The following morning, Linnet sat on her own at the breakfast table in the sun-filled conservatory. Exotic plants grew all around her, their leaves pressing against the glass, and the smell of citrus and damp earth hung in the air. The French windows stood open to the terrace at the rear of the house, and beyond the stone balustrade surrounding it she could see the lawns and trees of the garden, as well as the mews lane and the rear of the houses in adjacent Curzon Street. She could hear the servants attending to the lowering and polishing of the chandeliers in the ballroom next to the conservatory, and see them through the open doorway.
She sat back in her wrought iron chair, sipping a cup of coffee as she waited for her great-aunt. Her dark-red hair was brushed loose, and tied back with a pale-blue ribbon, and she wore a simple, long-sleeve white muslin gown. A blue cashmere shawl was draped over the back of the chair, and a journal rested unopened on her lap. Her thoughts were all of Benedict, and of how happy she’d been at Almack’s the night before. Every moment spent with him served to reinforce her certainty that he was right for her. There was such strength and reassurance in his company, and no one else could make her smile as he did. He was amusing, adoring, attentive, and considerate; what other quality could she possibly seek in order to be assured of happiness?
In the ballroom, Sommers was a little tetchy, for one of the chandeliers was refusing to lower to the floor. He raised his voice a little, sending two footmen scurrying to steady the immensely tall stepladder, at the top of which a third footman was endeavoring to free the chain from which the chandelier was suspended, and which should, under normal circumstances, have lowered quite freely. Linnet replaced her cup on the table, smiling a little as she watched the work in progress, then she opened the journal to glance through it for a moment or two until her great-aunt joined her.
Cadogan’s Exhibition of Arts was a monthly periodical dealing with furnishings and furniture, dress, carriages, and all the trappings of superior living, and it was Linnet’s favorite reading matter, offering hours of interesting browsing. As she turned one of the pages, her gaze fell upon a very inviting advertisement. It was by Messrs Harding, Howell & Company, of Schomberg House, Pall Mall, one of the most exclusive shops in London. Actually, it was many shops in one, with separate departments dealings with haberdashery, gloves, fans, millinery, perfume, objets d’art, furniture, and fabrics, and there was even a fine tea room on the second floor, with a magnificent view to the rear over St. James’s Park. The advertisement announced a new delivery of fine woolen cloth from the royal merino flock at Windsor, which was sold only at Schomberg House. Linnet had purchased the cloth before, and knew it to be excellent, and she immediately resolved to call there that very morning to examine the new delivery.
Her great-aunt came in at last, looking very cool and fresh in a mint-green lawn gown. Her powdered hair was pinned up beneath a starched white biggin, and there was a white shawl over her shoulders. “Good morning, Linnet,” she said crisply, moving to the side table set with the domed silver breakfast dishes.
“Good morning, Great-Aunt,” responded Linnet, placing the journal to one side and getting up to select her own breakfast. As she joined her great-aunt, she wondered what sort of reception she was going to have because of her continuing determination to be betrothed to Benedict.
The old lady selected a plate of eggs, bacon, and tomatoes, and then went to sit down. Linnet contented herself with a poached egg and some toast, and then resumed her own place.
Her great-aunt eyed the poached egg. “One has to eat in order to keep body and soul together,” she observed.
“I’m not terribly hungry.”
“So it seems. May I inquire why?”
“I don’t have a particularly hearty appetite.”
“It seemed hearty enough at Ivystone House.” Great-Aunt Minton applied herself to a sausage, and then looked at her again. “Too many late nights will not do you any good. You’ve been back here for three days, and already you’ve spent more time out than in. I suppose I have Mr. Gresham to blame?”
Linnet was determined not to be drawn. “If I’d wished to return to my bed, I was quite at liberty to do so,” she replied truthfully.
“But you chose not to. May I remind you, my dear, that you’ve had a very difficult time of it for the last year, and that to immediately plunge into a whirl of socializing is hardly going to prove beneficial.”
“Two nights hardly constitute a whirl of socializing,” protested Linnet.
“Possibly. It’s how you mean to go on that concerns me.” Her great-aunt’s head turned as she heard the activity in the ballroom. Seeing the work on the chandeliers, she frowned at Linnet. “And it seems that you mean to go on as you please, in spite of my advice that you delay.”
Linnet put down her knife and fork. “Let us be frank with each other, Great-Aunt Minton. You don’t want me just to delay, you’re still determined to make me cancel it altogether.”
“You know my opinion of the gentleman concerned, and I doubt if I’ll ever have to eat humble pie on the subject. So, we’ll have to agree to disagree, for although I have no time at all for Mr. Gresham, I have all the time in the world for you, my dear.”
Linnet smiled, then. “I know.”
“I mean well, Linnet. You do know that, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“So, even if I oppose you on this one matter, you know that on every other front I will always offer you the love, comfort, and support that I have in the past?”
