A Change of Fortune Page 13

  “Oh, Uncle Guy, as if I’d do such a thing,” she replied, looking hurt.

  “But you would, you minx, I know you only too well. So I shall require another good report from Miss Conyngham here before I definitely make up my mind.” He smiled across at Leonie.

  Stella turned quickly. “Oh, I didn’t know you were here, Leonie,” she said, smiling. There was something about the smile which warned Leonie that whatever it was that had been on the girl’s mind for the past week was about to be brought out into the open.

  Stella searched in the large pocket of her dress and took out a rather crumpled, sealed letter. “Uncle Guy, I would like you to give this to Imogen. It’s a letter of apology for having been so odious toward her.” Her voice was sweet and her eyes wide and innocent.

  Slowly he took it. “Is it really a letter of apology?”

  “Oh, yes, truly it is. I want to start all over again.” She paused, her eyes sliding momentarily toward Leonie. “Actually, Uncle Guy,” she went on, “I was hoping that you’d let me prove how genuinely sorry I am.”

  “Prove it? How?” His dark eyes rested quizzically on her, for such an overwhelming change was too much to believe entirely.

  “Well, I know that she likes Shakespeare, doesn’t she?”

  “Yes,” he replied guardedly. “I also know that you loathe him.”

  “But I want to try to like him, for her sake, so that in the future, when she is your wife, I will be able to go to the theater with her—as her companion.”

  He seemed dumbfounded for a moment, and then an irrepressible gleam of humor shone in his eyes. “Forgive me if I seem dubious, Stella, but the thought of you and Imogen toddling off to the theater together to watch Shakespeare is simply too much to take seriously.”

  “But I’m changed, Uncle Guy,” she protested. “I really thought that if I could show her how much I mean to be good…. I mean, she knows I loathe Shakespeare, but she’d have to believe I was trying to do the right thing if I went to such lengths just for her. Wouldn’t she? I thought that we could get to like each other. After all, I won’t be just twelve forever, will I?” She gave a wistful sigh. “Still, if you think it’s a foolish idea, then of course I won’t say anything more about it.”

  “I didn’t say that,” he said quickly. “I was merely taken a little by surprise. If you really would like to embark upon this, then of course I would be only too pleased to assist. What do you wish me to do? Provide you with volumes of his works?”

  Stella studiously avoided Leonie’s suspicious eyes. “No, actually I’d like you to take me to the theater tomorrow night.”

  He stared at her. “Take you to the theater?”

  “Yes, The Merchant of Venice is going to be on at the Theater Royal, Drury Lane, and I know that it’s one of Imogen’s favorites. You told me that she played the part of Portia during the theatricals at Chatsworth—”

  “Yes, she did,” he said quickly, not wanting to recall the occasion, for Imogen had displayed a singular talent for overacting which had left everyone writhing in embarrassment.

  Stella was intent upon pressing her point home. “I thought that it would be an ideal opportunity, Uncle Guy, because if I’m allowed to go to Poyntons for the house party, then I’d have something to talk to her about. Look, there was an notice in the Times, and I cut it out to show you.” She searched in her pocket again and took out the piece of newspaper.

  Leonie watched as she handed it to him. So that was what the business with the newspaper had been about!

  Guy read it out. “ ‘On Wednesday, January the twenty-sixth, Mr. Kean of the Theater Royal, Exeter, will make his first appearance at the Theater Royal, Drury Lane, in the part of Shylock in The Merchant of Venice. To be followed by the farce, The Apprentice, with Mr. Bannister in the leading part.’ ” He glanced at Stella. “Who is this Mr. Kean? I thought at the very least that you’d be wanting to see Kemble in the role.”

  “I just want to see the play, Uncle Guy,” she replied meekly.

  He smiled a little. “So you’d have me believe.”

  “But I do!” she protested. “Please take me, Uncle Guy, because I do so want to please Imogen.” The insertion of Imogen’s name was very deliberate.

  He nodded. “Very well, Miss Slyboots, I’ll take you.”

  “Oh, Uncle Guy!” she cried in delight, hugging him. She drew back then. “There’s something else….”

