Читать книгу Silk - Пенни Джордан, PENNY JORDAN - Страница 16

Chapter Nine

‘Do you ever wonder what our futures really will be, Amber?’

They were at a tea party at the Savoy and it was the day after a luncheon at which they had all been entertained and scared by a fortune-teller hired by their hostess to keep her guests entertained and amused.

Louise predictably had been the first in the queue to step into the small brightly coloured tent, erected in the drawing room, inside which the fortune-teller had been seated.

‘No,’ Amber answered Beth, teasing her, ‘because I already know what yours will be. You will be engaged before the end of the season to a very suitable and delightful young man with a title and a fortune. He will have a large estate in the country and a handsome town house in London, and once you are married you will have lots of deliciously pretty little girls and handsome little boys.’

‘And I know what yours will be,’ Beth countered. ‘You will meet a wonderfully handsome and wickedly dangerous artist, who will fall passionately in love with you, and you with him. He will offer you his heart and his hand. You will refuse him at first, but then once he has proved himself to you, you will accept him and then together you will design the most wonderful silks. I wonder what the fortune-teller told Louise – she was in there for ever.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Amber, ‘but whatever it was it must have pleased her because she has been looking very secretive and smug ever since.’

‘I’m getting really nervous about our court presentation and I’ll be glad when it’s over. I’m so pleased that we’ll be at the early courts instead of having to wait until June, aren’t you?’

They were to be presented the following day, and Amber agreed, swallowing back her own fear.

‘Lady Rotherford, my godmdother, has accepted Mummy’s invitation to my ball.’ Beth flushed slightly. ‘Her son, Alistair, will be escorting her. I haven’t seen him for ages, but he used to be such fun, but of course we’ve got your ball first. Did I tell you that Teddy has insisted on escorting Mummy?’ Beth gave her a teasing look. ‘Do you know what I think? I think that Teddy could be falling in love with you. He’ll be a duke when his grandfather dies, you know, and he’s fearfully rich.’

Amber laughed. ‘Of course he isn’t,’ she denied.

The truth was that she rather thought she might be falling in love with him, Amber admitted. Not that she was going to say that to Beth, just as she hadn’t admitted that she had already known Lord Robert before Beth’s mother had introduced them. It was her secret alone, and one that gave her a warm glow every time she thought of him.

‘We’ve had fun together, haven’t we?’

Amber nodded.

They were in the rooftop café in Selfridges, Lord Robert in his disguise.

‘I hadn’t realised that you and Beth were such good friends.’

Suddenly Amber felt anxious. ‘It doesn’t make any difference, does it?’

‘Of course not. You’re so busy now that you won’t have time for your old professor soon.’

Amber was about to protest when Lord Robert continued, ‘Which is just as well. I suspect that we would be found out if we continued with our little game much longer, and whilst it has been both delightful and innocent, the last thing I want is for your reputation to be called into question.’

Amber’s hand trembled as she put down her china cup.

‘Yes, yes, of course. You are right. I know that.’

She did. Amber had learned a very great deal about life during the short time she had been in London. If Beth had been shocked and disapproving about Louise dancing with George Ponsonby, then how much more so would she be if she knew that Amber had been out on her own with Lord Robert? London society loved to gossip, and that gossip could be cruel. A young unmarried girl’s reputation must not be tarnished by any trace of scandal.

The loving gentleness of her parents and their marriage seemed a world away from the things Amber saw around her now. People spoke openly of the Prince of Wales’s mistress, a married woman, of course. There were so many different rules to be learned and codes to be understood. She had been shocked when she had learned that Diana Guinness, whom Amber had been inclined to hero-worship, talked openly about Evelyn Waugh’s devotion to her and had allowed the author virtually to move in with her and Bryan whilst he recovered from his divorce.

In society, once a woman was married and had given her husband an heir, it was, Amber had learned, deemed perfectly acceptable for her to take a lover. Even Beth, who was so prim and proper, spoke openly of relationships between couples who were not married.

A man who was a member of the aristocracy could and did expect his mistress to be invited to the social events he might be attending and as his partner, provided her pedigree made her socially acceptable to his hostess. They could even be invited to house parties together, but must always be given separate, but conveniently close, rooms. The Prince of Wales when conducting an affair always chose to surround his mistress with a handful of his close friends, sometimes including her husband.

