A Country Cotillion Read online

  A stagecoach was driving along the highway now, and she could hear its horn wavering out as it approached the turnpike gate in Kensington village. She could just see the chimneys of Holland House, and in the distance the silhouette of London itself, rising in the winter haze of smoke and freezing air.

  The stagecoach horn sounded again as the vehicle passed the entrance to the lane. She remembered what Alexander had said the previous night. Had Tom Crichton seen the mysterious long-lost Marcus Sheridan? Or had it simply been a stranger who resembled him? After all, hadn’t she herself seen a golden-haired gentleman in Hanover Square who had reminded her of James?

  She was about to turn from the window to ring for Violet, when she heard a carriage in the lane. She could tell by the coachman’s briefly shouted command that he was slowing the team to turn into the drive. Someone was calling upon her?

  Hesitating by the window, she watched as the horses strained to draw her Aunt Avery’s heavy town vehicle up the slope toward Oakgrove House. Why on earth was her aunt calling this morning when they had only seen each other at the ball the night before?

  The carriage drew up at the house and Wentworth emerged, going to lower the iron rung and open the door to assist the elderly lady. Maria, Lady Avery, was a diminutive person with a delicately boned face and salt-and-pepper hair that she chose to powder, as had been the fashion in her youth. She wore a dark blue woolen pelisse trimmed with black fur at the collar, cuffs, and hem, and her hands were plunged into a black velvet muff. Her hair was dressed up neatly beneath a black beaver hat adorned with little white plumes, and there were neat black ankle boots on her tiny feet.

  After helping her to alight, Wentworth then turned to the carriage again, and Elizabeth realized that her aunt had not called alone, but had brought Isobel with her. Isobel was exquisite in a very modish primrose-yellow jaconet gown that was far from sensible for traveling in such low temperatures, and over it just a rich brown figured velvet spencer. Her chestnut hair was pinned up beneath a primrose silk jockey bonnet from which a brown gauze scarf trailed almost to her hem at the back. Elizabeth saw with a start that she had been crying; her face was pale and her eyes tearstained, and she looked as if she had had very little sleep. What was wrong?

  As they were shown into the house, Elizabeth turned to ring quickly for Violet, but as she did so she heard the maid’s discreet tap at the door.

  “Yes, come in, Violet.”

  The maid entered. “Begging your pardon, madam, but Mr. Wentworth saw Lady Avery’s carriage coming up the drive and sent me to warn you that she was calling.”

  “I know, Violet, she’s with my cousin, Lady Isobel.”

  “Mr. Wentworth will show them into the drawing room and serve them some tea, madam.”

  “I will dress as quickly as possible. The lilac muslin, I think, and the gray-and-white cashmere shawl.”

  “Madam.” Violet bobbed a curtsy, then hurried through into the dressing room. In spite of her very England name, Violet Dobson, she had a Spanish mother, and it was from her that she took her looks. She had very dark eyes, coal-black hair, an olive complexion, and her figure was thin and neat in a cream woolen gown and crisply starched apron, with a frilled white mobcap on her head.

  Elizabeth followed her into the dressing room, drawing the curtains and folding the shutters back herself, before sitting at the dressing table and taking up her hairbrush to do what she could with her tousled curls.

  Ten minutes later she was dressed and ready to go downstairs. She inspected her reflection briefly in the cheval glass, turning first one way and then the other to be sure her gown was hanging properly. She was particularly fond of the lilac muslin with its square, pearl-edged neckline and high waistline with the pretty oval mother-of-pearl buckle. Violet had swiftly combed her hair into a creditable knot, leaving a frame of little curls around her face, and now the maid brought the gray-and-white cashmere shawl.

  Elizabeth hurried through the house, pausing at the foot of the staircase because the drawing room door stood slightly ajar, and she could see into the room beyond. It was a light, airy chamber, with windows facing toward the front of the house, and glazed doors that opened into the conservatory, and it was hexagonal, like her bedroom directly above. The windows were elaborately draped with rich golden brocade, and the furniture was upholstered in the same material. On the floor there was a handsome Wilton carpet that had been made especially for the house, and once again there were plants and flowers everywhere, in pots, climbing up trellises on the walls, and in bowls upon the tables. And, of course, there was the adjoining conservatory, where tropical greenery pressed prolifically against the glass.

