. Matched bays is what he wanted, with a white blaze on the forehead. He offered his arm to his niece and they entered the carriage.

Why Mary Anne chose this wonderful night to fall into the sullens was a mystery to her uncle. She looked fine as ninepence in her best blue silk. No doubt it was losing her shawl that put that droop to her lips.

“I’ll replace it, my dear, never fear,” he said.

“Replace what, Uncle?”

“Your shawl. I told you, I’ll buy you a new one, and Plummer can stitch some gewgaws on it, like the one Dicaire took to London.”

The mention of Dicaire only dragged her lips lower.

“You need not do that. My white shawl is fine.” She drew it more closely around her shoulders as she spoke.

“I don’t know what’s the matter with everybody today,” Lord Edwin said in exasperation. “Fitch as surly as a bear, demanding money from me for sitting on his haunches all day. My niece pouting because she lost a stupid shawl. And Plummer! I swear she burned that fish pie on purpose.”

Mary Anne made an effort to simulate good spirits for the remainder of the trip. Once they actually arrived, the distraction of the assembly revived her. She admired the bunting, left over from the Prince of Wales’s visit five years before, that was always strung along the walls for special occasions. The paper flowers attached to it lent a festive touch. There were all the ladies’ toilettes to be scanned, a quick search of the crowd to see if anyone had an interesting visitor who had been brought along to the party. Some years, folks drove in from as far as ten miles away, to create a little interest. There now, who was that rather handsome fellow with the Bentleys? She’d never seen him before. Soon she spotted the Vulches and waved to Bess.

Bess, of course, had a smart new gown, with just half a dozen or so too many bows for real elegance. The paisley shawl was a trifle loud with her blue-and-white-striped gown, but really, she looked very pretty when she came forward, smiling.

“My, don’t you look fine, Mary Anne. Your blue gown never looked better. I thought we would see the new shawl your uncle gave your for your birthday.”

“It didn’t match my gown,” Mary Anne said. “You look lovely, Bess. Who’s the stranger with the Bentleys?”

“Isn’t he handsome?” Bess replied, but with no real interest. The reason for it soon came out. “He’s married to Mrs. Bentley’s sister. His name’s Harcourt, an innkeeper from Kingsnorth. I haven’t seen Joseph. Is he not coming?”

“I’m sure he’ll be here.”

“I thought he would come with you,” Bess said, casting a curious look at her friend.

“He never comes with us.”

Bess gave her a quizzing smile. “You want to look sharp, or someone will steal him from you.”

Mary Anne smiled without a single sign of rancor. “I think I know who that someone will be, Bess.”

Bess colored up prettily and found it was time to change the subject. She mentioned one dear to Mary Anne’s heart, despite the pain it caused. “A pity Lord Dicaire could not stay for the assembly. Imagine, Mary Anne—a viscount, and we not knowing a thing about it. Mama is sorry she didn’t do more entertaining while he was with us. She didn’t use half the silver, either. We nearly swooned when we learned who he was. Joseph says he has the highest instep in the Western Hemisphere. He never associates with any but the tip of the ton in London.”

“Will he be returning?” Mary Anne asked, and looked across the room, as though only half listening.

“I shouldn’t think so. Oh, look, here is Joseph arriving. I’ll call him, shall I? He’ll want to have the first dance with you.”

“No, please!”

She waved. Joseph advanced at a hot pace, and when he was nearly there, spotted Mary Anne standing beside Bess. A fine predicament! The fiddlers were tuning up; gentlemen were choosing partners. He must offend either the girl he felt he ought to marry or the one he wanted to.

His mama saw his dilemma at once and rushed to his rescue. “Mary Anne. You haven’t been to call on me this spring, naughty girl,” she said, and took her arm to lead her away. “Where is your uncle? Take me to him. I want to speak to him about the strange stories I hear circulating. He got hold of Vulch’s silk, did he? Fancy Bess still speaking to you.” On a string of pleasantries she walked a very relieved Mary Anne away from Joseph and Bess.

