Authors: Imperial Scandal
Teresa Grant (27 page)
“Says,” Davenport murmured.
Malcolm was looking at Suzanne. “Mrs. Chase must be very angry at her husband.”
“Jane Chase is terrified of what her husband might be capable of, afraid she doesn’t know him, and sick at the thought that she loves him despite it all,” Suzanne said. “She wants to know the truth.”
“Which could break her heart.”
Suzanne rubbed her arms. “So could not knowing.”
Malcolm exchanged a look with Davenport. “It appears we need to talk to both Chase brothers at the ball tonight.”
Cordelia drew a breath. Suzanne saw Davenport’s gaze go to his wife’s face. Whatever she might claim, Cordelia’s feelings for George Chase were far more complicated than cynical indifference.
Cordelia forced a smile to her lips. “It appears the next step for all of us is to dress for the ball.”
30
S
wags of crimson, gold, and black, the Royal colors of the Netherlands, veiled the rose trellis wallpaper in the Duchess of Richmond’s ballroom. Ribbons and flowers garlanded the pillars. The younger Lennoxes had thrown open the windows that ran along one side of the room, letting in a welcome breeze to stir the hot, heavy air. Cool moonlight blended on the parquet floor with warmer light from the brilliant chandeliers. The flames of dozens of branches of candles shimmered in the dark glass of the French windows and the brightly polished gilt-edged mirrors. The strains of a waltz rose above the clink of glasses and buzz of brittle talk. But Suzanne had the oddest sense the delicate atmosphere could shatter as easily as one could break a champagne glass with a silver spoon.
wags of crimson, gold, and black, the Royal colors of the Netherlands, veiled the rose trellis wallpaper in the Duchess of Richmond’s ballroom. Ribbons and flowers garlanded the pillars. The younger Lennoxes had thrown open the windows that ran along one side of the room, letting in a welcome breeze to stir the hot, heavy air. Cool moonlight blended on the parquet floor with warmer light from the brilliant chandeliers. The flames of dozens of branches of candles shimmered in the dark glass of the French windows and the brightly polished gilt-edged mirrors. The strains of a waltz rose above the clink of glasses and buzz of brittle talk. But Suzanne had the oddest sense the delicate atmosphere could shatter as easily as one could break a champagne glass with a silver spoon.
“There are so many dignitaries present, from so many countries,” Georgiana Lennox said. “It’s quite a chore keeping precedence straight.”
“Just like Vienna,” Aline murmured.
Indeed the profusion of medals, braid, and gold and silver lace glittering in the candlelight called to mind scenes at the Congress, as did the perfume, beeswax, and sweat vying with the sweet aroma from the banks of roses and lilies that decorated the room. But the two hundred some guests crowding Georgiana’s mother’s ballroom were a small crowd compared to the thousand and more Prince and Princess Metternich had entertained at their villa.
“It looks splendid,” Suzanne said.
Georgiana gave a smile slightly strained about the edges. “You’d never guess my sisters use this room as a schoolroom, would you? Or that we’ve been known to play battledore and shuttlecock in here.” She scanned the crowd. “I do wish Wellington would come.”
“He may have ordered the army ready to march,” Aline said, “but he obviously isn’t in a panic. Half his officers are here.”
“But there’s a distinct dearth of Dutch-Belgians.” Georgiana tugged at a loose thread in her sleeve. “None of General Perponcher’s officers has put in an appearance.”
“Lord Hill is saying everything that is reassuring.” Suzanne scanned the soldiers thronging the floor with ladies in gauzy, ribbon-trimmed gowns in a hothouse of colors—-lilac, rose, Pomona green, jonquil, cerulean blue. Her gaze settled on a man in Belgian uniform. Good God. Surely that handsome face with the slanting cheekbones belonged to General de la Bédoyère, who had taken his regiment over to Napoleon and was now one of his aides-de-camp. La Bédoyère met her gaze for the briefest moment, a reckless glint in his eyes, then continued to glance round the room.
Aline pulled her lace shawl closer about her shoulders despite the heat in the room. “Georgy’s right, Perponcher’s officers not being here is worrying.”
Georgiana shot a surprised look at her. “You’re always so calm, Allie.”
“Calm?” Aline’s voice turned unwontedly sharp. “My insides are roiling about, and for once I don’t think it’s anything to do with the baby.”
“But—”
“My husband’s a military doctor, Georgy. That means he’ll be near the front. Which does rather strain one’s savoir faire.”