  Aunt Avery and Isobel were seated on a sofa by the fireplace, the tea tray untouched on the little table before them. Isobel was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief, and her aunt was doing her utmost to comfort her.

  “There, there, my dear,” she was saying, “you really must not upset yourself like this, for I am sure that Elizabeth will not mind at all.”

  “But…but it’s such an imposition, especially when she and I do not know each other all that well. Oh, why did this have to happen?” Fresh tears welled from Isobel’s beautiful green eyes, and she hid her face in her hands, her slender shoulders trembling as she wept.

  Elizabeth was dismayed. Gathering her skirts, she hurried across the entrance hall and into the drawing room. “Oh, whatever has happened?” she asked, going to crouch before the sofa and take one of Isobel’s shaking hands. She looked anxiously at Aunt Avery, fearing the worst, for Isabel’s father had long been in poor health. “Is it the earl?” she asked quickly.

  Her aunt nodded. “Yes, my dear, but do not leap to conclusions, for he is simply very unwell. It seems he fell down the grand staircase at Southwell Park and broke his leg rather badly. Given his already frail constitution, such a mishap has not assisted at all, especially when the winter weather is so very disagreeable. Your Aunt Southwell has written asking Isobel to return home as quickly as possible.”

  “Oh, dear. Oh, Isobel, I’m so very sorry,” said Elizabeth, squeezing her cousin’s hand. “Please do not distress yourself too much, for it may be that he isn’t as unwell as is thought.”

  “He’s terribly ill, I know he is.” More tears welled helplessly from Isobel’s eyes, and she hid her face in her hands again.

  Elizabeth looked at Aunt Avery. “What exactly did the letter say?”

  “To be truthful, my dear, I don’t really know. When Isobel received it she was so upset that she let it fall, and it went straight into the fire and was immediately burned to a cinder. All I do know is that Isobel’s mother wishes her to go back to Southwell Park without delay.”

  “Yes, of course she must. But why have you come to me?”

  “Well, that is the crux of it, my dear. You see, I am far too old to embark upon such a journey in the middle of winter, and as you know, it is notoriously difficult to engage chaperones of the necessary quality to accompany young unattached ladies. Isobel informs me that you and Sir Alexander are soon to leave for a visit to Norrington Court. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, it is.” Elizabeth began to see what was coming.

  “It would only be a diversion of a day or so for you to take Isobel home, my dear. As I recall, your route into Lincolnshire doesn’t diverge from her route to Nottingham until you reach Colsterworth. Is that not so?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would it be a great deal to ask, my dear? Would you and dear Sir Alexander escort Isobel home to see her sick father? It would mean a great deal to me, Elizabeth, and I would be eternally grateful.”

  It wouldn’t have been possible to refuse, even if Elizabeth had wanted to, for at times like this one’s family rallied round. “Of course it isn’t a great deal to ask, Aunt Avery,” she replied promptly. “Isobel is very welcome indeed to join us on the journey, and we will gladly take her all the way to Southwell Park.”

  Isobel gave a cry of relief, and flung her arms
around Elizabeth’s neck. “Oh, thank you! Thank you! You’ll never know how grateful I am!”

  “Isobel, how could you possibly have thought I would refuse? I am your cousin, and I wouldn’t dream of not helping at such a time.”

  “You make me so ashamed of myself. When I think of how odious I used to be, barely speaking to you, and—”

  “Don’t think any more about it,” Elizabeth interrupted gently, then she smiled at her. “We must not waste Wentworth’s tray of tea, for I am sure that a cup will restore you a little.” She got up, and began to pour the tea into the dainty white-and-gold porcelain cups.

  When they were all seated comfortably, Isobel sipped her tea for a moment, and then smiled a little wanly at Elizabeth. “I will try not to intrude during the journey, Elizabeth, for I am sure that if the truth be known you were looking forward to being alone with Sir Alexander.”

  “You will not be intruding, I promise you.”

  “If I were in your place, I would regard it as an intrusion,” Isobel declared.

  Elizabeth smiled. “You would?”

  “Oh, yes, for if I had snapped up a gentleman as handsome and charming as Sir Alexander, I would not want any other woman anywhere near him.”

