Читать книгу Regency Collection 2013 Part 1 - Хелен Диксон, Louise Allen, Хелен Диксон - Страница 43

‘My dear Lily! What have you done with yourself?’ Mrs Herrick stared at her niece as she came into the room where Lady Billington was waiting to collect her for the Duchess of Oldbury’s ball. ‘Your hair! And surely that is not the gown you ordered—and where are all your jewels?’

Lily stood just inside the doorway, defiantly silent. She was not at all certain herself that she was doing the right thing—or even why she was doing it when he was not there to see.

‘My dear Miss France!’ Lady Billington threw up her hands. ‘Enchanting! How very well that simpler style becomes you. I declare you will be the toast of the ball.’

‘But her hair!’ Mrs Herrick exclaimed. ‘So plain in that severe style without any curls.’ She walked around her niece, staring critically. ‘Although it is very sophisticated with that complex knot at the back. And your gown—where have the floss and the crystals gone?’

‘Extremely tasteful and very elegant,’ Lady Billington pronounced. ‘And the choice of just your diamond ear drops and the simple diamond necklace: perfect.’

‘But you have so many diamonds,’ Mrs Herrick lamented.

‘I do not have to show them off all at once,’ Lily countered, trying to convince herself. ‘It feels strange to dress so simply, but I think, now I am used to it, that it does make more of an impact.’ After all, everyone knew how rich she was. Perhaps she did not have to flaunt it.

‘You look like a lady,’ Lady Billington pronounced with satisfaction. ‘I do not see how you can fail to make an eligible connection now.’

It was too much to hope that Lily would be considered the belle of the ball at an event that was acknowledged to be the high point of the Season, but her chaperon’s hopes were not disappointed. Miss France’s new style was causing a stir—and every comment, from the grudgingly approving nods of the matrons to the murmurs of envy from the other young ladies, was favourable.

And the men were definitely impressed. Lily smiled demurely as gentlemen from the most impressionable youths to hardened rakes solicited her hand, and her card rapidly filled up.

Which is all very well, she reflected, promising a country dance to Lord Fanshawe, and being admired unreservedly for a change is very pleasant. But I don’t want any of them! What she wanted was one obstinate, battered, thoroughly unfashionable, gorgeous man who did not want her and who was not here to see her triumph.

And Adrian Randall was here; she had glimpsed him across the dance floor more than once. Sooner or later they were going to come face to face and she had no idea how he was going to act. Lily was convinced he had been smearing her name—Lord Dovercourt’s actions were proof enough of that—but how widely? Not widely enough for her to be cut here at any event, not after Lady Jersey’s support reinforced by her own efforts at an understated, ladylike appearance.

Even so, Lily took pains to move around the ballroom in a way that kept her on the opposite side from Adrian. It was a wonderful space. Finding herself at the far end of the long rectangle, Lily could admire the gilded and mirrored walls, the painted ceiling and the shallow flight of steps down at the entrance end. They made a dramatic focus, allowing the duchess to receive her guests at the top and for them to descend in full view of the company below. Most of the ladies were taking full advantage of this opportunity to display their finery, and the parade of gowns alone, Lily observed to Lady Billington, made the evening memorable.

The orchestra ceased its programme of light airs and, with a flourish of strings, indicated the start of the dancing. Lily was claimed by Colonel Strangman for the quadrille and she put everything else out of her mind as she concentrated on the steps of the dance.

The colonel was a good dancer and a pleasant companion; Lily enjoyed the dance and was still chatting animatedly to him as he walked her off the floor. It was possible, if one kept busy enough, to behave as though nothing untoward had happened, as if one’s heart had not broken. How very strange.

‘Miss France!’ It was Lady Jersey. The colonel bowed and effaced himself and Lily steeled herself for the patroness’s critical appraisal. ‘You look charmingly, my dear. Now then, there is someone I wish you to meet.’ Lady Jersey steered Lily through the press and arrived in front of a handsome young man. ‘Miss France, do allow me to introduce my godson, Lord Gledhill. George, I am sure Miss France must be in need of a glass of lemonade.’

She fluttered off, leaving the two of them regarding each other with a certain reserve. ‘Matchmaking, I am afraid,’ Lord Gledhill remarked ruefully. ‘Would you care for some refreshment, Miss France?’

‘No, nothing at all, I thank you. Why should your god-mama—?’

‘She always is,’ he replied cheerfully. ‘Thinks I should settle down and establish my nursery. Don’t pay any attention, I don’t.’ He must have realised this was a less than flattering remark, for he grinned and added, ‘Not that any man would be about in his head if he didn’t admire you Miss France, but I’d make a devilish bad husband. Is anything wrong?’