“I know you will.” Linnet smiled, leaning across to put a quick hand on her great-aunt’s arm.
“May I ask what arrangements have been agreed on so far concerning the, er, ball?” There was a very noticeable hesitation, and an eloquent omission of the word “betrothal.”
Linnet ignored both, keeping her tone very amiable as she related all the things she and Venetia had discussed the day before.
On hearing the numbers being invited, Great-Aunt Minton was staggered. “Such extravagance!”
“One only becomes betrothed once, Great-Aunt.”
“Indeed? I seem to recall that you used to entertain hopes of Lord Fane.”
“Vain hopes.”
Great-Aunt Minton surveyed her for a long moment. “Are you still in love with him?” she asked at last.
“No. Certainly not.”
“No?”
“No!”
“Well, I tell you this, my dear. Flushed with apparent happiness you may be at the moment, but it’s as nothing to the sheer joy and exhilaration that pervaded your entire being when you fell in love with Lord Fane. I visited you not long after you’d met him, if you remember.”
“I remember.”
“Can you look me in the eye and tell me you feel the same now?”
“I’m older and wiser now.”
“Older, not wiser, and not in love. Nor is Mr. Gresham in love with you. He’s a very personable, charming, and clever young man, with an eye to the main chance. You, my poor Linnet, are that main chance. He would like to be the nabob he claims to be, and with your fortune he can realize that ambition. Now, then, let us leave such a disagreeable topic, and speak of something more pleasing. Tell me, what are your plans this morning?”
Linnet quelled the resentment her great-aunt’s words had aroused. It wasn’t right or fair to continually speak so cruelly of Benedict!
Great-Aunt Minton applied herself once more to her breakfast. “Does your silence signify that you’re going to stay at home?”
“No. Actually, I thought I’d call at Schomberg House. They’re advertising a new delivery of royal merino cloth.”
“Indeed? I must make a point of visiting them myself, but not this morning. I’ve received a message from my old friend, Lady Anne Stuart, who has heard I’m in town. She wishes me to call upon her, and that is what I intend to do.”
“I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”
“There’s no doubt of that, for she and I go back a long way.” The old lady looked at her. “My dear, if you go to Schomberg House, you must be sure to take your maid with you. A lady must guard her reputation at all times, even when merely visiting a shop.”
“I know,” replied Linnet wearily.
Her great-aunt smiled fondly. “It isn’t fair, is it? Gentlemen are free to do as they please, but we must always be looking back over our shoulder in case of a breath of scandal. Oh, scandal, what a bane it is to us all—yes, even to me.”
“To you?” Linnet looked curiously at her. “What do you mean?”
“My dear, just because I’m a withered spinster, it doesn’t signify that I’ve never had experience of life. My heart was broken once, and had the story got out, it would have caused scandal.”
Linnet poured another cup of the thick, dark Turkish coffee. “Did it involve Nicholas’s grandfather?” she asked quietly.
The old lady gave her an arch look. “I’m not prepared to answer you.”
“Which is answer enough. It did involve him.”
“I would prefer you not to draw that conclusion, and certainly not to voice it to anyone else.”
“You know me better than mat,” chided Linnet gently.
“My dear, when I see you being so completely gulled by Mr. Gresham, I begin to think I do not know you at all.” Great-Aunt Minton suddenly put down her knife and fork, placing her napkin on the table. “I do believe I’ve eaten enough, and must prepare to call upon Lady Anne. No doubt she will insist that I take luncheon with her, which means that you and I will not meet again until this evening. Enjoy your visit to Schomberg House.”
“Yes, Great-Aunt Minton.” Linnet watched her leave. Both the conversation and the breakfast had been brought to a very abrupt close, and the reason was most definitely the suggestion that Nicholas’s grandfather had played a significant part in the old lady’s past.
* * *
An hour later, when Great-Aunt Minton had departed for Lady Anne Stuart’s residence, Linnet and her maid set off for Pall Mall. Linnet was dressed perfectly for shopping in London, in a stylish buttermilk silk pelisse over a matching gown, with her hair swept up beneath a pale-pink jockey bonnet from the back of which trailed an almost floor-length gauze veil. Mary was at her neat best in a cream linen cape over a light-green chemise gown, and she was in buoyant spirits. The visit to Schomberg House had given her the opportunity to ask a favor of Linnet; the maid’s cousin had a position at a nearby bookshop, and an invitation to his wedding that had hitherto been turned down because Mary had been in the Lake District could now be accepted after all.
