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FINALLY ARRIVING AT Lord and Lady Holland’s beautiful home that night, I realized that due to the unsettling events of the afternoon, my excitement for this evening’s gala had waned to the point that I would have been content to sit alone in the carriage in the dark whilst Hannah and Ellie partook of the festivities.
As it turned out, I am exceedingly glad I chose to accompany the girls inside. Wearing their elegant new white silk gowns with coloured satin sashes wrapped about the empire waists and matching ribbons in their hair, both girls looked charming tonight and were in exceptionally high alt.
We had a bit of a wait until the Dandridge carriage finally inched its way up the crowded street, but we three soon joined the throng of other elegantly clad guests making their way up the walk and into the Holland’s three-storey mansion. Inside, we were led down a wide marble corridor and through an arched entryway into the grand ballroom. There, after once again waiting our turn, the Holland butler solemnly announced our names to the crush of people already assembled within the brilliantly lit chamber.
I confess that to hear my name called out as if I were a person of consequence did rather startle me. I am unsure how it affected Hannah or Ellie, but, having never had such a distinction extended to me, I confess I felt a trifle self-conscious when I noted a good many persons turn to gaze our way.
“Why is everyone staring at us?” Hannah whispered as we three at last advanced into the cavernous room, it lit by hundreds of candles affixed to dozens of chandeliers, the flickering prickles of light reflecting off the polished parquet floor beneath our feet.
“Perhaps they are wondering who we are,” Ellie suggested.
Enraptured by the sight unfolding before me, I said nothing. The ballroom floor was already crowded with couples moving through the intricate patterns of a dance. Apparently we had missed the introduction of the Holland’s niece in whose honour tonight’s ball was given. Soon after that set drew to a close and the couples drifted apart, the orchestra immediately launched into a lively gavotte. As our party continued to search for a familiar face amongst the shoulder-to-shoulder throng, the ballroom floor once again burst to life with smiling couples expertly executing the lively steps of the dance.
My astonishment rose as I gazed about at the sight of hundreds of people lavishly turned out in the finest silks and satins. The vast array of costly jewels . . . emeralds, diamonds, rubies and sapphires sparkling from every lady’s neck, arms, hands and ears was beyond anything I had ever seen. Even the sight of enormous diamond stickpins glittering from the lapels of a good many gentlemen’s coats was remarkable to behold.
Amongst the crowd, I noted a number of gentlemen turned out in full dress uniform, blue coats with red trim, or vice versa, some with wide red or white satin sashes wrapped about their middles. Many brightly coloured jackets were festooned with row upon row of medals. Golden epaulettes enhanced broad shoulders whilst layers of braided ropes were looped over and under their arms, some dangling nearly to their elbows. Having never seen so many dignitaries gathered together in one place, I could not help wondering who the highly decorated officers were?
I caught a quick glimpse of an especially tall, dark-haired gentleman, attired in black trousers and tailcoat, his gleaming white shirtfront topped with a crisp white cravat. Both he and a distinguished-looking white-haired gentleman seemed to be wending their way through the crush towards us. The older man’s scarlet coat was embellished with dozens of ribbons and golden medals. As the pair wove their way through the crowd, I could scarcely believe my eyes when at length I caught an unobstructed view at the countenance of the tall, dark-haired gentleman.
Mr. Sheridan? My smile widened as both men drew nearer.
“Good evening, Miss Abbott.” My gentleman friend was obliged to fairly shout above the deafening din of music and hundreds of people talking and laughing at once. “I have been eagerly awaiting your arrival.”
“G-Good evening, sir,” I breathlessly replied. “I did not expect to see you here tonight.”
Mr. Sheridan’s lips twitched as he turned to the gentleman at his side, the older man perhaps a head shorter than he. “Is she not as lovely as I declared her to be, Gerard?”
The elderly gentleman nodded, the smile of appreciation on his wrinkled visage fixed on me. “That she is, Sheridan. Quite lovely, indeed.”
“May I present my good friend the esteemed Prime Minister Gerard, Viceroy of India. Sir, this is Miss Juliette Abbott, and her lovely companions are Miss Hannah Ruston and Miss Eleanor Palmer. Both young ladies are making their debuts this Season.”
The Prime Minister nodded all around, then reached for my gloved hand and brought it to his lips. “You are every bit as enchanting as Sheridan claimed, Miss Abbott. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Unaccustomed to having a gentleman kiss my fingertips, I felt myself blush to the roots of my hair, which tonight was done up in a pile of curls atop my head and held in place with a dusky rose ribbon that exactly matched the dusky rose silk gown I wore. “Thank you, indeed, sir.” My smile was genuine. “The pleasure is all mine.”