Suzanne put an arm round Aline and squeezed her shoulders. With everything else going on these past days, she’d quite failed to think about what her young cousin was going through. “Geoff’s been through countless battles.”
“And he’ll be in much less danger than the soldiers. I know.” Aline’s shoulders were taut beneath Suzanne’s arm. “But somehow it doesn’t help.”
Georgiana flicked her fan open and then closed. “The Prince of Orange gave this to me,” she said, fingering the amber sticks. “So odd to think of him commanding troops. I can’t help—”
“If one ignores the smell of nervousness in the air and half the conversation, it could almost be a normal evening.” Cordelia emerged from the crowd to stand beside them. Though Suzanne knew just how little time her friend had had to tend to her toilette, she was as dramatic as always in jet-beaded gossamer net over cream-colored silk.
“Define normal,” Aline said.
“There’s the rub. If—” Cordelia broke off as a tall, sandy-haired man in a colonel’s uniform came toward them. Colonel Peregrine Waterford. Suzanne had met him in the Peninsula and seen him once or twice in Brussels.
Waterford greeted all the women, but his gaze lingered on Cordelia, hot with memories. “I was hoping I could persuade you to dance.” His voice was a bit slurred, as though he’d been dipping too deep into the Richmonds’ excellent champagne.
Cordelia’s answering smile was as distant as it was polite. “Thank you, Colonel, but I won’t dance tonight. My sister died only two days ago.”
Embarrassment shot through the colonel’s eyes. He murmured an apology and his condolences on her loss, then quickly took himself off.
“How ill-mannered,” Georgiana said. “I’m sorry, Cordelia.”
“I’m the one who should apologize, Georgy. Your mother wouldn’t thank me for letting you so close to one of my scandals.”
“Oh, stuff.” Georgiana gave a quick flick of her fan. A great deal had changed in her attitude toward Cordelia since Stuart’s ball two days ago. “Scandal seems quite irrelevant now.”
“Scandal is sadly never irrelevant. And the past seems to be always with us. Oh, good, here’s someone who should know something. Lord Uxbridge.” Cordelia held out her hand to the cavalry commander, who was walking toward them. “Do tell us you have news.”
“I’m afraid not.” Uxbridge bowed over her hand. “But surely you don’t think all the officers would have leave to be here were the situation really dire?”
“Yes,” Cordelia said, “if Wellington wanted people to believe the situation less dire than it is.”
Uxbridge threw back his head and laughed. “Touché. It’s a pity you couldn’t have joined the cavalry, Cordy. I could have made something of you.”
“It’s just so hard not knowing,” Georgiana said. “Three of my brothers are in the army, as is Mrs. Blackwell’s husband.”
“And my husband,” Cordelia said.
Georgiana cast a quick glance at her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”
“Quite understandable. But Harry is my husband and the father of my daughter, and as it happens his fate is a matter of some concern to me.”
Uxbridge looked at her, brows drawing together. “Cordelia—”
“Lord Uxbridge.” Cordelia put her hands on his shoulders with the familiarity of an old friend. “Tell us the truth.”
Uxbridge smiled down at her. “The truth, my dear Cordelia, is that I know little more than you.”
“But you rather think Wellington should have told you more, as second in command.”
“You never heard me say so, Cordy.”
Cordelia laughed.
Georgiana shivered. “How can you laugh at a time like this?”
Cordelia smiled at the younger woman and put an arm round her. “My dear Georgy. It’s difficult to see what else we can do.”
“Spoken like a soldier’s wife,” Uxbridge said. He smiled as he spoke, but Suzanne caught a flicker in his gaze. She suspected he was thinking of his own wife, home in England with their children, and the chances that she’d find herself a widow.
The waltz on the dance floor had come to an end. A wail cut the air that took Suzanne back to the previous summer. Dunmykel, Malcolm’s family estate in Perthshire. Granite cliffs, the tang of salt water, clean pine-scented air, and the unmistakable sound of bagpipes. Kilted sergeants and privates from the 92nd Foot and the 42nd Royal Highlanders marched into the room. The candlelight gleamed off their white sporrans and the brilliant tartans that trailed over their shoulders.
The crowd drew back and broke into applause. “Mama wanted to show off Highland dances,” Georgiana murmured. Her mother was a daughter of the Duke of Gordon. “She did so want the evening to be memorable.” Georgiana bit her lip, for the evening was almost bound to be memorable for reasons that had nothing to do with the entertainment.
Yet when crossed swords glinted on the parquet floor and the Highlanders danced over them to the wail of the pipes, it was almost enough to drive out thoughts of the coming battle. Except that those swords looked all too lethal.