“Ah, here is Sir Lyle Skate looking for a partner,” Mrs. Horton exclaimed when this gentleman happened by. “You are in luck, sir.” She smiled and handed over Mary Anne. “I see Lord Eddie over by the punch bowl.” Where else? “I’ll speak to him.”

Mary Anne took her place beside Sir Lyle for the opening minuet. She suffered no lack of partners. Joseph Horton claimed her for the second dance and scolded her for running off just as he was about to ask her for the first one.

“I had to ask Bess, for the looks of it,” he said defensively.

“Cut line, Joseph,” she said sharply. Her nerves were taut from the day’s exacerbation. “You know perfectly well you want to marry her, and she wants to marry you. You don’t have to apologize to me for it. I think it an excellent match. With her money and your respectability, you may fly as high as you both want.”

“It never entered my mind!”

“It entered your heart, I think, and Bess’s, too. That’s the way folks should marry.”

Joseph was elated to hear so much common sense from her. “And what rich commoner do you have in your eyes?” he teased.

Her card was full to intermission, but the party held no real pleasure for her. She knew it was impossible that Lord Dicaire’s broad shoulders should appear at the doorway, yet she found her eyes turning in that direction ten times during every dance.

She received a deal of good-natured teasing about her uncle’s prank. That, at least, seemed to have dwindled to a joke, but there was still Dicaire’s rough treatment at her uncle’s hands to worry about. She didn’t think he’d let that matter drop. “I shall be back sooner than you think,” he had said.

His return could only spell trouble, yet she looked once more, eagerly, to the door, only to see Uncle in deep conversation with Miss Delancey. It was eleven-thirty. Just one more set before the midnight supper was to be served. She had refused two invitations to join other parties for the supper, thinking to sit with her uncle.

While Mary Anne frolicked through a country dance, Lord Edwin slipped quietly out, ostensibly to blow a cloud, but in reality to dart off to Delancey’s Drapery Shop. The exchange went off without a hitch. Miss Delancey had her gig waiting, and was back at the assembly hall before the first course was over.

Lord Edwin remained behind to have a few words with Fitch. “A good night’s work, lad,” he said, and handed Fitch his three guineas. “Now it remains only for you to get Joseph’s hay wain back before it’s missed and clean yourself up to bring us the carriage to return home after the assembly.’’

“Couldn’t you get a lift home with Joseph?” Fitch asked. His big shoulders ached. He was hot and tired, and most of all, he had a thirst to match his size. The tavern was only a block away, and he had the unaccustomed pleasure of coins jingling in his pockets.

“That jackdaw? He’ll be drooling all over Mary Anne’s best gown if we get in his carriage. You’ve done such a fine job of polishing up my rig that I want to show off your work, Fitch. Two o’clock should be early enough. They have another round of jigging after the dinner. If you look lively, you can make it. I’m off. I smelled goose tarts coming out of the kitchen. Heigh-ho.”

Fitch wiped his brow and sighed. He thought of a tall glass of ale, all foaming on top, the way they served it at the tavern. He had time for one glass, if he hurried. Lord Eddie was sitting down to a fine dinner. He deserved a glass of ale, demmed if he didn’t.

When midnight arrived and Lord Edwin was not to be found, Mary Anne stood, looking for some friendly party she could attach herself to. She would join Bess, except that Joseph was stuck to her arm like a burr. They’d be eating with Vulch and his wife, and really, she disliked to intrude there so soon after Uncle’s prank.

Bess spotted her and came darting over. “My dear, are you all alone? You must join us. No one asked poor Mary Anne to dinner, Joseph,” she explained aside in a perfectly carrying voice. “Tell her she must join us.”

Joseph offered his arm, and Mary Anne was obliged either to take it or to sit alone. She went along to Vulch’s table, where Vulch glowered like a gargoyle and his wife simpered demurely.

“Do try a slice of this chicken, Mary Anne. It was made by our own cook. As tender a bird as ever stepped out of the oven, if I do say so myself.”