Lily realised she was staring over his left shoulder and hastily recollected herself. ‘No, nothing. Only, there is someone I would prefer not to meet and he is coming this way. If you do not mind …’

‘Randall, eh?’ Lord Gledhill remarked after one glance, confirming her worst fears about how widely her personal troubles were known. ‘Chap’s a bounder. We’ll just head this way, shall we?’

He steered her down the room a little, closer to the entrance staircase. ‘I say, that’s a frightening turban just come in.’

Lily looked up, saw Lady Philpott in one of her signature purple head dresses and tried not to smile. ‘Her ladyship looks very … imposing,’ she countered repressively.

‘Lord Allerton!’ The footman’s voice lifted above a lull in the music.

‘Who? Never heard of him.’ Lord Gledhill glanced at the head of the stairs with mild curiosity. ‘Never seen him before either. Not a fellow you’d miss—must have been out of the country.’

Lily, still smiling at the outrageous toque, followed his gaze. Just turning from shaking hands with the duchess was a tall, broad-shouldered man. His linen was immaculate, his dark head ruthlessly barbered into a fashionable Brutus cut. He paused at the head of the stairs, his eyes scanning the crowd below, then began to descend in a leisurely manner. He was heading in her direction.

‘Jack?’ It couldn’t be—unless he had a double.

‘Know him, do you, Miss France?’

‘Yes. I mean, no. No, absolutely not. I have never heard of Lord Allerton. It must be a coincidental likeness.’ But of course it could not be—she could see the red line of the newly healed scar on his temple now, savagely exposed by the severe crop. What was he doing here, pretending to be someone else entirely? How on earth had he bluffed his way past the formidable Duchess of Oldbury? There would be the most dreadful scandal when he was unmasked.

And he was coming directly towards her. With the same ability she had noticed when he had cut his way through the mob outside her house, Jack was finding a path through the fashionable crowd. People were watching him with scarcely veiled interest—it seemed that his assumed title was mystifying most of them, as was his appearance.

‘He’s been in the wars, our mystery man,’ George Gledhill remarked. And now Jack was closer Lily could see a darkening bruise on his cheek and a cut near the corner of his mouth. He looked dangerous in the midst of this elegant throng, for all his formal attire and scrupulous grooming.

What am I going to say to him? Why is he here? Who has he been fighting? Her heart was thudding, but through the confusion and the anxiety Lily could feel nothing but happiness at the sight of him. She tried to push the feeling away; there was nothing that could be between them, he had made that very clear. Whatever was about to happen was going to mean nothing but trouble.

‘Allerton?’ The voice behind her made her turn to see Lord Winstanly frowning in thought. ‘Now that’s a title I haven’t heard for a long while.’

Oh, Lord! Jack, what on earth are you doing? Lily braced herself to confront him, wondering if she could persuade him to leave before his imposture was revealed to everyone. Then she saw he was not making directly for her, but for a group of men standing somewhat to the side of her.

‘Adrian.’ She must have spoken out loud.

‘Miss France?’

‘Lord Gledhill, I am very much afraid there is going to be some sort of confrontation.’ She began to make her way through the crowd, most of whom had lost their momentary interest in the new face and were making up sets for the first of the country dances. George followed her.

‘Look here, Miss France, if there is going to be trouble, don’t you think you should stay well away?’

‘No.’ She sighed as she dodged behind the back of the Marquis of Haverstock. ‘No. Whatever it is will be entirely my fault, I cannot run away from it.’

She reached the edge of the circle of friends and sycophants who always surrounded Lord Randall at any social gathering, stopping where she could watch unobserved from behind a potted palm. He was flirting languidly with a pair of giggling young ladies and his attention, and that of his friends, was focused on the girls and not towards the entrance. Adrian seemed quite unaware of who had entered the ballroom and was now almost directly behind him.

‘We all thought you were lost to us, Lord Randall.’ It was Miss Berwick, a pert blonde who most mamas stigmatised as unbecomingly forward. ‘When we heard you were engaged to be married to Miss France, why, hearts were broken all across London!’

‘What a terrible rumour to put about,’ her friend struck in, eager not to be left out of the contest for his attention. ‘As if Lord Randall would have contemplated such a thing.’

‘Oh, but I did contemplate it, my dear.’ Adrian caressed her with his intense blue gaze and she wriggled like a puppy at the attention. ‘We men are weak, you know—that lovely money can make fools of us all.’

