The Keys of Love (11 page)

Henrietta felt a surge of relief at this suggestion.

She felt weary and helpless, and just in the mood to be pampered!

She was about to undress when there was a knock on the door and a pageboy staggered in with an enormous vase of flowers.

“More flowers?” she queried in surprise as there was already a winter bouquet in the room from her arrival.

“All grown in the glasshouse,” said the pageboy. “But but who has sent them up?” asked Henrietta.

“Lady Butterclere?”

“Oh lord, no! It were the Duke what ordered them. Anything more, miss?”

“N-no, thank you,” murmured Henrietta.

The page boy withdrew as she stared at the flowers.
They were by way of an apology, she felt at last.

This gesture of the Duke's in no way assuaged her sense of humiliation.

Her silly fantasies about the Duke were truly over.

She had to go through with the performance tonight but after that she hoped she never, never had to set eyes on this house and its illustrious occupant again!

*

Rehearsals did not, at first, go well.

Lady Butterclere insisted on sitting in with Romany and made loud comments throughout every number. She was particularly voluble whenever Henrietta played solo.

“It's a great shame the
real
piano player missed the boat at Boston,” she remarked cattily. “Miss Reed is only a pale imitation, I should imagine.”

Eddie gestured to Henrietta to stop playing. Laying down his baton, he turned to Lady Butterclere.

“Lady, you are not helping,” he muttered wearily. “I would sure appreciate it if you would take yourself and Lizzie there somewhere else.”

Lady Butterclere drew herself up her lips quivering.

“You seem to forget, young man,
I
am the reason you are here at all. If I wish to be certain of the quality of your work, I will. And Miss Foss's name is
not
Lizzie.”

Eddie regarded her for a moment and then picked up his baton. Turning back to the orchestra, he gave a nod at the brass section. There was a wicked look in his eye.

A moment later the noise became unbearable. Lady Butterclere and Miss Foss pressed their hands to their ears.

“Oh, stop it do!” cried Lady Butterclere.

“Gotta practice the difficult bits,” shouted Eddie.

Grimacing painfully she rose from her seat.

“Come, Romany, we have things to do,” said Lady Butterclere loudly. “We must take the carriage into town and buy some attire suitable for this English weather.”

They hurried away and with a clash of the cymbals, the orchestra ceased playing and fell into laughter.

Even Henrietta, who had been rather withdrawn all morning, gave a wan smile.

Rehearsals proceeded as normal after that, though Henrietta was not happy with her performance. She knew that she was slow and uninspired.

Eddie threw her a shrewd look now and then, but he seemed to have decided not to put any pressure on her.

She felt even more despair later that day when she stood peeping through one of the long gallery windows at the carriages rolling up in the courtyard below.

Below were the guests who had been invited to dine before the ball. One by one the carriages disgorged their occupants and her cheeks grew more and more pale.

She recognised Lord Oxberry, Sir Hugh Waldemar, the Duke and Duchess of Colehill she had met them all before, either at Lushwood or in the salons of London.

Though these encounters had taken place over four years ago, she knew she had not changed much since then.

At length she hurried along to Kitty's room where Eddie awaited her.

Kitty had found another gown for her to wear. It was an emerald green satin with flounces and an even more plunging neckline than the scarlet dress.

Kitty had also unearthed elbow-length green satin gloves and a tiara studded with green rhinestones.

Henrietta looked dubiously at the gown.

“It's rather like a a ”

“A saloon girl's dress? Kitty supplied. “Honey, it's just what it is. I got one of the seamstresses here to add the flounces. Just to make it a little more respectable.”

‘
Respectable
,' thought Henrietta in despair. It was hardly that, although it was undeniably eye-catching.

“I know what you're thinking,” said Eddie, “you're thinking that you don't want to be recognised wearing
that
. But worry not. No one will recognise you for hark!”

He jokingly put a hand to his ear as a knock on the door sounded.

“I do believe the great Lando has arrived.”

