The Man in the Green Coat (8 page)

“We are going to a ball, Luke,” she said timidly. “You abominate balls above all things. Indeed, you need not come, for Mr Gardiner is dining here and will escort us.”

“Did I tell you that I abominate balls?” Luke said, smiling. “That was a great exaggeration.”

“But you do not care to dance, I know. You do not think that I will stand up with Lord Aintree, or Sir Hubert? I promise I shall not, since you dislike it.”

“I begin to think you do not want me to go!”

Lady Cecilia intervened. “She means no such thing, Luke! We are both happy to have your escort. It is entirely your own fault if your offer takes us by surprise, for the only ball you have attended this season was our own.”

“And a frightful crush it was, ma’am!”

“Yes indeed! Excessively gratifying when your father and I have rusticated for so long and you do not lift a finger to maintain your position in society,” she said with acerbity.

To Dorothea’s relief, Mr Gardiner was announced. Luke observed him closely, decided that he was a milksop who was as little likely to attract his sister as to frighten her, and resigned himself to a tedious evening.

Half an hour at the ball did nothing to revise his expectations. Dorothea had correctly diagnosed his dislike for dancing; since discovering, seven years ago, the extent of his father’s gambling debts he had taken no pleasure in play; and none of the cronies with whom he enjoyed political discussion had graced the event with their presence. As he dodged, for the third or fourth time, a matchmaking mama with eligible daughter in tow, he wondered if it had been wise to conceal from the world the depth of the family’s financial misfortunes. Apparently he was generally regarded as a good catch.

His evasive manoeuvring had brought him close to the entrance, and he considered abandoning Lady Cecilia and Dorothea to Mr Gardiner’s care. However, his host and hostess were still standing there, greeting a few late arrivals. There was no way to sneak past without being seen, and it was by far too early to make his departure with propriety.

Frustrated, he watched a group of two ladies and two gentlemen approach the doors from the hall beyond, wishing they were going the other way and he with them. He was turning away when he stopped suddenly with an arrested look and glanced back.

With a shock of recognition, his eyes met Gabrielle’s.

Chapter 7

Gabrielle went through the introductions in a heedless daze. She curtseyed prettily, thanked her hostess for including her in Lady Harrison's invitation, and moved on on Alain de Vignard’s arm without the least idea of what she was doing. The brilliance of the scene was lost on her—the gay music, twirling dancers, gems flashing in the light of a dozen chandeliers.

Mr Everett here! And looking as elegant as any gentleman in the room. But had he really, as their eyes met, given the tiniest possible shake of his head, and if so, what did it mean?

Was it possible that he did not recognise her in her finery? The apricot ballgown was certainly a far cry from the men’s clothes he had first seen her in, and her hair had been dressed by a fashionable coiffeur who had done wonders with the wreck she had made of it. Yet she was sure he knew her.

She could only suppose he wanted her to pretend she did not know him. That was fair enough: it would be difficult to explain their prior acquaintance without referring to circumstances best left unmentioned. But how she wished she had met him under other circumstances!

She pulled Gerard’s sleeve and drew him aside.

“Mr Everett is here,” she whispered, “but I beg you will not approach him unless he should indicate a desire to recognise us. We cannot wish to appear encroaching, and it might be best that no one should know of our adventures.”

“You are afraid it will get about that you arrived in England in breeches!” said Gerard with a grin. “Mum’s the word.”

“It would ruin my reputation before I have time to establish one!” she said, laughing.

She wished he knew about the message she had carried to the Man in the Green Coat. Once she had met Mr Everett, she had been sure that she was right not to tell, that the fewer people who knew his alias the better. She had always been close to her brother, though, and it was hard to keep a secret from him.

As they made their way through the crowd, Gabrielle spotted Mr Everett talking to a tall, blond lady in a ravishing but matronly gown of lilac silk. They looked towards her, but made no sign of recognition. His wife? she wondered. With a sigh, she followed Lady Harrison to a row of crimson velvet-covered gilt chairs, and the ladies were seated.

“Are you sure you will not dance, Miss Darcy?” enquired Alain de Vignard, bending solicitously over her. His English was accentless, only an occasional turn of phrase betraying his origin.