Lily’s hand clamped down on Lord Gledhill’s arm as he exclaimed under his breath and took a step forward. ‘No, please!’ she whispered.

‘But what went wrong?’ The little brunette was gazing up into Lord Randall’s face with an adoration that made Lily want to slap her.

‘Not something one can discuss in front of innocent young ladies such as yourselves, my dear.’ He patted her hand as her eyes grew wide. ‘Suffice it to say, a gentleman expects certain standard of conduct from the lady he marries.’

There were sniggers around the circle of his cronies and both young ladies blushed with horrified delight. ‘Damn it all!’ Lord Gledhill tried to turn Lily away and steer her back into the crowd. ‘You go back to your chaperon, Miss France—I am going to take this fellow to task.’

‘Oh, please, no,’ Lily begged. ‘The last thing I want is a scene, here of all places.’

‘Looks as though you are going to get one anyway,’ George remarked, giving up on his efforts to persuade her to move. ‘Here is your mystery man.’

‘Lord Randall.’ It was Jack—there could be absolutely no doubt about it, although she could hardly see him. The calm, chill voice cut through the giggles and chat like a blade of ice.

Adrian turned. ‘And who might you be?’ His back effectively blocked Lily’s view. She ducked sideways between the palm and a pillar and saw Jack. He was regarding Adrian steadily, his expression perfectly pleasant—until one saw the dark, dangerous, flint of his eyes.

‘Allerton. It is a long time since we were both at Eton, but we have met twice since then. Quite recently.’ Eton? What dangerous game was Jack playing? Was he attempting to purloin the entire identity of the unknown Lord Allerton?

‘Allerton? Good Lord, yes, I recall now. You were a skinny little wretch then, weren’t you?’ Adrian’s laugh was an insult all in itself. ‘And you vanished mid-term one year because your father ruined himself—I remember now. Coal, wasn’t it? Or something equally grubby.’

‘Yes,’ Jack agreed levelly. ‘Coal. And after our recent meetings, I find I have the most pressing desire to discuss matters further with you.’

‘Recent?’ Randall stared at Jack. ‘What can you mean?’ Lily saw the recognition dawn and Adrian’s lips draw back into a snarl. ‘You! You were the man in that coffee house—and you were the one in Li—’

‘Exactly.’ Jack took a step forward. ‘And before you start bandying a lady’s name around, I suggest we go into the retiring room behind you.’

‘Absolutely. Excellent idea.’ George Gledhill strode forward, effectively carrying Lord Randall with him. As he went, he caught the arm of a serious-looking gentleman who had been observing the scene with disapproval. ‘Mountain out of a molehill—see what you can do to smooth things over out here, Perry, there’s a good fellow.’

Ripples of disturbance spread out from the scene, but most of the gentlemen left outside the door turned aside, making conversation, acting as though nothing untoward had taken place. Lily realised what was going on—a matter of honour, a lady involved, bad form to draw attention to it.

Jack had vanished, as had Lord Randall, along with a few of the men who had been close at hand and Lord Gledhill. The door of the retiring room was firmly shut and Lily, unseen behind her sheltering palm, was unobserved.

She found she was shaking and leaned back against the wall to steady herself. Jack had bluffed his way into the ball, apparently set on picking a fight with Adrian. But was he bluffing? Adrian appeared to accept his explanation of who he was. But a title? Trying to pull herself together, she stepped out of her shelter and found herself next to Lord Winstanly.

‘What an extraordinary scene,’ she said lightly. ‘Did you say you knew the gentleman, my lord?’

‘Knew his grandfather, the fourth earl—this one’s the spitting image. Great family, sadly diminished now, of course. I hadn’t realised there were any of them left.’

Earl? Jack was an earl? Emotions chased through Lily, so jumbled she could not distinguish any of them clearly except one. Anger. She looked around; somehow she was going to find out what was going on in that room.

Jack nodded his thanks to the tall man who had so neatly cut them out of the crowded room and into this private chamber. There were six of them, incongruous in a room that had obviously been set aside as a boudoir for ladies to rest in. Flowers decked the little tables, candles shimmered in crystal holders and bowls of dainty sweetmeats stood around. A screen, delicately hand painted, cut off the draught from the door on the far wall.

The six men regarded each other with varying degrees of puzzlement and hostility. Jack held his peace—let Randall blunder himself into a situation where a challenge was inevitable. With any luck it could be achieved without mention of Lily’s name.

