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  Chapter 4

  It was dusk when Alabeth’s carriage turned into Berkeley Square, threading past the crowd of carriages outside Gunter’s, where the beau monde was sampling the famous ices and confectionery. The square was not square at all, its east and west sides being much longer than the others, and it sloped away, its center filled with young plane trees. She gazed but at the trees as they rustled their spring foliage in the slight breeze. She could remember them being planted thirteen years before, when she had been only ten; before then it had been very bare.

  Outside each exclusive house there was a footman parading importantly up and down, waiting for guests to call, and outside her father’s house there was also such a footman, very splendid in Wallborough gray and cream, and he hurried forward immediately as the carriage came to a standstill. He opened the door and lowered the steps, and she alighted, pausing for a while on the pavement. The perfume of the plane trees filled the air and she heard some laughter from Gunter’s. She felt tired, not because the journey from Charterleigh had been long, but because it had been broken by that trying confrontation with Piers Castleton and because it would be ended with another, similar confrontation, this time with Jillian. She looked up at the house’s elegant facade, its windows bright with lights and its front door approached by a flight of shallow steps passing beneath a wrought-iron arch from which was suspended a particularly beautiful lamp. Taking a deep breath, she went up the steps, the door opening magically before her as Sanderson, the butler, anticipated the moment exactly.

  The tiled vestibule was a cool green, lighted by an immense chandelier and made bright by a large bowl of spring flowers, brought fresh from Covent Garden market that morning. A long-case clock ticked steadily in the recess next to the Adam fireplace, and from the music room several floors above echoed the soft notes of the pianoforte—Jillian was playing Scarlatti.

  Alabeth turned to the butler. “Good evening, Sanderson.”

  “Good evening, my lady. Welcome home.”

  She smiled. “Is everything in order?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Did my father leave any further instructions for me?”

  “No, my lady, but there are a number of cards and invitations.” He brought a large silver salver from a table.

  She glanced quickly through them, wondering how on earth anyone could be expected to attend all of the functions which society seemed set upon this Season, for, to be sure, one would need the constitution of an ox. Among the cards, she noticed that Sir Charles Allister had already called. “When did Sir Charles call?” she asked.

  “This afternoon, my lady, but there was no one at home. Lady Jillian had gone to call upon Lady Silchester.”

  “And how is my aunt?”

  “As well as can be expected, my lady, but I gather from Lady Jillian that she is certainly well enough to find fault with everything.” The butler cleared his throat and sniffed a little; he and Lady Silchester had never seen eye to eye, and he was of sufficient importance in the house to hint as much, having been with the Earl of Wallborough since the Earl’s seafaring days in the Royal Navy.

  Alabeth smiled. “Then I imagine that my aunt is well on the road to recovery,” she remarked, removing the pins from her hat and handing it to him.

  “Indeed so, my lady.”

  “I take it that that is my sister playing the pianoforte?”

  “It is, my lady.”

  “Then I will go to her.”

  “Shall you require any refreshment, my lady?”

  “A little cold supper, perhaps—and a glass of my favorite wine.”

  “I have a bottle on ice, my lady.”

  She mounted the black marble staircase which ascended from the far end of the vestibule, her gloved hand sliding easily on the polished mahogany rail and her shadow moving across the wall beside her. The crystal drops of the chandelier flashed and the light fell pleasingly over her father’s prized collection of paintings by Canaletto. Tall Ionic columns guarded the head of the staircase, stretching up into the darkness high above, and the music was louder now, the rippling notes played with an exquisite touch.

  She reached the second floor and walked along the passage, passing the camphorwood chests with their strange oriental perfume, and then at last she was at the door of the music room. Inside she could see her sister seated at the Broadwood pianoforte, her head bowed as she played.

  Lady Jillian Carstairs was very beautiful, and her golden hair, a startling contrast to Alabeth’s dark red, was cut in the short style known as the Titus, a boyish fashion which emphasized the daintiness of her face. She wore a lilac lawn gown, its low neckline made modest and becoming by the insertion of a white tucker with three dainty frills at the throat. There was a golden locket resting on the tucker and a small fob watch pinned beneath the gown’s very high waistline. She looked quite exquisite, but there was a set to her mouth which told immediately that she was well aware of her sister’s presence in the doorway, although the music did not falter and she did not glance up for even a second.

  At last the final notes died away and she removed her hands from the keys. “Good evening, Alabeth.” The tone was not welcoming.

  “Good evening, Jillian. I congratulate you upon your playing, I have seldom heard better.”

  “I don’t want your congratulations.”

  “Jillian….”

  “I don’t want to have to put up with you at all.”

  “That’s quite enough.”

  “Is it?” Jillian stood, her blue eyes flashing with a bitter anger. “I don’t think it’s anywhere near enough. Why should I have to do your bidding? Why should I be obedient toward you, when in your time you obeyed no one?”

  “Did you give your word to Father that you would accept this situation?”