“What, and betray myself for a country bumpkin, monsieur? I do not know any of the dances and should undoubtedly tie myself in knots, along with my partner and all those about me!”

“We must engage a
maître de danse,
” declared Lady Harrison.

“Not for me,” shuddered Gerard. “Gaby, you don’t mind if I walk about, do you? There is so much to see.”

“If you will stop calling me Gaby, you may walk about as much as you please for all I care, but it is Madame’s leave you must ask.”

He looked abashed. “I beg your pardon, Madame Aurore.”

“Silly boy! Of course you are accustomed to attending to your sister. Me, I do not take offense. Run along and enjoy yourself.”

“Monsieur de Vignard, you must not think yourself tied to my apronstrings. Pray go with my brother. I expect you have a great many acquaintances present.”

“A few,” he admitted, “and I shall make Gerard known to some of them later on. But first let me procure you a glass of lemonade. It is deuced hot in here.”

“Thank you, I should like that.” Gabrielle smiled up at him. It was a relief, in a ballroom full of strangers, to have a handsome young man considering her comfort.

In the three days she had been in London she had seen little of Alain, but that little had favourably impressed her. He was kind and charming, properly grateful to Madame Aurore, and Gerard liked him. He seemed thoroughly gentlemanly, and she could only deplore the ill luck that had forced him to make his way in the world without family or fortune to help him. At that, she gathered from Madame Aurore that he was in better case than many of his countrymen, some of whom had been driven to such menial occupations as cobbling shoes for a living.

Pondering his fate, she listened with half an ear to Lady Harrison, who was issuing, in an undertone, condensed biographies of the people around them. She had a certain gift for capturing the essential points of character or career in a few phrases, and Gabrielle was soon absorbed in her words. Some of the names she recognised from the reams of gossip Madame Aurore had penned to them over the years. It was fascinating to see in the flesh the fops and exquisites, Corinthians and court-cards whose exploits she had exclaimed over and giggled about with Gerard.

The dress of the ladies was equally interesting. Lady Harrison had an unerring eye for fashion and could point out exactly how a particular gown enhanced or detracted from the appearance of the wearer. She was commenting on a particularly unfortunate combination of palest pink and green, worn by a high-complexioned girl who should, she said severely, have known better, when their tête-à-tête was interrupted.

Alain, returning with lemonade for Gabrielle and champagne for her ladyship, brought with him a sprightly matron and her two daughters.

“Lady Harrison!” exclaimed the older lady. “Monsieur de Vignard tells us that you have a new charge.” She stared with frank curiosity at Gabrielle, who rose and curtseyed as she was introduced.

The younger of the two girls was gazing at Alain with besotted eyes, and he soon took her off to dance. The others stayed in conversation, and gradually a group gathered about them. Several young men asked Gabrielle to dance, but she remained firm in her refusal, finding more and more outrageous reasons which set everyone laughing.

“Miss Darcy is a wit,” explained one of the gentlemen to a newcomer attracted by the merriment.

“A dashed pretty one,” he responded.

A new dance started up, and several young couples departed to take their places, but others arrived and Gabrielle soon had more new acquaintances than she could count. Lady Harrison had not been boasting when she claimed a large circle of friends.

Gabrielle was enjoying herself enormously. She waved gaily to Alain as he delivered his lovestruck partner to her mother and departed with another young lady. There was no sign of Gerard, and she hoped he was having as good a time as she was. She also hoped that Mr Everett saw how little need she had of his acknowledgment. Let him ignore her in favour of his tall blonde! She did not care.

“I see Monsieur de Vignard is popular with the ladies,” she whispered to Lady Harrison, as once again he came to assure himself that they were comfortable before he went back to the dancing.

“Oui, he has excellent manners, besides being so very ‘andsome, and the mamas like him because he makes no secret of his position and does not try to ingratiate himself, and dances with
les jeunes filles
who are ugly as well as with
les belles
.”

“He is truly good-natured!”

At that moment, a new voice addressed Lady Harrison.

“Madame, I think you know my daughter? Allow me to present my son to you.”

Gabrielle looked up and gasped. The tall blond lady stood before them, a delicately beautiful young girl beside her, and next to them, Mr Everett. He bowed over Lady Harrison’s hand, murmuring a polite "Enchanté, my lady.”

