The Duchess Hunt (9 page)

Furthermore, she wasn’t sure she wanted to
be.

Chapter
Five

On Wednesday evening, after a quiet early
dinner in the Trent House dining room, it was time to prepare for Lady
Bellingham’s ball. Upstairs, two maids joined Esme, Sarah, and Amy in Esme’s
dressing room.

Everything Sarah would wear was new, from
her stockings and shoes to the pins in her hair and her cosmetics.

Standing in her new chemise, she gazed at
all of it – the results of the day they’d spent at the modiste’s. The pile of
hairpins and shiny ribbons. The lovely pearly silk cap that would be pinned
onto her hair. The pink silk slippers, glittering in the lamplight. The crisp
short stays and petticoat.

And the dress. It was a gauze robe dress
of primrose over a pearl silk slip, with Chinese buttons down the front. It was
so elegant. Finer by leaps and bounds than anything Sarah had ever worn before.
She stroked a finger over the sleek, expensive, beautiful fabric.

“I am so pleased,” Esme exclaimed. “Madame
Buillard does lovely work. Do you know she designed my court dress last year?”

“I’m not surprised.” Sarah looked over at
Esme’s dress, a white satin with a light pink slip overdress trimmed in black
velvet and with black velvet sleeves. Satin slippers, white kid gloves, and a
pink satin hat wreathed with fresh roses completed the ensemble. “Everything is
so
beautiful
, my lady.”

“Yes.” When Sarah turned to the younger
woman, Esme was watching her with shining eyes. She moved forward and wrapped
her arms around Sarah.

Startled, Sarah almost stepped backward.
But she came to her senses quickly and embraced Esme in return. “Sarah, you are
like an older sister to me. You always have been. I’m so glad to have the
opportunity to share all this with you.”

Sarah’s smile was watery. “Thank you,” she
whispered. “I will never forget it.”

Releasing her, Esme stepped back. “This
isn’t temporary, you know. You shall remain my companion as long as you wish
to.”

“I would love that,” Sarah admitted, but
she knew better. “However, you shall marry soon, and I’ll return to my old
position under Mrs. Hope.”

“No!” Esme exclaimed. At Sarah’s
expression of surprise, she clarified. “First off, I possess no high hopes of
ever marrying.”

“Why?” Sarah asked. “You have always said
so, but I have never comprehended why.”

Esme just shrugged. “After tonight you
might possess a greater understanding. But even if I do marry someday, Sarah,
you must remain a lady’s companion. You must never go back to being a
housemaid. You are simply too good to hold such a position.”

Something cold twisted in Sarah’s gut at
that. She knew Esme meant it as a kindness, but it was a brittle reminder of
their essential difference. Sarah
wasn’t
too good to be a housemaid. When she’d first ascended to head
housemaid at Ironwood Park at the age of twenty, she’d been so proud. Someday
she’d be qualified to be a housekeeper like Mrs. Hope. Truly, for someone with
Sarah’s pedigree, it was a great ambition to aspire to the position of a
housekeeper at a great house like Ironwood Park.

She never thought she’d stray from that
path. Certainly not to become a lady’s companion, wearing a beautiful dress and
attending a ball presented by one of the most esteemed patronesses in London.

It took a long while, even with the help
of three maids, for them to dress. When Amy finished pushing the last pin into
her hair, Sarah rose from her chair, smoothing her sleek skirts over her hips.
She turned to look into Esme’s large oval looking glass… and simply stared.

A primrose princess, dark-haired and
pink-cheeked, stared back at her.

“You look lovely,” Esme said.

Grinning, she turned to the younger woman
and sighed with pleasure. Esme’s black-trimmed pink dress was rich and warm and
brought out the highlights in her dark hair and the shimmering hazel of her
eyes. “So do you, my lady.”

“Thank you.” But then Esme’s smile
wobbled, and she whispered, “You’ll help me to be brave tonight?”

“Of course. But only if you’ll help me.
It’s my first time venturing into London society, you know.”

“I do.” Esme gave a wry chuckle. “We’re
quite the pair, aren’t we?” She held out her arm. “Come. Let’s go downstairs.”

Arm in arm, they descended to the drawing
room, where Simon awaited him. Sarah stifled a gasp when he turned to greet
them. In his black knee breeches, velvet-trimmed black tailcoat over a striped
and embroidered waistcoat, he was the most handsome and compelling example of
masculinity she’d ever seen.

He stood frozen in a state of suspended
silence, his gaze fixed on her.

The blush rose to her cheeks, fast and
furious. Deeper, she was sure, than the rouge that one of the maids had brushed
lightly over them.

“You look beautiful.” He cleared his
throat, and he seemed to forcibly move his gaze to Esme. “Ah… both of you. Are
you ready to go?”

“Yes.” There was a slight quaver in Esme’s
voice, and Sarah squeezed her arm in a gesture of strength and solidarity.

They left the drawing room and went out
the front door and to the curb, where the carriage awaited.

Sarah had learned quickly that while
London was vast, the area of the Duke of Trent’s social sphere was somewhat
smaller. The drive to Lady Bellingham’s house only took a few minutes.

Nerves fluttered in Sarah’s chest, but it
was nothing to what Esme was experiencing. The younger woman had gone
completely rigid in her seat, her hands clasped so tightly together that her
knuckles were white.

Sarah didn’t know how to help her.

Neither did Simon, apparently, or perhaps
he didn’t notice that his sister was sitting on the squabs as stiff as a
mummified corpse.

Sarah couldn’t quite fathom why this
should be so terrifying to Esme, but she remembered the solemn looks on people’s
faces when they spoke of Esme’s Season last year. Esme had never mentioned it
to her, and Sarah hadn’t dared ask.

