Chapter 14

London had become nasty to its inhabitants. What had been a beautiful morning became a cloudy afternoon and a rainy night. The weather, however, had no effect on the gaiety and festivities that belonged to the London Season. Rain or shine, the ladies of the Beau Monde donned their finest gowns and fabulous jewels, ready to party. The men dressed in handsomely tailored evening wear. Protected from the elements by enfolding capes, umbrellas, and solicitous servants, they made their way from glittering ballroom to glittering ballroom to dance and gossip the night away.

Caroline was attired in a gown of deep, plum-colored, watered silk taffeta this evening. The lowered neckline allowed a broad expanse of creamy bosom to peek above it. She wore earrings and a necklace of garnets and diamonds that had belonged to her mother. The rich color of the stones contrasted nicely with the milky white of her skin and the tinge of red in her hair. Her gown was starkly plain, compared to the more elaborate costumes worn by others, but its simplicity only enhanced the beauty of the young lady who wore it. Long silk gloves and a black lace fan were her only other accessories. Caroline's hair was piled high, with a cascade of sausage curls falling on either side of her face. Two diamond hair clips winked in the candlelight whenever she turned her head. She’d rubbed rose petals on her lips to pink them slightly, dabbed the scent of roses behind her ears and the hollow between her breasts. Her green-tinted eyes were framed with long, dark lashes and shone like faceted emeralds in the glow from wall sconces and overhead in the crystal chandeliers. The light cast changing patterns on the silk of her gown and turned it iridescent. Tonight she appeared very much a highborn aristocrat and member of London's elite.

Caroline asked Daisy to be especially attentive to her toilette. Having experienced the sly glances of the curious guests at tea this afternoon, she knew she would be scrutinized at the Sheltons’ ball.

Caroline arrived with the Templetons and the D’Arcys, but ton gossips had already wondered which lady would appear on the Duke’s arm. Would it be the vaunted Lady Maribelle again tonight?

Antonio had asked Hal to squire Briella and their grandmother. They went early to the Covingtons’ and would meet Caroline at the Sheltons’ later on.

After the belief that raced through her wits after her ride on Elegancia this morning, Caroline firmly assumed that Antonio was with Lady Maribelle. Where they were and what they were doing, she’d rather not contemplate.

It was a few minutes before midnight when a silent wave rippled through the crowd. Chatter diminished until there was barely a murmur. All eyes turned towards the ballroom’s entrance. Antonio hesitated in the archway with Lady Maribelle clamped possessively onto his arm.

Caroline had hoped…but, no, what she guessed—correctly—must be absolutely true. She heartily wished she could drop through a trapdoor and escape into the shadows, because now, all eyes swiveled her way. Straightening her shoulders, she fluttered her fan and turned back to face Lord Major Rossiter with whom she’d been conversing, focusing her attention on him.

“I understand, Lord Major, that a portion of your journey took you overland on the Peninsula. Did you set sail from Lisbon to London?”

“My dear Lady Caroline, you have an excellent command of geography,” he complimented. “But, no, what we did was to debark in Barcelona and travel across the neck of the Peninsula by coach. I had business in France with one of my seniors. From Calais we boarded a ship to Dover.”

“Oh, I see. So you didn’t have an opportunity to explore any of Spain's southern regions?” she asked him.

“No, milady. The last time I was in Spain proper was in '14. So now you see how old I am.” He chuckled, and bent to her ear. “I was with Wellington when he moved into the Peninsula in ’09 and marched north with him later when he put a period to Boney's dastardly tricks.” Twirling his waxed mustache, the elder gentleman said, “But come now, Lady Caroline, a young woman like you is not interested in rehashing army tales with an old soldier like me.”

He twirled the hair at an end of his mustache a second time. “Is it Spain that interests you then? Ah, yes.” He smiled wisely. “The half-Spanish duke. The ladies could talk of nothing else this afternoon. I hope to meet him myself tonight. Believe I served with his father, Sebastian Thorndyke, on the Peninsula.”

Lord Major Rossiter rambled on. Evidently, the retired army major didn’t realize it had been Antonio's entrance that caused the stir. “Sorry, I can't stand up with you, Lady Caroline. Took a ball in my leg at Waterloo in '15, and it's never let me forget it,” the old soldier remarked.