“Ah. I heartily disagree, young lady.” The kindly old man kissed my gloved fingertips again before he bowed, then turned to greet Hannah, and Ellie, although I noted he did not kiss their fingertips. Perhaps due to their tender age, he felt the overture might be ill-received.
As the Viceroy exchanged pleasantries with the girls, I addressed Mr. Sheridan. “I was unaware your plans included tonight’s gala, sir.”
His dark eyes twinkled as he leant close to my ear. “You are a vision of loveliness tonight, Juliette.”
I demurely dropped my gaze, then peeking back up from beneath my lashes, I replied, “As are you, sir.”
“Being here tonight was rather a last minute decision. I bumped into the Prime Minster at the Home Office yesterday and when he mentioned he had been invited to a ball, but was unacquainted with the host, he insisted I accompany him. I recalled you mentioning you’d be escorting the young ladies here, so I accepted the invitation at once.”
At that instant, Lord and Lady Cowper and Mrs. Drummond-Burrell and her husband reached us, the diamond tiaras nestled atop the ladies heads sparkling. With them was Lady Cowper’s protégée, the younger girl’s demure white gown set off by a ruby necklace at her throat. The group’s presence prompted additional introductions and when everyone fell to talking at once, the debutants amongst themselves, the gentlemen conversing with the Prime Minster, I glanced up at Mr. Sheridan when I felt the light touch of his hand at my back.
“Unless I am mistaken, Miss Abbott, the musicians are gearing up for a waltz. Shall we dance?” With a nod, he extended an elbow.
“To waltz with you would be a delight, sir.” I smiled as I slipped my hand over the crook of his arm and we headed for the dance floor.
“So, I take it you are not obliged to obtain permission from the patronesses before partaking of a waltz?”
“I am no green girl, sir, and am therefore free to do as I please.”
Reaching the already crowded ballroom floor, our steps instantly harmonized with the lilting, three-four tempo of the waltz. Of a sudden, it struck me that the fondest dream in my heart had at last come true! Here was I, plain Miss Juliette Abbott, in the arms of perhaps the most handsome man in the kingdom, twirling about the dance floor to the mesmerizing strains of a waltz . . . at an elegant, society ball!
Aiming a smile up at my partner, I breathed, “You are the first gentleman with whom I have ever danced a waltz at a real ball, sir.”
One arm encircling my waist, he drew me closer to his chest, an action that caused my heart to beat even faster. When he smiled down into my upturned face, my breath grew short.
“You are the first young lady I have stood up with in a good long while, Miss Abbott. But, of the lot, I daresay, you are the loveliest.”
“Are you saying you have waltzed with a great many ladies, sir?”
A grin twitched at his lips as he drew me closer still, expertly twirling me around and around. In moments, I began to feel lightheaded, the sparkling colours and flickering candlelight becoming a blur before my eyes. I became so caught up in the heady experience that I very nearly did not hear Mr. Sheridan address me once more.
“I expect I may also be the first gentleman to inquire if you would like to abandon the ballroom, Miss Abbott, and escape with me to the terrace where we might indulge in a . . . private dance of our own?”
My heart felt as if it might take flight. “I daresay I understand now why the waltz has been deemed so very scandalous, sir,” I replied, as a way of not acquiescing to his outrageous and quite improper proposal.
“Yes, well, the . . . uh . . . nature of the dance does rather . . . stir a man’s senses.” His strong arms drew me so very close that I became acutely aware of my breasts pressed against his hard chest. Through the thin fabric of my gown, I could also not help noticing that the rapid beating of his heart exactly matched the thunderous pounding of my own.
Twirling me about in perfect concert to the music, Mr. Sheridan said, “My dear, if you do not agree to abandon the dance floor with me at once, I fear I shall be unable to refrain from doing something so very scandalous that our waltz will become the on-dit of the Season.”
I tilted up my chin. “Are you saying, sir, that we shall be talked about in every drawing room in London, that our . . .?
“That is exactly what I am saying, Miss Abbott.” In one swift motion, Mr. Sheridan caught hold of my hand and led me through the crowd, which, miraculously, seemed to part before us as my determined partner made for the double doors that gave on to the terrace some distance beyond the ballroom. “Do not say I failed to warn you, my dear.”