  Jillian looked away, her lips pressed stubbornly together.

  “Well, did you?” pressed Alabeth.

  “And if I did?”

  “Then you must stand by that word…as I am doing.”

  “I’ll warrant it pleases you immensely to be able to order me about.”

  “I promise you that it doesn’t please me at all and that as I look at you right now, I wish with all my heart that I had refused to have anything to do with this idiotic notion of Father’s—but I agreed and so help me I will do my best. Jillian, I don’t want to continue quarreling with you, for you are my sister and until now we have always got on so well together—”

  “That was before you told tales about me to Father last summer.”

  “They weren’t ‘tales,’ and anyway, you left me no choice.”

  “You didn’t have to tell him anything.”

  “Jillian, you were being very indiscreet, and with a man who could hardly claim to be a gentleman.”

  “I loved him, and you ruined my chances of happiness with him.”

  “He omitted to tell you he had a wife.”

  “Even if he had been single, your actions would have been the same. Your only motive was a jealous spite, a determination to deny me the sort of happiness you had known with Robert. You eloped with one of the most notorious men in England, but you had the gall to tell Father that I had taken a stroll with Captain Francis. It was a despicable act, Alabeth, and I shall never forgive you.”

  “I had to tell him, because I could see only too well what the good Captain’s intentions were. You were on the road to ruin, Jillian, and I cared enough for you to do my utmost to put a stop to it.”

  “Oh, and you succeeded,” cried Jillian, quivering with fury.

  “Then you may thank your lucky stars,” said Alabeth, remaining commendably calm in the face of such unjust accusations, “for you came through it all unscathed, your reputation intact.”

  “Which can hardly be said of you,” replied Jillian, her glance and tone calculated to be as insolent and provocative as possible.

  Alabeth took a deep breath. “At least Robert intended to marry me. Oh, Jillian, why are you like this? I admi
t that I was disobedient, that I caused a scandal, but perhaps it is because I did those things that I know what I’m talking about. The pitfalls are there, they trapped me, and so I can see them now—and I can warn you, see that you don’t stumble into them.”

  “You just want to deny me the sort of love and happiness you had. You’re a dog-in-the-manger, Alabeth, and I hate you.”

  Alabeth stared at her, “You don’t really mean that,” she said incredulously, “for I simply will not believe it.”

  “I don’t care what you believe. In fact, I don’t care anything about you.” Jillian’s chin was raised defiantly, her whole attitude challenging.

  “Very well,” said Alabeth, “then I shall use the powers at my disposal.”

  “What powers?”

  “The powers given to me by Father when he asked me to take on this responsibility. In loco parentis, I believe the phrase is. Now, then, are you going to undertake to be agreeable?”

  “No.”

  “Very well, you must go to your room.”

  Jillian stared at her. “Go to my room?”

  “I am not about to put up with your present behavior—of that you may be certain—and until I see some significant improvement, I shall refuse to begin your Season.”

  “But you can’t—”

  “Oh, yes, I can. I am not prepared to launch you upon society when I cannot be sure if you will behave yourself. Can you imagine my taking you to Carlton House, fearing all the time that you might make a scene? Oh, no, Jillian Carstairs, I am not that much of a fool and so shall not stick my neck out at all to suit you. Nor will I be obliging in any way, so you may certainly forget any notion you have of receiving tuition from Count Adam Zaleski.”

  “You cannot mean that!” Jillian gasped, obviously horrified to realize the full extent of Alabeth’s control over her.

  “I mean every word, Jillian—unless, of course, you are prepared to stand by your promise to Father.”

  Jillian turned away, biting her lip. Until this moment she had believed that she could continue with the feud, speak as she pleased and behave as she saw fit; now it seemed that such conduct would punish not Alabeth, but herself.

  Alabeth hated being so authoritarian, for it was not in her character, but she knew that unless she took a stand now, the situation would become intolerable. Jillian was like a stranger, so very different from the sweet, vivacious girl she had known before the advent of Captain Francis the previous year. Until he had arrived in Wallborough Castle they had always been so close, sharing laughter and secrets, but not anymore. Jillian was now cold and distant, seeming really to hate her. And all because of a man who did not merit even a second thought….

  Jillian turned back toward her at last. “Very well,” she said in a low voice, “I have no choice but to agree, but I will only do as I have to, and no more.”

  “That will do to be going on with, for I will put up with what I have to, and no more.” Alabeth walked from the room, pausing in the doorway to look back. “Jillian, I truly don’t wish to go on in this vein, for I love you very much.

  Jillian looked at her without saying a word, and at last Alabeth walked on out. She was shaking as she descended the staircase, for the meeting had been worse than she had imagined. In fact, everything was worse than she had imagined, for she must also endure Piers Castleton’s presence in Town. Oh, how she wished she was back in the seclusion of Charterleigh!