Just then, one of Hal's former classmates approached. “I believe we’re engaged for this dance, Lady Caroline.”

The Lord Major smiled at her. “Go along, young lady, and enjoy yourself. I'm taking m'self off to the card room.” So saying, the man limped toward one of the anterooms leading from the ballroom where a number of gentlemen were engaged in more serious entertainments than dancing the night away.

As Caroline and Viscount Andrew Brawley stepped onto the dance floor, she realized the hum of conversation had decreased in volume. The interest in Antonio and Maribelle…and herself…evidently lost some of its flavor.

In the young lord's arms, Caroline was pleased to find Brawley was an excellent partner. He whirled her round and round as they circled the floor, bringing roses to her cheeks.

“You’re a wonderful dancer, Lord Brawley.”

“Thank you milady, but much of it has to do with the grace of the lady with whom I share the dance,” he flirted. “I can assure you not all are as light on their feet as you, Lady Caroline.”

His gallantry reminded her of her own debut. She’d danced and, yes, flirted, during her come out. Was that only two years ago? So much had occurred since then, it felt like a lifetime ago. It was almost impossible to comprehend how her life had changed in such a short time.

As Brawley whirled her past a group clustered around the Sheltons, Caroline thought she recognized a dark head. Golden curls were piled next to the set of broad shoulders. The viscount spun her too quickly for her to be sure. Well, no matter, she thought, Antonio and Maribelle not withstanding. She’d not run and hide like a hermit crab Hal once teased her about. She’d look Tonio in the eye—oh Lord, when had she taken to thinking of him as her Tonio—and greet him and his almost-affianced lady politely before going on to enjoy the rest of the evening. Her time in London was rapidly coming to an end. She would leave the city in three days. Having experienced the hectic round of parties and galas, she now looked forward to the quiet of Crestwood Manor and the Kent countryside. It would be good to ride Demon again. He, too, must have missed their morning outings.

* * * *

It was time for the late supper. Andrew Brawley asked Caroline to share it with him. She graciously accepted, and they strolled toward the magnificent buffet spread in a large room down the hallway from the ballroom. Footmen were lined up behind tables laden with a selection of epicurean delights prepared especially by the Sheltons’ vaunted French Chef d'Cuisine. Small tables, seating six or eight, were scattered around the room.

Caroline and Brawley were impressed by the supper fare. He helped her fill her plate with a mouth-watering selection. Caroline hadn’t eaten since tea, and by now, she was famished.

“I say,” Lord Brawley hailed another old school chum. “Chatham? Lady Caroline and I wish to join you at table.”

Lord Chatham waved them to come ahead, and in the fluster of seating and introductions, Caroline didn’t notice Antonio and Maribelle entering the supper room. Their arrival, however, hadn’t missed the observant eyes of Robert Chase, Lord Chatham.

“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, I see Weston. Perhaps, he’ll join us also.” He left the table and hurried across the room to where Antonio and Maribelle were eyeing choices from the buffet table. Chatham reached them as Antonio looked up. Chatham bowed over Maribelle's hand and greeted Antonio warmly. The men had been classmates at Cambridge. Antonio glanced in the direction from which Robert Chase approached and spotted Caroline sitting at his table.

He toyed with a choice. Should he, or shouldn't he, bring Maribelle to sit at Chatham’s table? Then, he thought better of it. Better to play the gentleman, and not confront Caroline with Maribelle in tow. He planned to tell this lady it was their last evening together. He was sure the small token of his esteem nestled in the velvet box in his jacket’s pocket would assuage her damaged sensibilities.

He growled silently, noticing Andrew Brawley hovering over Caroline. Hmm… perhaps he ought to stop by the table and stake his claim. Then he realized Maribelle still clung to his arm like a limpet. Besides, he had no claim on Caroline’s affections, or any reason to cause a fuss with Brawley.

Caroline's back was turned to the buffet table, but she sensed a prickling sensation mounting her spine. She dare not turn to look, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw Chatham returning with Antonio and his blond companion. Inhaling, Caroline pretended to concentrate on her plate of food.

Andrew Brawley jumped to his feet, as did the other men as Antonio and Maribelle approached.