  “I hardly dare ask what it is,” he replied dryly.

  “Oh, it’s nothing dreadful, truly it isn’t. I was wondering…. Well, I was wondering if Leonie could come too.”

  Leonie was thunderstruck, color rushing to her cheeks. “Oh, Stella, you mustn’t ask such a thing!”

  “Please, Uncle Guy,” pressed the girl. “I would so like it if she could.”

  He smiled across at Leonie. “Of course you must join us, Miss Conyngham.”

  “You must not feel obliged to invite me, Sir Guy,” she said, greatly embarrassed. “Of course I cannot accept.”

  “Please, Leonie!” begged Stella, going to her and taking her hand. “I do so want you to be there. Tell her, Uncle Guy.”

  “My niece is right to ask you, Miss Conyngham, and I would have invited you anyway, even had I not been prompted. Please say that you will join us.”

  The hot color still burned on Leonie’s cheeks. “You’re very kind, Sir Guy, but truly it’s impossible for me to accept.”

  “Because of your position here? Do you think Miss Hart might object?”

  “Yes.” Of course Miss Hart would object, she’d be angry, and she’d be alarmed at the thought of what Dorothea Lieven and her cousin might have to say.

  “I’ll speak to Miss Hart before I leave,” he said firmly. He paused then studying her face. “There’s some other reason for turning down the invitation, isn’t there?”

  “There are two, Sir Guy. First, I don’t think Lady Imogen would be best pleased. She and I have never got on, and I believe she would be much put out if I accompanied you and Stella.” Much put out? That was putting it mildly!

  “I’m hardly embarking upon a pursuit, Miss Conyngham, I’m merely asking you to join us for the evening. Stella is only twelve, and I believe it’s considered proper for such young girls to be accompanied by a lady on such occasions.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “No buts, Miss Conyngham. I’m sure Imogen will understand the situation. So, we are left with your last reason.”

  She took a deep breath. “It may sound lame, Sir Guy, but it’s simply that I don’t have anything to wear, anything suitable for the theater, that is. My clothes and jewels were stolen just before Christmas.”

  Stella’s eyes shone. “But you do have something to wear, Leonie, you have the white silk gown the thief dropped. Oh, you can come with us!”

  There was nothing more Leonie could say. Still feeling very embarrassed, and cross with Stella for putting her into such a position, she accepted the invitation.

  When Guy left shortly afterward, he kept his word and first spoke with Miss Hart. The headmistress was dismayed, and at first put up a number of implausible objections, each one of which Guy demolished with ease. Eventually she had no option but to give in and grudgingly consent to Leonie’s being allowed to go to the theater. Angry at being put in a very difficult position, Miss Hart then retired to her private parlor and the solace of the golden sofa, where she sat disconsolately wondering what the outcome of this latest development would be. She glanced up at Dorothea Lieven’s portrait. Oh dear, life was becoming difficult. Dorothea and Nadia would be absolutely furious to discover that Leonie, far from being completely shunned by society, was now to sally forth to the theater with one of London’s most handsome and eligible men! Imogen would be equally furious, both because she loathed Leonie and because Stella was somehow still in her uncle’s good books, in spite of all that had been done to the contrary. Miss Hart gave a weary sigh. One tried one’s best to please everyone, and one ended up pleasing
no one. What should she do now? Should she send word to the embassy and to Imogen about what was about to happen? Or should she prudently stay silent and hope that the event came and went without anyone’s ever being the wiser? Even as she thought this last, she knew that it was far too hazardous a course. No, she would have to send word and thus rest in the knowledge that at least she had done all that could be humanly expected, for it was hardly her fault if a gentleman of Guy de Lacey’s standing insisted upon having his own way! With another weary sigh the headmistress got up and went to her escritoire, sitting down to compose two suitable communications.