  “Indeed? He would be flattered to know it,” Elizabeth replied, smiling again.

  Isobel lowered her glance to her cup and said nothing more.

  Aunt Avery cleared her throat. “Elizabeth my dear, I am afraid that I have some more rather unfortunate news to tell you, it concerns your old headmistress, Mrs. Bateson.”

  “Unfortunate news?”

  “Yes. I happened to be examining a new consignment of lace at Messrs Clark & Debenham in Wigmore Street… Have you been there yet, Elizabeth? It’s a very new haberdashery, but I vow that it will soon be the place to go, for it has the most wonderful variety of lace. Now, where was I?”

  “You were about to tell me something about Mrs. Bateson.”

  “Ah, yes. While I was examining the lace, I was approached by Lady Hargreave-Winterton. Her name will of course be known to you because her daughter, Aurora, was a friend of yours at the seminary. Do you remember Aurora?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Well, it seems that Mr. Bateson died about six months ago, leaving such mountainous debts that his unfortunate widow had no option but to sell the academy in order to meet them. She is now reduced to living in a very modest dwelling in Knightsbridge, and has been brought so low by everything that she is a shadow of her former self.”

  “I will make a point of calling upon her before we leave for the north. Did you say she now lives in Knightsbridge?”

  “Yes, and I believe you will know the very house. Call to mind the bridge over the Westbourne stream and a little double-fronted property on the left as one travels toward London. I believe it has two of those dreadful monkey puzzle trees by the gate. Do you know the house I mean?”

  “Yes, I know it. Mrs. Bateson lives there?” Elizabeth was appalled, for after the grandeur of Hans Place, such a small house was a definite change for the worse.

  “It’s very sad,” Aunt Avery went on. “Mrs. Bateson and I are acquainted, as you know, and it is my intention that Isobel and I should call briefly upon her on our way home to Park Lane. Perhaps I could tell her that you will call soon, for I know that she particularly likes to see her old pupils again.”

  “Yes, please tell her.”

  “Do you have a specific time in mind? Tomorrow, perhaps?”

  “Yes—er, no. I think I will call upon her this evening, for I am not seeing Alexander.”

  “Not seeing him?”

  “No, he is taking himself off to Ackermann’s to view their exhibition of sporting prints, and I have declined to accompany him, so I can quite easily call upon Mrs. Bateson this evening at about seven.”

  Aunt Avery wasn’t happy. “My dear, don’t you think it a little unwise to go out alone in the dark? I have heard such dreadful tales of footpads and highwaymen in these parts, that I would much prefer you to remain indoors.”

  “I admit that we have had some trouble here recently, but the watch patrols more frequently now, and since then we haven’t been bothered at all. Besides, if Alexander and I are to travel to Norrington Court soon, there is much to do, and so I would prefer to visit Mrs. Bateson as quickly as possible, and leave myself the remaining few days to prepare at leisure, especially as Alexander has promised to take me driving in Hyde Park tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh, very well, if you insist, my dear. But take every precaution, won’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  Isobel hadn’t said anything for some time now, and her tears had subsided. Her green eyes were thoughtful as she sipped her tea, and a faint smile played upon her lips.

  Aunt Avery glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “Goodness, is that the time? These winter afternoons are so very short, that I fear it may be dark before we reach home, for I simply must call upon poor Mrs. Bateson on the way. Come, Isobel, we cannot delay.”

  “Yes, Aunt Avery,” replied Isobel meekly, replacing her cup and saucer on the tray, and getting up obediently.

  Aunt Avery rose to her feet, and turned to Elizabeth. “Thank you for being so very understanding of poor Isobel’s predicament, my dear.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Just send word to Park Lane when your arrangements are made, and Isobel will fall in with whatever plans you decide upon.”

  “Very well.”

  Elizabeth accompanied them both out into the entrance hall, where Wentworth was waiting to open the door. Aunt Avery shivered as she stepped reluctantly outside into the cold. “Oh, dear me, what a dreadful winter this has been so far, and it promises to be much much worse, from all accounts. I do pray that it holds off long enough for you to accomplish your journey in full, my dear,” she said to Elizabeth.