  Chapter 5

  The following morning Jillian decided very pointedly to take her breakfast in her room, thus avoiding facing Alabeth across the table. Alabeth did not know whether to be relieved or dismayed, for while it spared her the immediate prospect of another unpleasant meeting, it also prolonged the agony, for they must meet again sooner or later. She sat alone in the sun-drenched morning room, toying with her coffee and staring at the butter nestling in its dish of ice. Outside, the tiny rear garden was filled with spring color, from the daffodils and tulips in the beds to the almond blossom and forsythia above, but it was robbed of any true atmosphere because it was walled in, reminding her forcibly that this was the heart of Mayfair, not the heart of Kent.

  “My lady?” Sanderson appeared at her elbow.

  “Yes?”

  “The Duchess of Seaham has called.”

  Alabeth was taken aback, for nobody called before eleven o’clock in the morning. “Very well, show her in.”

  A moment later Octavia bustled brightly into the room in a flurry of orange and white taffeta, her bonnet ribbons streaming and her rouged face beaming as she bent to kiss Alabeth on the cheek. “My dearest Alabeth, how glad I am to see you, for I swear I feared to this very moment that you would turn and scuttle back to your lair.”

  Alabeth smiled. “How are you, Octavia?”

  “Well, as you see.” The Duchess sat in the chair Sanderson drew out for her, but shook her head when he offered her coffee.

  “So,” said Alabeth, “you haven’t joined the throngs hastening over to Paris?”

  “My dear, I wouldn’t trust the French farther than I could throw them; they are all assassins, every last one of them, with Bonaparte the assassin-in-chief.”

  “I thought at the very least you’d have toddled off to see the latest in fashions.”

  “I don’t need to see them, I’ve heard enough. I’m told that Parisiennes wear a gauze so shockingly transparent that there is nothing a gentleman cannot see. Where’s the allure in that? Where’s the mystery? Why bother with seduction when the world has already ravished with its leering eyes?” Octavia sniffed. “No breeding, that’s their trouble.”

  “Oh, naturally,” murmured Alabeth roguishly.

  Octavia cast a baleful glance at her. “That’s quite enough of that from you, missy, especially as you’ve only just condescended to rejoin the human race.”

  “I was quite enjoying life at Charterleigh.”

  “Nonsense, how can anyone enjoy a dull existence out in the wilds of Kent! I’ll set you straight again now. You mark my words, I’ll have you married off before the Season is out.”

  “I don’t want to be married off.”

  “What rubbish. Of course you do. Why else agree to come to Town?”

  “Octavia, your matchmaking activities are too much at times. I’ve come to Town to bring Jillian out, and that is my only reason.”

  “Oh, how dull of you. I was so hoping to be able to matchmake for you both, now I’ll have to content myself with just Jillian.”

  “She’s handful enough, even for you,” remarked Alabeth with feeling.

  Octavia sat back. “I gather she’s troublesome.”

  “She’s resentful.”

  “Foolish chit.”

  “Well, she believes she’s justified.”

  “So your father told me. I’m of the opinion that she should be put over someone’s knee and given a good spanking.”

  “Well, she’s promised to be agreeable.”

  “How very noble of her. She should be grateful you’ve agreed to do her this considerable service.”

  “She certainly isn’t grateful.”

  “She’s a spoiled little minx, and I told your father as much.”

  Alabeth laughed. “And what did he say to that?”

  “What could he say? He was forced to agree, because the evidence is there for all to see.”

  Alabeth’s smile faded. “Octavia, I don’t suppose….”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, he didn’t say anything else to you, did he? Something about why he was so very determined to bring Jillian out this year?”

  “No, but now you come to mention it, he did seem a little too anxious about it.”

  “That’s what I thought. There’s something I haven’t been told and should have been.”

  “Oh, surely not. After all, if it was anything important, he would certainly have informed you, for it wouldn’t be right not to.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “Of course I am, and you’re not
to go worrying about it. Now, then, we have things to discuss.”

  “Things?”

  “If I’m to obtain a voucher from Almack’s for Jillian.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “I take it that you will not be honoring that dull place with your presence.”

  “Too many of the lady patronesses are friendly with too many Treguards and I’m not about to offer myself for execution at the hands of those hypocritical chiennes.”

  Octavia chuckled. “I can’t entirely blame you, and I swear that Almack’s is the end in ennui, but unfortunately it is de rigueur to be seen there for someone like Jillian. I am quite prepared to take her on, and woe betide her if she steps out of line with me.”

  “She won’t, she’s an angel with everyone except me.”

  “Good, then I shall proceed with the arrangements. And talking about arrangements, what have you decided to do about Jillian’s ball?”

  “I haven’t decided anything yet.”

  “I trust that you intend to call upon me for advice.”

  “As if I would do anything else!”

  “There’s nothing more I adore than organizing a grand ball, and I’d simply never forgive you if you left me out.” Then, as if it was all a foregone conclusion, she proceeded, “I thought we’d hold it at Seaham House, which after all boasts one of the most exquisite ballrooms in Town.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Octavia.”