  * * *

  In the vestibule, meanwhile, a rather cross Leonie was waiting for Stella to come in from saying farewell to Guy. She heard him riding away down Park Lane toward Piccadilly, and then Stella was hurrying in, shivering with the cold. As Joseph closed the door and withdrew, the girl held her cold hands out to the fire, unaware as yet of how displeased Leonie was with her. “Oh, it’s so cold out there,” she cried, “but I really do think it’s going to thaw! The icicles on the balconies are beginning to drip and—” She broke off as she caught Leonie’s eye. “You’re cross with me, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. By asking if I could join you, you placed both me and your uncle in a most difficult and embarrassing position.”

  “Uncle Guy wasn’t embarrassed.”

  “I don’t profess to know how he felt, but I most certainly felt embarrassed. How could you have asked such a thing, Stella?”

  The girl’s face fell. “Oh, please don’t be angry. Uncle Guy doesn’t mind, honestly he doesn’t. In fact he….” Her voice died away on a guilty note.

  “In fact he what?” demanded Leonie suspiciously, by now aware that Stella was capable of anything.

  “Well….”

  “I’m waiting.”

  Stella took a deep breath. “I told him I thought pink and white flowers for your hair and wrist would “go absolutely perfectly with your white silk dress.” She edged slowly away toward the staircase as Leonie’s eyes widened with more angry disbelief, “And he said that he agreed and he’d send you some tomorrow,” finished the girl in a rush. Then she gathered her skirts and made a dash for the staircase, not stopping or looking back as Leonie’s voice echoed after her.

  “Stella de Lacey! How could you!”

  Chapter 19

  Neither of Miss Hart’s communications reached its proper destination. Not knowing Imogen’s address in Oxfordshire, the headmistress directed the note to Curzon Street, trusting that it would be forwarded, but as Imogen was expected back in two days anyway, the note remained in the silver dish in the grand entrance hall of Longhurst House. The note to Dorothea was delivered to the embassy, where it fell into Count Lieven’s jealous hands. By now aware of his wife’s infidelity with Lord Palmerston, the count was already suspicious about a stay with “friends” that she intended to make immediately after the following night’s subscription ball at Almack’s, and he was convinced that the note was connected with this. Trusting that not receiving the note would cause Dorothea some embarrassment, or at least inconvenience, he consigned it unopened into the fire, and said nothing at all about it.

  * * *

  Overnight the thaw which Stella had thought was in the offing became a reality, and London awoke the next morning to the sound of dripping water and the splash of wheels through puddles in the streets. Sleet was falling, adding to the wetness, and the thin covering of ice on the Thames began to break up, flowing slowly downstream once more, only to find its way almost barred by the narrow arches of London Bridge.

  The thought that now there wouldn’t be a frost fair after all hardly entered Stella’s head; she was too excited about the visit to the theater, and as darkness at last fell and the time approached when Guy was to arrive at the seminary in his carriage, she almost drove poor Katy to distraction by changing her mind time and time again about which dress to wear. In the end she decided on the white velvet with the wide lace collar and crimson sash. With it she wore a gold locket bequeathed to her by her mother, and she carried a little satin reticule. Her ringlets were held back from her face by a white velvet band, and the outfit was completed by a very pretty cashmere shawl. She waited impatiently by the bedroom window, and Leonie watched her a little curiously. There was something about her excitement which wasn’t entirely due to the outing; there was something else behind it. But what could it be? Leonie hoped with all her heart that the girl had heeded her warning and wasn’t after all planning something which would make Guy angry and thus leave her in a worse position than she already was.

  Finishing her own dressing, Leonie sat by the dressing table for Katy to put up her hair. Guy had, as promised, sent some little pink and white flowers, a spray for her hair and a posy to be tied to her wrist. They were rosebuds and lily-of-the-valley, and their scent was exquisite. Katy finished pinning her hair up into a knot at the back of her head, allowing three heavy curls to spill down, and then she picked up the spray of flowers and fixed it carefully to the side of the knot.

  At the window Stella gave an excited gasp. “There’s the carriage! He’s arrived at last!” In a renewed flurry of anticipation, she snatched up her reticule and shawl and fled from the room before Katy had had time to tie the posy to Leonie’s wrist. But soon the ribbon was tied, and the plain white shawl draped carefully over her arms. After giving Katy a quick hug, Leonie too left the room.