Pall Mall was one of the finest shopping streets in London, and Schomberg House stood on the southern side, between the ducal residence of Marlborough House and the property once occupied by Nell Gwynne, a lady of far less than ducal antecedents. Messrs Harding, Howell & Company had occupied the handsome seventeenth-century house for a little over four years, and in that time had built up an enviable reputation for excellence. Once the residence of the Duke of Schomberg, it had subsequently been divided into several elegant apartments but now was one entity again. The four-story, red-brick, stone-faced facade looked grandly down onto the street, and the curb outside was cluttered with fine carriages.
Linnet’s coachman had to maneuver the team to a place further along the street, and quickly alighted to open the carriage door and assist his mistress and her maid to alight. Linnet was just instructing him to wait when she saw a face she knew and liked approaching along the pavement. It was Freddy Grainger.
He was strolling along on his own, his cane swinging idly in his gloved hand. He wore a dark-orange coat and light-brown breeches, and his waistcoat was a particularly handsome shade of deep-peacock. His face, usually so good-natured and quick to smile, was withdrawn and almost sullen, and was such a contrast to his normal self that Linnet paused in surprise, her smile of greeting dying on her lips.
He saw her, she knew that he did, but he made no acknowledgment—indeed, it seemed to her that he quickened his step a little in order to pass her by.
“Freddy?” She made to engage him in conversation.
He glanced at her, or perhaps it would have been more correct to say that he looked straight through her, and he made no attempt to pause, walking on along the pavement without a single word.
“Freddy?” She spoke again, taken complete aback by the deliberate snub.
Still he walked on, and was soon lost among the crowds on the pavement. Linnet remained where she was, shaken at being so publicly cut by someone she’d always regarded as a good friend. Why had he behaved like that? What did he imagine she’d done to warrant it? For a moment she contemplated hurrying after him to demand an explanation, but then she thought better of it. In his present mood he was quite capable of delivering another snub, and that was a risk she wasn’t prepared to take. No, it would be better to send him a note, asking in what way she’d offended, if, indeed, she’d offended at all. Try as she would, she couldn’t think of anything she’d done that might have upset him.
Taking a deep breath, she smiled at Mary, who was waiting nearby. “You mentioned wishing to see your cousin?”
“Yes, Miss Linnet. He has a position in Mr. Mitchell’s bookshop, just across the street.”
“Well, I’m sure the new cloths will take me some time, and I’m equally sure that I shall linger over a dish of tea in the tearoom afterward, so you may take three quarters of an hour to see your cousin.”
“Oh, thank you, Miss Linnet,” cried the maid gratefully. “I’ll come to you in the tearoom.”
“Very well.” Linnet turned to walk quickly into Schomberg House, escorted to the door by the coachman, and the maid hurried away in the other direction, dodging across the cobbled street when there was a convenient break in the almost continuous flow of traffic.
Freddy Grainger was still on Linnet’s mind as she entered the building. She was both puzzled and hurt by his odd conduct, and a little concerned, for it just wasn’t like Freddy to behave like that. Then she had to put him from her thoughts, for the premises of Messrs Harding, Howell & Company was a veritable bear garden of noise and excitement as a gaggle of elegant ladies squabbled over the desirable bolts of cloth.
Linnet had to push her way toward the relevant counter, passing the glass-partitioned departments displaying furs and fans, haberdashery, ornamental ormulu and French clocks, and then the millinery. It was impossible to even see the cloth counter, there was such a press of determined ladies around it. The young men endeavoring to serve were hard put to keep things in control, especially when three ladies seized the same bolt of emerald-green cloth and began tugging it in different directions.
Linnet halted, somewhat put off by such a battleground. Her glance moved to the staircase. Maybe if she took her tea first, and then returned to the cloth counter afterward, the battle would be over, and she could examine what was left of the coveted cloth. Yes, that was what she’d do, for to be sure there wasn’t any point in trying to look at anything now, not when the ladies of Mayfair were in full acquisitive flow.
The floor above was mostly devoted to a magnificent display of fine furnishing fabrics, and was remarkably quiet and deserted after the mayhem on the ground floor. The tearoom was toward the rear of the building, looking out over the gardens of Carlton House and Marlborough House toward the green expanse of St. James’s Park. There was a table laden with cakes and pastries, and the delicious smell of toasted currant buns, and a number of small tables, each one with a dainty lace-edged white cloth. The tables had four chairs each, and against the wall there were a number of fine crimson velvet sofas, but not a single place was occupied. It seemed that the delivery of royal merino cloth was the sole attraction of the day.
Linnet went to a table next to a window, teasing off her gloves as she sat down. As she ordered a dish of China tea from the waitress who hastened to serve her, her thoughts were again on Freddy Grainger.
She didn’t hear anyone come up the staircase, nor did she hear the rich, seductive rustle of a corded-silk train. She didn’t even hear the patter of a poodle’s paws on the polished wood floor. She knew nothing until someone spoke.
“We meet again, Miss Carlisle.”
She looked up into Judith Jordan’s shining, feline eyes.