Out of doors, scores of twinkling stars in the night sky illuminated the flagstone path fronting the garden. We passed a curved staircase descending to what I assumed to be beds of roses and other flowering plants, the sweet scent assailing my nostrils as we hurried past. Obviously taking no thought to the ambiance, Mr. Sheridan resolutely aimed for a potted plant dwarfing a corner of the terrace, its large green leaves gently swaying on the warm night air. Once we were sufficiently hidden from view, he swept me into his arms and instantly molded the length of my small body to his much larger, and far stronger, one. I felt his hands caress my back, then boldly trace the contour of my waist, and then, dip down, down, downward to my . . .
“You drive me wild with desire, Juliette.” His lips brushed my ear.
I felt him bury his nose in the cluster of curls atop my head.
“You are intoxicating. I can no longer resist your charms.”
In the next moment, his lips were on mine, hungrily devouring, pressing, kneading, tasting. I surrendered to the tingling sensations coursing through me, until I was certain I could no longer draw breath.
When at length, we were both gasping for air, we at last drew apart. Still locked in his arms, I gazed upward and tensed when I noted a troubled look clouding my companion’s dark eyes.
“What am I to do with you, Juliette?” he muttered huskily.
As my breasts continued to rise and fall against his chest, I murmured, “What do you wish to do with me, sir?”
His brow furrowed as the tip of his tongue moved along the underside of his upper lip. Then, reaching a finger to slowly trace the hills and valleys of mine, he said, “That is not a question a young lady should ask a man unless she is prepared to hear the answer.”
Perplexed, I drew away. “I fail to take your meaning, sir.”
Even as his chest continued to heave, his troubled gaze dissolved into a crooked smile. “And that, my dear, is precisely the trouble.” At length, he exhaled a resigned breath, and once again clasping hold of my hand, he pulled me from the shadows.
“Come, I shall take you back inside . . . where you belong.”
* * * *
I THOUGHT MY HEART would break when throughout the remainder of the evening, I never once saw Mr. Sheridan again. After returning me to where my friends stood, he abruptly departed with no kind words, nor even a polite farewell, which left me no choice but to fix my full attention upon Hannah and Ellie. However, during those times when both girls were dancing, I eagerly scanned the faces of the couples on the ballroom floor, hoping to catch a glimpse of my handsome gentleman friend there, at the same time hoping . . . I would not. I wished to be the only woman Mr. Sheridan stood up with that night at the ball. Or, at any ball.
Where had he got off to in such a hurry, I asked myself again and again? Why did he not return to speak with me once more? Or, dance with me? As the evening wore on, my spirits sank lower and lower, and plummeted to my feet when the haughty Lady Jersey paused to speak with Lady Cowper and Mrs. Drummond-Burrell. Though I attempted to turn away from the three of them, and instead gaze out over the dance floor, presumably for Hannah and Ellie, I failed miserably. The auburn haired older lady wasted not a moment before arrogantly addressing me.
“I daresay you are in fine looks tonight, Miss Abbott. Tell me, who was that handsome young man I saw you standing up with a bit earlier?”
I slid a gaze her way, but apart from a curt nod, I made no reply.
Which caused Lady Jersey’s nostrils to flare. “So, you refuse to divulge his name, do you? It is of no consequence. I shall have no trouble uncovering the gentleman’s identity. Then we shall see who he prefers, a woman of the world, or a low-born chit with nothing to recommend her.”
“Do, leave off taunting her, Sally,” Mrs. Drummond-Burrell chided. “You’ve gentlemen aplenty hanging after you. It is my understanding the king is looking for a new . . . diversion. Cast your net a trifle higher, my dear, and see what you can draw in.”
Needless to say, I was inordinately relieved when the trussed-up Lady Jersey at last grew bored and drifted away. But, I confess I did keep a sharp eye out to be certain she did not approach, or find, my Mr. Sheridan. Truth was, I was uncertain even he could resist her considerable charms.
By the time the girls and I finally departed for Marsh Lane, I did not care if I attended another ball again in the whole of my life.
Although at one point during the evening, I experienced genuine pleasure when Lady Cowper presented both girls, and her protégée, with a thoughtful little gift, an item I was unaware even existed, but which both Hannah and Ellie seemed thrilled to receive.
A Compact Leather Dance Card Instruction Case.
Small enough for a young lady to carry in her reticule.
AFTER PAUSING AT MY home in Brook Street to collect Tilda, it also pleased me when both girls declared the Holland ball to be the most enchanting evening they had ever known. Hannah then proceeded to relay in great detail to Tilda each and every momentous event that had occurred throughout the overlong evening, during which, I said nothing.
When Hannah’s recitation finally wound down and it appeared that both she and Tilda appeared to be dozing, Ellie leant over to whisper a few words to me. “I saw him again tonight, Miss Abbott.”