  “I’m sure it will,” Elizabeth murmured, kissing her cheek, and then kissing Isobel.

  She watched as they hurried out to the waiting carriage, and as it drove away she went back inside.

  Isobel sat back against the rich lavender-scented velvet upholstery, gazing back toward the villa. “Aunt Avery,” she said after a moment, “do you think it would be possible for me to visit the exhibition at Ackermann’s this evening? I could take my maid, and if the carriage conveys me door-to-door, I cannot possibly come to any harm.”

  “Visit Ackermann’s on your own? Oh, my dear, I don’t know…”

  “Sir Alexander will be there, and besides, it is rather important.”

  “What can possibly be important about visiting an exhibition of sporting prints?” inquired Aunt Avery.

  “Well, my father loves such prints, and I thought it would be nice to take him a new one as a present.” Isobel’s green eyes were all wide innocence.

  Her aunt relented immediately. “Oh, my dear, what a thoughtful daughter you are, to be sure. Of course you can go.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Avery.” Isobel smiled to herself as she gazed out of the carriage window. Things were going excellently. First she had engineered her way into accompanying Elizabeth and Alexander on their journey, and now she would be able to see Alexander at the exhibition when Elizabeth was otherwise engaged with her old headmistress.

  She leaned her head back against the carriage seat, humming the tune from L’Echange. How fortunate it was that she had received the letter from her mother. Oh, she hadn’t fibbed entirely about her father’s mishap, she had merely embroidered upon it. Her mother hadn’t begged her to return home, but had reassured her that her father would soon recover. Aunt Avery and Elizabeth did not know that, however, and when they all reached Southwell Park, she, Isobel, would simply pretend to have misunderstood the letter.

  And who knew what might have transpired by then? She meant to make full use of every moment she got, and if Alexander had not succumbed to her wiles, it would not be for want of trying on her part.

  Chapter 5

  As evening app
roached, Elizabeth adjourned to her room to prepare for the promised call upon her old headmistress. Violet was to accompany her, and had already changed into her best green woolen gown and had placed her own mantle as well as her mistress’s fur-lined cloak over a chair by the fire to warm for the short journey to Knightsbridge.

  Elizabeth chose to wear a simple dusty-pink fustian gown that was both warm and comfortable, and her only jewelry was the pair of gold earrings given to her by her parents. Her hair was combed into a Grecian knot, and over it she wore a wide-brimmed Gypsy hat that was tied on with a wide pink satin ribbon that passed right over the crown and brim and was fixed with a flouncy bow beneath her chin.

  The clock on the bedroom mantelpiece struck half-past six as mistress and maid left to go down to the entrance hall, where Wentworth was ready to escort them out to the waiting carriage. It was very dark outside, and the raw cold had not relented at all. The breath of the horses stood out in frozen clouds, and a thin mist obscured the lane at the end of the drive.

  The light from the entrance hall shone out palely as the butler assisted Elizabeth into the vehicle, and then Violet. He closed the door upon them, and raised the iron rung, before turning to the coachman, a sturdy, ruddy-faced young man by the name of Frederick.

  “Remember now, Frederick, you are to keep a sharp eye open for rogues, and if you see anything suspicious, give the horses full rein. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Mr. Wentworth.” Frederick touched his hat. He was dressed in a large coat with four capes over the shoulders, and there was a sheepskin rug tucked over his knees. He wore two pairs of gloves and heavy top boots, but still the cold had crept through to his bones, and this before they had even left the house.

  “Drive on then, but do remember to take every care,” Wentworth instructed.

  “Sir.”

  Touching his hat again, Frederick tooled the team into action, setting them slowly down the curving drive toward the lane. The carriage lamps swung through the thin mist, picking out the silhouettes of trees and shrubs, and then the gateposts came into view, stark and white against the night. Frederick eased the fresh horses out into the narrow lane, and immediately decided not to take any chances at all. Cracking the whip, he flung the team forward, bringing them up to a brisk pace. The carriage swayed alarmingly, and inside Elizabeth and Violet held on tightly to the straps. The speed of the vehicle would have deterred footpads, and would probably have discouraged a mounted highwayman as well, for the lane was very confined, and to stand in the way would have been tantamount to lunacy.