He then pulled open the door and a small fat man with a powdered face came mincing in, a large black case in his hand. He put the case down and turned to throw an appreciative eye over Henrietta.

“Exquisite!” he pronounced. “It will be such a sad pleasure to hide such natural beauty!”

Henrietta realised that he was the make-up man that Eddie had summoned from London.

“Sit down, my dear,” invited Lando.

Henrietta took the seat nervously and stared glumly at her reflection. The next moment Lando had tilted her head and began to apply some scented unguent to her face.

He was hard at his task for a good half an hour.

Henrietta had almost dozed off when Lando at last whisked away the cloth from her shoulders.

“Finis!” he cried.

Henrietta opened her eyes and gave a gasp of shock at the sight that confronted her.

Her eyes were heavily lined with kohl, giving her a sleepy gaze. Her ivory skin was concealed beneath a beige paste of some sort and her cheeks were almost purple with rouge. Her lips were scarlet, heavily outlined in black.

Before she even had time to digest her look, Lando held something sleek and black over her head and the next minute he was fitting it down over her helpless skull.

It was a wig.

“You look every inch the professional showgirl,” proclaimed Eddie.

“B-but I don't want to look like a showgirl!”

“Harrie, I know,” Eddie soothed her. “But this way, nobody, but
nobody
is going to recognise you, are they?”

Henrietta looked at herself again. Eddie was right, she scarcely recognised herself. Every trace of Henrietta Radford let alone Harrietta Reed had been eliminated. She looked older and wiser and much, much harder.

The dress will certainly suit me now, she thought.

She had no doubt that the Duke of Merebury would enjoy pointing her garishly garbed figure out to the Prince of Wales!

The musicians had supper in the servants hall.

Then they hurried to the ballroom where they were in place and striking up as the doors were thrown open for the Prince of Wales and his retinue.

The Royal stare swept appreciatively all round the room and over the orchestra.

Eddie gave a cheeky deep bow which the Prince of Wales graciously acknowledged.

The other guests surged in behind the Prince.

Henrietta tried not to look but her eyes, lashes laden with mascara, continually flicked at the those milling about on the floor.

She could see Mrs. Poody beaming on the arm of an elderly Admiral and could not but smile to herself.

Then she caught sight of the Duke.

The dishevelled tousled Joe had disappeared. In his place was a tall commanding figure in black evening dress and white gloves.

His hair was all smoothed back, revealing a dark, brooding brow and hooded eyes. He was by far the most handsome man in the room.

Henrietta tore her gaze away from him to examine his companions, Romany and Lady Butterclere.

Romany was in a most unbecoming pink. Her hair, piled unsteadily high, threatened to topple at each nod of her head. Her hand lay like a claw on the Duke's forearm.

Lady Butterclere was in an innocuous blue muslin, the mild colour belying the baleful glare of her eye.

Henrietta stole another glance at the Duke.

To her horror she saw he was now looking directly her way, his forehead furrowing as he took in her outfit.

She looked quickly down at the keyboard, a blush suffusing her face, surging up her cheeks beneath the rouge and making it seem even more vivid.

For the rest of the evening she never once looked up from the piano.

She relinquished herself up to the music, accepting with gratitude its power to soothe.

At last she began to forget her surroundings, forget the Duke, Romany and Lady Butterclere. Eyes closed, her body swaying, she seemed increasingly consumed by some deep and secret passion and her playing became inspired.

The interval came and Henrietta's hands dropped to her lap, but it was a moment or two before she was fully aware of the tumultuous applause.

“Bravo! Bravo!” cried the Prince of Wales.

The orchestra was clearly a huge success.

Champagne was brought to the dais for the players.

Still in a daze, Henrietta accepted a glass. She took a sip and almost sneezed as the bubbles danced in her nose.

“Harrie?” Eddie was hovering by her with a smile. “The Prince of Wales would like to be introduced to you.”

“T-to me?” echoed Henrietta fearfully.

“Yes,” nodded Eddie. “He wants to meet us all, but he particularly asked for
you
.”