“‘Ow do you do, monsieur,” said Lady Harrison cordially. “Lady Cecilia,
permettez
that I make known to you my young friend, Miss Darcy.”

Bewildered, Gabrielle made her best curtsey. Lady Cecilia looked older close to than in the distance, but nowhere near old enough to be Mr Everett’s mother. She wondered momentarily if they were for some obscure reason playing a trick on her. A single glance at the gentleman’s sober face laid that notion to rest. He was regarding her with an intensity she found decidedly disturbing.

“It is hot in here, Miss Darcy,” he said. “Perhaps you have not yet discovered the terrace? May I be allowed to escort you thither?”

Gabrielle cast a glance of wild appeal at her chaperone, and noticed that Lady Cecilia was looking at her with a slightly cynical smile, though not unkindly.

“Perfectly unexceptionable,” she assured Lady Harrison. “It is well lit and there are a number of people outside. It is a warm night for the time of year, is it not?”

At that moment Alain de Vignard came up and Lady Harrison introduced him.

“I have met Monsieur de Vignard, I believe,” said Mr Everett. “Are you not an associate of General Pichegru, monsieur?”

“You flatter me, sir! I am the general’s secretary, no more."

Lady Cecilia looked her approval of such frankness, and made no demur when Alain asked permission to dance with Miss Everett. Dorothea smiled up at him enchantingly and they went off to join the set for the next country dance. Gabrielle watched them go and thought they must be quite the handsomest couple present.

She found herself crossing the crowded room on Mr Everett’s arm. They passed through open French windows onto a wide, stone-flagged terrace colourfully decorated with Chinese paper lanterns. The cool air had enticed out a score of guests, who sat on wooden benches or strolled up and down, but there were several unoccupied corners and to one of these he led her.

“Won’t you be seated, Miss Darcy?” he asked as she stood uncertainly by the bench. “You must not overtax your strength. I am surprised that your premature departure from Dover did not do you some harm.”

“None at all, sir. I know my own health, I think!” She sat down and he joined her. In the faint blue light of the nearest lanterns, his face was livid. Pretty the lights might be, but not flattering. She wondered what ghastly effect they had on her own complexion. “I do not dance tonight however,” she added.

“I am glad of it. I should certainly have strongly discouraged your even attending a ball so soon after your injury.”

“Mr Everett, do you make a practice of issuing orders to all the females of your acquaintance?” She looked at him indignantly.

“Of course not!” He was silent for a moment, thoughtful. “I suppose I feel a sense of responsibility for you, perhaps foolishly, because of the circumstances of our meeting. I beg your pardon. I shall endeavour to avoid the appearance of commanding you.”

“It would be as well. I believe I have told you before that I am unaccustomed to blind obedience.”

“Gabrielle—Miss Darcy, let us not quarrel!”

“No. I am sorry. That was ungracious when you have already apologised. I have been hoping to see you again, for I have a thousand questions to ask you. Is it safe to talk here?”

“Little Miss Discretion! If we lower our voices and change the subject when anyone comes near, it should be safe enough. I cannot promise to answer all your questions, however. What do you wish to know?”

Gabrielle considered. “Well first of all, though it is quite irrelevant to the rest, is Lady Cecilia really your mother?”

He laughed, and she was relieved that he sounded genuinely amused and not at all offended.

“My stepmother. Did you think she had discovered the Fountain of Youth?”

“Not at all. I thought you prematurely aged! If she is Lady Cecilia, should I not call you ‘my lord’?”

“No. At least, not yet. My stepmother is the daughter of an earl, I merely the son of a baron, and therefore ‘the Honourable’ until I succeed to the title.”

“You are? You see I am woefully ignorant. I expect your sister is an Honourable too, then. She is excessively pretty."

“She is, is she not? And a most obedient child, you will be happy to hear.”

Gabrielle snorted. “Crushed, I imagine. Mr Everett, who is Le Hibou, and who is de la Touche?”

“To business, then. Le Hibou is a British agent who has been passing excellent information to us for ten or fifteen years. I say British, but in fact no one knows whether he is an Englishman or a French royalist, let alone what his real name is. It is possible that my predecessor at the Foreign Office knew, but he died of apoplexy without revealing that, or a great many other facts which would have helped me immeasurably!”