“Are you referring to Mr. Burns, Ellie?” I absently inquired, my mind still ruminating upon my brief moments spent with Mr. Sheridan. “I did not see you stand up with him. I am sorry, I confess I did not notice.”
“Not him,” Ellie replied softly. “I am speaking of the man who followed us that day; the one who was taking vouchers at Almack’s. He was also at the Holland ball tonight.”
In the dim candlelight cast by the lamps on either side of the coach, my brow furrowed as I turned a curious gaze upon her.
“Where did you see him?”
“He was standing just inside the doorway when we entered the mansion. After the maids collected our wraps, she handed them off to him and he turned to hang them on hooks. Afterward, I watched him scribble something in a little notebook. You handed over your cape when we arrived, and then he took our tippets; but later, when we paused to collect our things, he was nowhere to be seen. I am certain he was the same man I saw in Town that day, and also at Almack’s,” she concluded.
“Oh-h-h.” I let out the anxious breath I’d been holding. “Perhaps he simply secures permission to perform the odd job here and there. I doubt it is anything with which to concern ourselves.”
“But, why was he following us about Town the day we shopped?”
I exhaled another weary sigh. “I cannot say, Ellie. I am certain it is of no consequence.” At least, I sincerely hoped that to be the case.
Leaning my head back against the squabs, I, too, closed my eyes. Of far greater import to me was why Mr. Sheridan had not sought me out again during the long, tedious evening? Why had he not stood up with me once more? Why had he simply led me back into the ballroom, then without a parting word, or even a backward glance, merely turned and melted into the crowd? What had I done to anger him?
* * * *
DESPITE FEELING FATIGUED to my bones as I lay abed that night, I found I was unable to drift off to sleep. Instead, running through my mind was a litany of things I had wished to discuss with Mr. Sheridan when next I saw him. Tonight I had not got a chance to mention a single one; consequently he was not yet aware of any of the sinister happenings here. I’d not yet had a chance to tell him of either Miss Cordelia’s passing, or of the maid’s tragic death. He also did not know that I had made the acquaintance of David Dandridge, or that he was wed to Norris, the haughty housekeeper.
As I continued to lay awake, my thoughts tumbling with wild abandon in and around and through my fevered brain, I wondered if my imagination was simply running amuck, or was there indeed something sinister taking place here within the house on Marsh Lane? If wicked deeds were afoot, and that certainly seemed to be the case, I had no doubt that Norris was either at the root of them, or had had a hand in the mischief; beginning with the death of the previous housekeeper who, amongst the upper reaches, was believed to be a gruesome murder.
Was it truly murder? Or was it as Doctor Morgan declared, an unfortunate accident? I did not know. The maids did not know, or if they did, not a one was willing to speak of it. Tilda had been unable to ferret out the truth and I did not wish to put her life in jeopardy again by attempting to seek out answers from any other person below stairs. Not after what had transpired today. Mr. Sheridan did not know of Tilda’s harrowing experience this afternoon, or that I had recently learned that Mrs. Dandridge was, in truth, not Mrs. Dandridge, but rather that lady’s sister-in-law.
From Mr. Sheridan, I wished to know if he or anyone at the Home Office had yet located the Dandridge grandson, accused of taking the life of another. Had Conner Dandridge simply vanished? Or, was he truly still hiding out somewhere here upon the estate? Had Mr. Sheridan succeeded in running the killer to ground and the young man was now already locked up? I did not know.
Once I was presented with an opportunity to tell Mr. Sheridan that Norris and David Dandridge were now man and wife, and that it was likely that either, or both of them, knew the whereabouts of David’s brother Conner, I expect Mr. Sheridan would, at the very least, wish to question the newly-wed couple.
Also nagging at me was my suspicion that Norris had played a deadly role in dear Miss Cordelia’s demise. I also wondered if Josie had somehow uncovered the truth, and perhaps, also the truth behind others of the happenings here, and, as a result, Norris had also assisted her to go aloft? I recall Josie asking me if I truly did see what was taking place here? Which clearly indicated to me that she knew something I did not.
I was also curious to know why the late Mr. Dandridge’s sister, the woman now posing as Mrs. Dandridge, had deemed it necessary at some point to assume her brother’s wife’s identity?
What was behind her perfidy? Greed, perhaps? I assume the fortune in banknotes secreted beneath the bed in her bedchamber had, in fact, belonged to the real Mrs. Dandridge. Once her sister-in-law learned of it, had she coveted the wealth for herself? Were all the wicked deeds connected? Lastly, what did the unknown man who seemed to be dogging our footsteps have to say to anything? Despite the many unanswered questions churning through my mind, and my relentless pondering of them, there seemed no way to explain, or supply an answer to, a single one.