“Eddie, I c-can't.”

All confidence in her disguise had gone. Surely the Prince would recognise her under all the powder and paint?

Eddie held out his hand.

“I don't know much about your English customs, but even
I
understand that no one refuses a Prince.”

Henrietta blinked unhappily and then rose, taking Eddie's arm and allowing herself to be led from the dais.

“Quite a performer!” came a hearty voice.

Henrietta glanced up at the Prince of Wales's genial features and gave a small curtsy.

“Your Royal Highness,” was all she could reply, her gaze roving to where the Duke was standing.

The Prince was surveying her with interest, but not recognition.

“The effect upon the eye of your costume is so very American,” he commented.

“Our exact intention, Your Royal Highness!” Eddie offered quickly.

Henrietta curtsied again, aware now that the Duke kept turning to throw a still puzzled glance her way.

“You must be delighted to have discovered such a unique talent, Mr. Bragg,” the Prince was musing.

“I am,” said Eddie, before adding with a theatrical sigh, “I fear, however, that I may lose her before long ”

“Not, I hope, before you agree to come and play for
me
?” demanded the Prince.

Eddie hesitated, throwing at Henrietta a meaningful look, which she studiously avoided.

She was
not
going to commit herself to playing for the Prince of Wales just to accommodate
his
ambitions!

Eddie understood her silence.

“I may not be able to persuade her to stay ”

“Pity, pity,” muttered the Prince. “Well, we'll see, we'll see.”

He turned to his
aide-de-camp
and instructed him to take Eddie's card.

Henrietta imagined that she was now free to return to what she considered was the safety of the dais.

She was uncomfortable at being on the floor, where anyone present might scrutinise her at close quarters.

As she gathered up her skirts and turned, however, she was arrested by the voice of the Duke.

“Do you need your pianist for the next number?” she heard him ask Eddie.

She could see Eddie give a nonchalant shrug.

“I reckon I can do without Miss Reed for a melody or two,” he responded with a knowing smile.

The Duke turned to Henrietta.

“Then, madam, I trust that you will agree to offer me the next dance?”

Henrietta was confused beyond measure.

What sort of game was the Duke playing now?

It was one thing for the Prince to address himself to the members of the orchestra. Surely it was quite another for the host to lead the piano player particularly one who resembled nothing so much as a tawdry showgirl out on to the floor?

She cast frantic glances about her. For once she hoped for the intervention of Lady Butterclere, who would surely not countenance the Duke in this request. But she and Romany Foss were trailing in the wake of the Prince's retinue, eager for the least crumb of Royal attention.

Eddie leaped back onto the dais and lifted his baton as Henrietta gazed ruefully after him.

“Madam?”

The Duke stepped forward and held out his hand to her. Hesitatingly, she turned and head low placed her hand in his.

It was just as if a jolt of electricity passed between them. She almost gasped out aloud at the sensation that thrilled through her limbs.

At the very same time he gave a barely perceptible shudder, closing his fingers over hers so tightly that her hand was caught as in a vice.

She gave a low soft moan and the Duke, checking himself, loosened his grip.

“Do I still hurt you, madam?” he asked in a low voice.

“N-not now, Your Grace.”

He was then silent for so long that at last she raised her eyes to his. His black pupils were dilated, shining with almost unbearable intensity as he feasted on her features.

“God, madam, but even under that ridiculous paint, you draw the eye,” he muttered.

Henrietta began to tremble and her skin seemed to burn under his gaze, a gaze that now lingered on her lips.

If he did not look away soon, she would certainly faint. Faint with the longing to raise herself on tiptoe and meet his mouth with hers

She was unutterably relieved as the orchestra struck up and the Duke drew her in one swift move to his breast.

There she could at least hide her scalded face for a moment and recover her disturbed senses.

She might not have moved at all, but the Duke's arms, strong and insistent, urged her into a slow waltz.

Raising her head as she circled round the floor, she glimpsed Mrs. Poody's startled stare.