“Your Grace, good to see you again. And you, Lady Maribelle,” Brawley said, bowing over her hand as she curtsied and smiled sweetly up at him.

“Lady Caroline,” Brawley began as Caroline swiveled in her chair. “Do you know Lady Maribelle Staunton?”

Caroline hoped her smile didn’t look too pinched or it might splinter her face into fragments when she acknowledged the introduction. “No, I'm afraid I haven’t been fortunate enough to meet Lady Staunton until this very moment.”

Caroline was certain Maribelle's smile looked a trifle forced and wondered if she, too, had heard the gossip earlier today. It had burned its way through the ton faster than a forest fire in a gale wind. She also wondered if Maribelle was aware of the whispering that had been going on behind fluttering fans when she and Antonio had stepped into the crowded ballroom. Just now every pair of eyes in the supper room was trained on the little group around Chatham’s table.

Caroline knew that behind her lashes, Maribelle’s blue eyes were examining her, her gown, and her other attributes.

Does she believe me to be her competition?

Caroline watched Maribelle quickly slide her gloved fingers possessively through Antonio's elbow a second time as if to claim her territory.

“Lady Lockler, how nice to make your acquaintance.” Throwing down the gauntlet, Maribelle said, sweetly, “I understand you rode in the Park with His Grace this morning. I, of course, prefer the carriage to a horse's back. They’re such…smelly beasts.” Her disdain was obvious to everyone at the table.

Caroline blanched at Maribelle's blatant ridicule of her outing with Antonio. Anger gripped her at the woman’s cutting remark, but Caroline struggled to maintain her dignity. “His Grace was kind enough to permit me to ride his sister's wonderful mare. I was most grateful for the opportunity.”

Oh, if only I could punish Maribelle’s blond countenance with a stinging slap across her face.

Instead, Caroline aimed a fleeting glance at Antonio. The cad clung to Maribelle. Hiding behind those thick lashes, his eyes caressed Caroline with that heart stopping half-smile she’d seen too often. Angry at herself for what she felt, Caroline experienced her insides doing somersaults.

“I'm pleased you enjoyed Elegancia, Lady Caroline,” Antonio replied politely.

The rogue.

Then, with an apologetic look that encompassed those around the table, Antonio announced, “I'm sorry we can’t join you. We have a previous engagement. I trust you’ll enjoy the remainder of your evening.” Bowing to all in general, he took a firm grip on Maribelle's elbow and led her away.

Caroline didn’t realize she was grinding her teeth until she allowed her breath to hiss between them. Hoping no one heard, she fastened her eyes on her uneaten food. The thought of eating brought upsetting twinges to her stomach.

“The duke certainly has the ladies eating out of his hand, eh, what, Brawley?” Robert Chase commented with an elegant, raised eyebrow.

“Sporting fellow, with it all, though, ain’t he?” Andrew chimed in. “Won some blunt on him with that bay Thoroughbred in St. James’s Park a few weeks back. A bruising rider if I do say so myself.”

Lady Samantha Jarvis, Robert's supper companion, put that conversation to an end with a juicy piece of gossip about another of their set. “Did you hear the latest scandal about Lucy Shipley and her cousin, Lord Brister?”

The chatter continued while Caroline pushed the esteemed French chef's culinary temptations around the edge of her plate. Her appetite had evaporated, and she was unable to swallow another bite.

The orchestra was tuning up again. Caroline excused herself and left for the ladies' retiring room. It was empty for the moment, and she sat down to collect her wits. That hadn't been so bad after all, she applauded herself silently. By now, her heart had ceased beating too rapidly. Her palms were no longer damp inside her gloves, nor did her hands tremble. She drew in a stoic breath, gleaning satisfaction from her reflection in the mirror.

“To blast and the devil to you, Antonio Thorndyke.” Her curses whispered softly, sounding hurt and angry to her ears as she faced her image. She rose abruptly, smoothed down her gown, patted a few errant locks of hair back into place, picked up her black lace fan, and swung around with a swish of plum watered silk. Blinking away her tears and pasting a smile on her lips, Caroline exited into the glowing lights of the ballroom and the lilting waltz music of the orchestra.