Suzanne felt a light touch at her waist as the sword dance gave way to a strathspey. “I could almost imagine I’m home,” Malcolm murmured.
She twisted her head round to glimpse an ache of longing in her husband’s eyes. She’d seen last summer how much Dunmykel meant to him. Even after their visit she didn’t understand the reasons for his self-imposed exile from his home and family. A homesickness he would never admit to was sharp in his gaze now. With a chill, she realized he was wondering if he’d ever see Dunmykel again.
She caught his hand in her own and squeezed it hard. He smiled at her. “You’re missing the show.”
She turned back to the dancers. Their legs, clad in red-checkered stockings, seemed to move ever faster. The sound of the pipes swirled through the candle-warmed air and bounced off the ballroom ceiling. Incredible to think that these musicians and dancers would soon be marching off to battle. On her husband’s side. And against her own.
The performance came to an end to a burst of applause. Georgiana was pulled onto the dance floor by her friend Lord Hay, and Lord Uxbridge’s attention was claimed by his sister, Lady Caroline Capel. Geoffrey Blackwell came up to join them.
“I hear Suzanne’s been patching you up,” he said, running an appraising gaze over Malcolm.
“Quite ably. Your expertise needs to be saved for the serious work.”
“There’ll be plenty of that soon enough, I fear.”
Aline slipped her arm through her husband’s.
Geoffrey looked down at her. “I’m a—”
“Doctor. I know. I’m very fortunate compared to Lady Cordelia, whose husband is actually a soldier.”
“There’s enough worry to go round,” Cordelia said. “Though nothing to be gained by dwelling on it.”
“Men like Davenport who’ve been wounded once tend to be careful,” Geoffrey said.
“Thank you, Dr. Blackwell, that’s most reassuring even if you just made it up.”
“Rubbish, I don’t have time for reassurances,” Geoffrey said. “My wife could tell you that.”
“I’m afraid the sad truth is that wives can’t stop worrying,” Cordelia said. “A side effect of being left behind.”
Aline tightened her grip on her husband’s arm. “At least I knew what I was getting into when I married you. Just like Suzanne.”
Malcolm gave a wry grimace. “I’m afraid Suzanne hadn’t the least idea what she was getting into when she married me. Fortunately for me, or she’d never have said yes.” He squeezed Suzanne’s arm and moved off. Suzanne knew full well where he was going, and from the tension that ran through Cordelia, she guessed the other woman did as well.
They’d both seen his gaze fall on George Chase.
George Chase stood on the edge of the dance floor with a fair-haired woman in a lavender gown.
“Chase?” Malcolm said. “Could I have a word with you?”
George gave a frown, quickly banished, and touched the woman on the arm. “I’m sorry, darling. We’ll have that dance in a bit.”
Malcolm led the way out of the ballroom and across the passage to the Duke of Richmond’s study. Davenport was already there, perched on the edge of the desk. George paused on the threshold.
“Sorry,” Davenport said. “I told Rannoch it would be better if he talked to you alone, but he insisted.”
“It’s quite all right,” George said, walking forward. “We’re both adults.”
Davenport got to his feet. “Good of you to say so, considering I didn’t act much like one last night.”
George Chase looked between Davenport and Malcolm, who was leaning against the closed door. “I assume this is about Julia.” He hesitated a moment. “I don’t know if Cordelia’s told you I knew about her affair with Tony. I tried to talk him out of it. Unsuccessfully, I’m afraid.”
“Yet in the end you did put an end to it,” Malcolm said. “By having an affair with her yourself.”
“What—” George stared at him with an expression that in other circumstances might have been comical.
“Tony told us,” Davenport said. “He saw you with Julia at Stuart’s ball. He confronted her about it in the garden later in the evening, and they quarreled. Your sister overheard them.”
“Violet overheard them—Oh, dear God.” George dropped into a chair and put his hands over his face. “Look, I can quite see how it would seem this way to you—”
“You’re denying the affair?” Malcolm said.
George pushed himself to his feet and strode across the room. “What a bloody mess.”
“I can understand you’d find it awkward to admit to seducing Cordelia’s sister,” Davenport said. “Rather ruins the love story. If it’s any consolation, Cordelia now claims she doesn’t believe in love at all.”
“For God’s sake, Davenport, shut up.” George rounded on him. “I don’t care what the devil Cordelia says, she’ll always be—”
“Yes?” Davenport asked.
George glanced away. “That’s beside the point. But if you have any understanding at all of what Cordelia means to me, you must know I’d never have taken Julia to my bed.”
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