Lord Edwin had been busy filling the dame’s head with some highly imaginative stories of an approaching match between his old friend’s son, Lord Dicaire, and Mary Anne. Mrs. Vulch was delighted, as this left Joseph free for her own girl. She had no notion of letting such a prize friend slip through her fingers, either. Lady Dicaire could open doors in London for Joseph and Bess. Bess was in on the story, too, but didn’t believe a word of it. No one could bring a gent up to scratch that quickly, especially not a slow top like Mary Anne.

“A pity a certain gentleman had to dart back to London,” Mrs. Vulch said archly.

After a frowning pause Mary Anne said, “Do you mean Lord Dicaire?”

“Who else would I be talking about, my dear? A little bird whispered the secret in my ear.”

Mary Anne stared in confusion. “What secret is that, ma’am?”

“Why, Miss Judson, I mean your betrothal, to be sure. What a sly boots you are, but as I was just saying to Adrian, still waters run deep.”

“Mrs. Vulch, I am not betrothed!” Mary Anne gasped, and looked once more to the door. On this occasion she was highly relieved not to see it full of Dicaire’s broad shoulders.

“I understand.” Mrs. Vulch nodded, though she didn’t understand at all what the secret was. Happen the gent’s papa disapproved? “I shan’t breathe a whisper of it. When is the big day to be, Miss Judson?”

“Truly, there is nothing between Lord Dicaire and myself. I scarcely know him.”

“Ho, and for a near stranger he calls Codey off! Very well, if that’s the way it is, you are marrying a stranger, and a mighty eligible one, too, from what Joseph tells us. Very well to grass. His estate has thousands of acres of prime land in Surrey, to say nothing of the London house. Tell me—Adrian wasn’t sure—does he have a hunting box in the Cotswold hills as well?”

“I have no idea. Really, I hardly know him.”

“There’s nothing like connections when all is said and done. Dicaire’s papa and Lord Eddie bosom bows, and your uncle never mentioning his name all these years. Imagine catching such a plum for you.”

Mrs. Vulch refused to listen to reason. The best Mary Anne could get from her was a promise of silence, which the woman executed at the top of her lungs. That dinner rated as the worst of Mary Anne’s life. As though Mrs. Vulch’s raucous teasing and Vulch’s scowls were not enough, Bess kept sliding those sly glances across the table, mingled with low murmurs to Joseph. Though her words were inaudible, the nature of them was obvious from her smirking smiles.

The dinner was long and seemed interminable. Lord Edwin entered the hall not long after twelve, but he steered a clear path of Vulch and sat with the bachelors, so that Mary Anne couldn’t join him. At long last the meats were removed and the sweets were served. Plates of cakes and cream buns, of ices and sorbets, of fruit tarts and candied fruit were brought forth, enough to destroy every tooth in the county. It was Mary Anne’s favorite part of the meal, but she looked with no interest at the treats on this occasion. She wanted only to go home.

She cast a pleading look across the hall to her uncle, who was regaling the bachelors with tales of his daring. She looked to the cloak room, wondering how long she could hide out there without attracting attention, and finally she looked with longing to the doorway. She shook her head and looked again. It couldn’t be! He couldn’t have been to London and back already! It was fifty miles there, a hundred there and back. It was impossible that this perfectly wretched day was to be capped by public disgrace at the hands of Lord Dicaire.

But she knew as surely as she knew he was scanning the hall that it was she he was looking for. From a crouching position behind Joseph’s head she peered across the room. There, he had spotted Uncle; he was looking for her. Now his dark head turned to Vulch’s table.

Oh, God, he was coming! He had seen her. Mrs. Vulch would surely congratulate him on his engagement. She would be the laughingstock of the room. She had to stop him. She pushed her plate back and stood up, her knees trembling.

“Excuse me,” she said, and fled across the room to intercept Lord Dicaire. She would hear his charges in private. She could at least spare herself public disgrace.

“I told you so!” Mrs. Vulch called across the table to Bess, who tossed her curls angrily.