‘Well?’ Randall demanded. ‘What do you want of me now? Not to chat about the good old times at school, I imagine?’ One of the men, apparently his crony, sniggered. Jack let his gaze rest on the man and he subsided.

‘No. I came merely to inform you that I consider your presence at any civilised gathering offensive and to request that you remove yourself.’

‘You find my presence offensive!’ The colour was high in Randall’s cheeks. ‘I find you, sprawled in the arms of—’

‘You found me injured in the salon of a lady—whose name you are not going to mention as it is quite irrelevant—and you immediately put upon it a construction that was as deeply offensive to the lady as it was totally inaccurate. When the lady attempted to explain matters to you, you addressed her in terms both immoderate and crude; when I attempted to silence you, you knocked me out with a cowardly blow despite the fact that I was barely conscious.’

There was a murmur around the room. Randall’s crony, who had obviously heard his side of the story before, sneered. The other gentlemen looked serious.

‘You allege you were wounded and Lord Randall struck you?’ It was the tall young man who had taken command outside.

‘Yes.’ Jack raised his hand to the scar on his temple. ‘I had been felled by a thrown cobblestone in the street outside. The lady had me brought into her house to await the doctor. I was barely conscious, blinded with blood. When Randall began to insult the lady, I attempted to stand and was felled to the ground.’

‘Rubbish!’ Randall snarled. ‘I come into the room, find him clutched to the near-naked bosom of the lady who—’

‘Careful.’ Jack could feel his fingers curling and reined in his temper.

‘The scene was one of obvious intimacy. I was outraged.’

‘Well, you might be able to make love to a lady when semi-conscious, Randall—’ it was the tall man again, his voice contemptuous ‘—but the rest of us lesser mortals would find it a challenge. Lord Allerton appears to have a justifiable grievance. I would suggest you apologise.’

‘Apologise? To that coal-hewer’s son? Look at him, he is obviously a brawling drunk—see the bruises on him!’

‘You should see the other fellow.’ Jack could not resist the cheap jibe. ‘Lord Dovercourt’s rather ordinary looks have not been improved by the loss of his front teeth.’

‘Dovercourt?’

‘Indeed. He was foolish enough to repeat some of the offensive remarks you have made about a certain lady.’

‘For heaven’s sake, Randall, apologise. And I suggest you give your word not to make any further remarks about the lady to boot,’ the tall gentleman suggested disdainfully.

‘To hell with you and your meddling, Gledhill, I’ll do no such thing.’

‘Coward,’ Jack said softly.

‘I’ll not be insulted by the likes of you!’ Randall was white to the lips now. Even his friends were looking doubtfully at him.

‘Well, it certainly appears to be very difficult to achieve.’ It was also increasingly difficult to keep his hands off the man’s throat. ‘I have never attempted to insult a lily-livered coxcomb before. I had no idea it would be such an effort. Apologise or name your friends.’

‘I’ll not fight a coal merchant. Gentlemen do not duel with riff-raff.’

‘You can fight me here and now,’ Jack offered, regarding his clenched right fist with its grazed knuckles thoughtfully. ‘You can name your friends. Or you can walk out of here leaving five sober witnesses to your cowardice. Which is it to be?’

It seemed to Jack that the four onlookers were holding their breath, then, ‘Damn you. Fellthorpe, Dunsford—will you act for me?’

They nodded, muttering their agreement, looking none too happy about it. Jack realised he had landed himself in a fix with no one to ask to second him, then Lord Gledhill stepped forward.

‘I’ll act for you, my lord. Webster?’ The remaining man nodded curtly.

‘Aye. Bad business, best kept amongst ourselves. Give Gledhill your direction, my lord, we will call on you tomorrow.’

Randall swept out of the room without looking back, his seconds on his heels. Jack nodded to Gledhill. ‘I thank you for that. I am putting up at the Bull and Mouth. May I offer you gentlemen breakfast in the morning?’

‘You most certainly may. Noon? I suggest you give us a few moments, Allerton, before you reappear.’ He smiled. ‘Enjoy the ball.’

‘Phew.’ Jack looked round the empty room, assessing the various frail pieces of furniture, and sat down on the chaise. That had been achieved with less public fuss than he had feared; now all that remained was to attempt to get out of this alive—and without killing Randall either. Putting a period to his lordship’s existence might be tempting, but exile abroad most certainly was not.

Jack scooped up a few bonbons and absently put one in his mouth while running through what he now had to do. His will was in order, that was one mercy. Then he must write a letter to his mother to leave with his seconds, just in case.

Then … ‘You bastard!’