Whatever it was, Esme still suffered from
it – that much was apparent in her current pale-as-death countenance. Yet Esme
had gone along with all the preparations for the ball with nary a complaint.

“Remember not to speak of the situation
with Mother tonight,” Simon reminded them as the carriage drew to a halt under
a circle of golden-hued gaslight. “It is important for us to give the appearance
that nothing is amiss. But keep your eyes and ears open for any information.”

“Right,” Sarah said.

Esme hadn’t seemed to hear him. Instead,
she was staring at the carriage door as a footman opened it.

“We’ll do this,” Sarah breathed into her
ear. “I won’t leave your side. I promise.”

“Yes,” Esme whispered, and she took the
footman’s proffered hand and stepped out of the carriage.

The house was a lovely Palladian
structure, one of the few in London with a curving driveway and a front lawn –
Trent House didn’t have either, though it bordered on the Green Park which gave
it a bit more of a feeling of openness than most.

Bright lamplight made the white
façade of Lady Bellingham’s house gleam gold. People milled about
everywhere, departing from carriages, gathering to converse in the cool spring
air.

It was chilly for Sarah, though, with her
short sleeves and no shawl to cover her arms, and she was glad Simon led them
directly to the open door. They passed through the line, shaking the hands of a
host of elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen, all of whom seemed to know Esme
and Simon and appeared pleased to meet Sarah.

She kept an eye on Esme throughout –
despite her rigid, silent demeanor in the carriage, she seemed to be managing
well enough now, smiling and nodding and speaking quietly when spoken to.

They entered the vast – and already
crowded – ballroom. Unlike outside, it was warm in here – and loud. People
milled about, drinking champagne, talking in groups. With Simon’s comforting
presence just behind them, Sarah’s confidence rose. She stayed close to Esme,
almost pressed against her side, as she took in the visual feast the ballroom
provided.

An enormous crystal chandelier hung from
the center of the carved ceiling, flanked by two complementing smaller ones,
each holding what looked like hundreds of wax candles. Gilded sconces dotting
the walls provided more light, creating the effect of a blazing sunlit day.

Sarah’s gaze wandered toward the upstairs
gallery and the ornate bronze railing that lined the upper story of the massive
room. Scores of people stood there and chatted, and a cluster of musicians took
up the whole of one corner, warming their instruments.

“Your Grace!”

Sarah, Esme, and Simon turned to see a
young man bounding toward them. He pumped Simon’s hand vigorously.

“Whitworth. Good to see you,” Simon told
him.

Whitworth laid eyes on Esme and smiled.
But Sarah noted some tentativeness to it. “Lady Esme. I am so pleased to see
you back in London,” he murmured with a bow.

She curtsied, but her words were blunt. “I
didn’t expect to be here.”

When she didn’t add anything to soften her
response, Sarah and Simon glanced at each other. Sarah knew she shouldn’t speak
since she hadn’t been introduced to this gentleman yet, but Simon cut in,
saving both her and Esme.

“I just brought my sister from Ironwood
Park a few days ago. Thought it’d be good to have her and her companion visit
for a while. Oh – have you met Miss Osborne? Miss Osborne, may I present Mr.
Whitworth, Lady Bellingham’s second son.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Sarah curtsied. She
could see the resemblance between this man and the regal lady she’d met as
they’d entered. “I am so happy to make your acquaintance, Mr. Whitworth.”

“And you as well, Miss Osborne,” he said
politely. He turned back to Esme. “Do you have a partner for the country dance,
my lady?”

“No.”

Whitworth hesitated, waiting, and when no
further words were forthcoming he said, “Would you care to join me as my
partner, then?”

Sarah watched Esme, whose gaze was on
Whitworth. “Surely you’ve heard I’m a hopelessly wretched dancer, Mr.
Whitworth?”

“What?” Sarah cried. “No, indeed you are
not, my lady. You are a very fine dancer.”

Esme gave her a bleak look. Simon cleared
his throat. Whitworth’s hand went to his cravat as if to loosen it, then
dropped back down to his side, fingers curling. “I would like to dance the
country dance with you, should you care to,” he said quietly.

What a kindhearted man, Sarah thought,
giving him a look of approval.

Where Esme had been pale as death ever since
the carriage ride, she now flushed profusely, her round cheeks turning a
mottled pink. “All right. Yes. Thank you.”

He inclined his head at Esme, smiled at
Sarah, and nodded at Simon. “Well, then. I’d best see if my mother has need of
anything.”

As he strode away, Sarah released a slow
breath. She was beginning to see the nature of the problem with Esme. Odd,
after so much instruction in etiquette with Miss Farnshaw, but then again,
their lessons with Miss Farnshaw had occurred in the privacy of a quiet room at
Ironwood Park, not in a crowded ballroom in London.

Sarah wished she knew how to reassure
Esme, but she already felt the assessing gazes of the
ton
raking over them both. Anything she said to Esme here might be
overheard. And she wouldn’t add to Esme’s embarrassment. Instead, she gave the
younger woman an encouraging smile.

Esme didn’t smile back. She looked
stricken. “I was quite awful to him, wasn’t I?” she whispered.

Sarah couldn’t answer because more people
were approaching them. Everyone wanted to greet the Duke of Trent, and by
extension his younger sister and Sarah. By the time the dancing formally began,
Sarah had been introduced to forty-three members of London society she hadn’t
previously known.

As the highest-ranking gentleman in attendance,
Simon would open the ball partnered with Lady Bellingham. When he finally left
them to escort the lady to the floor, Sarah and Esme found a pair of empty
seats in the line of maroon-velvet-upholstered chairs that stretched along the
length of the grand room.