Then there was the other kind of mistress, the ones that men set up in discreet expensive houses in St John’s Wood where they visited them. These mistresses were often show-girls of one sort or another. They could accompany their aristocratic lovers to Cannes or Monte Carlo; attend the Grand Prix, and louche parties with them, but they could not accompany their lovers to the kind of formal society events to which a man could take his aristocratic mistress.

There were aristocratic wives who had originally been on the stage, but they were few and far between.

One thing that was non-negotiable, though, was that a young woman who was not married had to preserve her reputation at all costs.

Amber was very close to tears and she was terribly afraid of disgracing herself. She mustn’t embarrass Lord Robert by creating a silly scene. She’d miss him so much – he had been so very kind to her – but she was just a young inexperienced girl and he was worldly and so handsome that he could have any girl his heart desired. She couldn’t possibly expect him to fall for her, she thought miserably as the dusk started to gather over Oxford Street. That would be the stuff of fairy tales, and she was far too sensible to allow herself to believe in those.

Louise shivered as she waited in the doorway of Harvey Nichols, as much with excitement as impatience. They had chosen this rendezvous because, as George had said, if anyone was to see them Louise could simply claim that she had been shopping and that they had bumped into one another.

She had known from the minute he had looked at her in that meaningful way at the Guinness ball that she would have to see him again. If he hadn’t suggested it himself then she would somehow have found a way to make sure that their paths had crossed again.

Louise shivered once more, this time only with excitement. It had made her feel so important when George had singled her out for attention. She knew all about his reputation, of course, but that had only made him seem all the more attractive.

He thought that he could seduce her, but instead she intended to make him fall in love with her. Louise had discovered at a young age how easy it was to manipulate men, and how exciting. There was something in her that craved excitement.

Louise longed for the day when she would be one of those fêted beautiful women whose lives were spent in luxury, their every whim indulged. The life Louise longed for wasn’t the one her mother planned for her: a dull boring life of wifely duty to some equally dull and boring man of equal social status to her own to whom she would be expected to be grateful for marrying her, despite the fact that she did not have a dowry. No, what excited Louise was the kind of life she had seen lived by the beautiful young women escorted and indulged by their rich, often much older, lovers; a life that would allow her to dress in beautiful clothes and jewellery and to be part of the fast set that spent their lives in a social whirl of pleasurable activity, that took them from the casinos of the French coast to the louche nightclubs of London, travelling in fast cars and sleek yachts, sleeping in the most luxurious hotel beds, eating the most delicious food and always being on show so that she could be admired; desired by men and envied by her own sex, but always the sparkling glittering centre of the ‘in’ crowd.

Her lover would adore her and lavish her with gifts – a racehorse or two; jewellery, of course; a pretty town house, and a villa in the South of France. Nothing would be too much, her every wish would be granted. And of course there would be other men, young, deliciously handsome men who would also lust after her and adore her.

She wanted it all. She would have it all, Louise promised herself fiercely.

Her relationship with George Ponsonby was simply the place where she would start.

She couldn’t marry George, of course. She didn’t want to. He wasn’t rich enough, for one thing, but it would be a triumph to be able to claim him as her conquest, especially when he had such a bad reputation. She’d be hailed as the woman who’d finally tamed him.

A taxi was pulling up; George got out and smiled at her. Louise didn’t smile back.

‘You’re late,’ she told him petulantly. ‘I was just about to go home.’

His mocking ‘Liar’ brought a flash of temper to Louise’s eyes.

‘You and I, my dear, are two of a kind. We know what we want and we don’t let it go when we’ve found it. Now, do you really want to go into Harvey Nichols or shall we find somewhere more private? There’s a club I know not very far away where they make the most wicked cocktails.’

‘That’s silly,’ Louise told him, refusing to give in to the intoxicating sensation she could feel inside herself. This was so very exciting, because it was so very dangerous. She was playing with fire and she knew it.

George smelled of the sandalwood cologne he always wore, stronger than was considered ‘British and gentlemanly’. He was wearing a dark grey suit with a pink chalk-stripe, over a white shirt and with a maroon silk tie. He looked, Louise knew very well, just that little bit too smart, his clothes just that little bit too well fitting, his hat tilted just so at a slightly rakish angle and his confidence very evident in the swagger with which he walked.

‘How can a cocktail be wicked?’ she responded.

‘Come with me and I’ll show you.’