  News of the outing had passed around the school, and it had caused a stir, not because such outings were very rare but because it was known that Miss Hart had not wanted Leonie to go. Consequently there was quite a large group of pupils gathered at the top of the staircase, peering over as Leonie went down.

  Guy waited in the vestibule with Stella. He was dressed formally, as gentlemen were expected to be when attending the theater. His black velvet coat was cut very tightly, so that it could never be buttoned to conceal the inching and frills of his shirt, and there was a diamond pin in his lace-edged cravat. He wore a white brocade waistcoat and white knee breeches with costly silver buckles. A chapeau bras was tucked beneath his arm, and he was carrying white kid gloves.

  As Leonie approached, she thought how very handsome he was. It would be so very easy to fall in love with him….

  He sensed that she was there, and turned. His dark glance moved slowly over her and then he smiled and bowed. “Good evening, Miss Conyngham.”

  “Good evening, Sir Guy.”

  “I trust the flowers were to your liking.”

  “Yes, very much so.” She knew that a telltale blush was once again stealing over her face, and she hoped that he could not see it in the light from the chandelier.

  He glanced at Stella, who was virtually hopping with impatience by the front door. “I think, Miss Conyngham, that a certain young person will positively burst if we don’t leave immediately.”

  She smiled. “I think you may be right.”

  He glanced up at the row of faces peering down from the top of the stairs, and as one they gasped and drew hastily back out of sight. “Good-bye, ladies,” he said, and then he offered Leonie his arm and Joseph opened the door for them to go out into the darkness.

  Stella preceded them to the waiting carriage. The night felt strangely mild after the recent bitter cold, and the sleet falling audibly, striking wetly on the road and pavement. It wasn’t a pleasant sound, for it augured dirty streets, splashed hems, and soaked shoes. Leonie held her silk skirts clear of the pavement and was glad when Guy had assisted her into the carriage. The upholstery smelled faintly of costmary, and the windows were polished so much that she could see her reflection as clearly in them as if she were looking into a mirror. Beyond her other self, she could just make out the trees in the park. Beneath them the snow was darkened by the continuous dripping of melting snow and frost, and the paths gleamed a little in the light from the streetlamps.

  Guy climbed in and sat next to Stella; then the door slammed and the carriage drew away.
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  * * *

  Meanwhile, at the embassy in Harley Street, Nadia Benckendorff was preparing to go to the opera house, Covent Garden, with Rupert. She was late and he had been waiting in the entrance hall for some time now, but she was determined to look her very best; and determined too, if a little belatedly, to make him feel less sure of her. Becoming his mistress had been a mistake, for it had not brought her any nearer her goal and had, if anything, left her feeling more uncertain of him than ever. She had seen little of him for the past few days, and so was determined that tonight would go well.

  She wore a sheer white muslin gown which clung revealingly to her figure, and there were rose-colored plumes in her golden hair. Dorothea had already left for Almack’s, and would then be going directly on to a secret address with Lord Palmerston, so Nadia had no compunction whatsoever about borrowing her ruby necklace, since it went perfectly with the neckline of her gown. Dorothea would have been furious if she’d known, but Nadia had no intention of allowing her to find out, and she concealed it from the prying eyes of servants by putting on her fur-lined evening mantle before leaving her room.

  She went down to the entrance hall, but the warm smile died on her lips as she saw that Rupert wasn’t alone, that Edward Longhurst was with him. Rupert came quickly toward her, the deep indigo of his evening coat looking almost black in the candlelight. He smiled, but as always she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. As he raised her hand to his lips, she could feel Edward’s mocking eyes upon her. Rupert was still smiling. “I trust you don’t mind Edward tagging along.”

  Mind? He knew she minded, since he knew she loathed Edward Longhurst! Her anger was tinged with disappointment too, for he merely greeted her, without any particular show of affection. Her face was wooden as she turned toward Edward. “Good evening, milord. How surprised I am to see you. I thought you were in Oxford with your family.”

  He bowed, a lace handkerchief held lightly between two fingers. “Family get-togethers are too tedious for me, Miss Benckendorff.”