Lady Granville’s ballroom was full despite its vastness. A wall of mirrors added to the crowd, duplicating a rainbow of evening dresses and stark black-and-white suits, doubling the small orchestra, the decorations, the crystal and gilt chandeliers, and the servants weaving through the throng to offer refreshments. It seemed all of the better half of London must be there, and Joe was about meet them.
He stood near the open double doors, waiting his turn to be introduced. Since this was a formal event and not some minor party, names were announced whenever anyone new entered. While he waited, he searched for His Majesty in the crowd, but saw not a sign of the heavy-jowled face familiar to him from the newspapers. Perhaps Granville had lied about the monarch attending to make Joe even more ill at ease.
“His Excellency the Duke and the Duchess of Albemarle,” the butler intoned. A gray-haired woman in an amethyst beaded gown was escorted by her bearded husband, wearing a jacket with epaulets on the shoulders and a row of medals on his chest.
In a heartbeat, Joe’s nervousness escalated to the panic of a nightmare. He was in the company of dukes and earls! He, who had knelt on cold pavement polishing his betters’ shoes, was about to mingle with them as if he belonged. Arthur lightly cupped his elbow for a brief moment before they moved forward.
“Sir Reginald and Lady Carolyn Lawton.”
Despite leaving the house earlier, Arthur’s parents had arrived at the party only minutes before Joe and Arthur. Perhaps their coachman had taken a longer route. They walked forward as their names were announced.
“Mr. Bingley and Margaret Lawton.”
Margaret clung to her husband’s arm. She was pale and already fanning her face as they entered the stuffy room. She appeared about as likely to faint as Joe felt.
“Mr. Arthur Lawton. Mr. Joseph Newman.”
Joe composed himself and concentrated on each step lest he trip over his own feet. The crowd went suddenly silent, and everyone stared. The music stopped. He was the center of all eyes. Joe expected someone to point and say, “I know that man. He polished my boots once.”
But this was all his imagination. It was only the rush of blood in his ears that temporarily drowned out sound. He took a deep breath, and noise and movement resumed.
After a cursory glance at the new arrivals, people resumed their conversations. First hurdle overcome.
Now he must greet Mrs. Granville, and she would introduce him to a few of her acquaintances. Her ladyship came straight to Lady Lawton and took her hands. The two women pressed cheeks and promised not to let so much time slip away before they next saw each other.
Bing and Margaret exchanged pleasantries with their hostess, and then it was Arthur and Joe’s turn.
“You left us so suddenly the other night,” she scolded them. “Naughty boys going to the gaming table, no doubt.”
“I apologize, your ladyship,” Arthur said. “Our friends demanded we accompany them.”
The genteel lady sniffed. “There’s little excuse for bad manners, my boy. But I forgive you, and I certainly forgive Mr. Newman, who was likely dragged along on the excursion.” She turned her attention to Joe. “Have you enjoyed your visit, young man?”
“Very much, your ladyship. There is so much to see and do here.”
“When do you expect to return home, Mr. Newman?” The voice coming from beside him was Lord Granville, who’d joined the group as stealthily as a cat. And, like a hunting feline, his eyes had a steely focus. The man’s dislike washed over Joe. Despite Arthur’s promise that Granville wouldn’t cheat on a wager, Joe felt he had some plan brewing and intended to disgrace Joe publicly before the night was over.
“I can’t spare more than another week. I’m needed at home.” He answered truthfully, for his mother and sisters would be expecting him back. He’d told them he’d found a temporary job some distance away and the money was too good to pass up. When he returned, he’d have to spill everything because there was no other way than the truth to explain his sudden fortune. Besides, he never could lie to Mum for long.
“Oh? Has something gone wrong? Why are you needed?” Granville demanded.
“Manners, Freddie,” his mother said sharply. “Mr. Newman’s business is his own. I see your friend Professor Holley is here. He appears quite out of place. Be a good host and attend to him.” She turned back to Joe. “Come with me, Mr. Newman. There are several young ladies I should like to introduce you to.”
As Lady Granville gave her seal of approval by introducing him, Joe penciled his name on the fancy embossed dance cards the women wore on ribbons tied to their wrists. He felt awful, for he understood now that if his true background came out, it would besmirch her ladyship’s good name. She was his character reference. Nothing to be done about it now. He was in for a penny and a pound and a good deal more.
After their hostess left to greet other guests, Arthur and Joe talked with a man named Sir Anthony Hiller. As soon as Arthur could, he politely ended the conversation with the dull man, whose conversation was limited to the weather and long, awkward pauses. Alone at last, Arthur quietly asked Joe, “How are you doing?”
“I’m feeling up-to-date on the recent extreme thunderstorms in Spain and educated on the very clement weather in Hereford and Hampshire.”
Joe pointed out Miss Daisy across the room chatting with an older man. “Look, there’s Miss Cavendish. Let’s go talk with her.” It was a relief to see someone with whom he was familiar.
Daisy lit up when Joe and Arthur approached her. “Mr. Lawton, Mr. Newman, how pleasant to see you both again. Have you enjoyed your stay in London, Mr. Newman?”
Joe bent over her gloved hand. The motion was becoming as natural to him as wielding a buffing brush. Then he stepped back and looked into her starry eyes. “My host has shown me a marvelous time. It will be difficult to return home.”
Miss Daisy pouted. “Oh! When are you leaving? I had hoped to invite you to my birthday tea Saturday next. Surely you will be here long enough to attend.” She lowered her lashes flirtatiously. “Perhaps you might be persuaded to stay even longer.”
The man who had been shunted aside frowned at Daisy’s ignoring him. Arthur stepped into the breach by introducing Joe to him. “Mr. Michael Welling, may I introduce you to my out-of-town guest, Mr. Joseph Newman.”
“How do you do.” Joe cast around for a topic of conversation. Since Sir Anthony’s excruciating lesson on the weather was foremost in his mind, he said, “Very balmy weather for this early in the spring, isn’t it?”
“Quite. Have you enjoyed your visit?”
“Very much. Particularly the exhibits at the British Museum.” Those frenzied moments with Arthur in the dimly lit alcove hit him with a jolt. His cock stirred at the mere memory, and pure desire swept through him. Their first time together and, oh, how he wished their affair could’ve lasted longer. He glanced at Arthur’s profile and longed for just one kiss from those perfectly shaped lips.
Welling spotted a friend and made his excuses. Daisy rolled her eyes at his retreating back. “Good heavens that man is persistent. I’ve tried in every way to show my disinterest.” She fanned her face with one hand and the dance card on her wrist fluttered.
“Miss Cavendish, have you any waltzes left? I should like to claim one if you’ll allow it?” Joe said.
Her cheeks pinked to match her satin gown. “Certainly, Mr. Newman. I’d be delighted.” As she handed the card over, she smiled slyly. “Claim two, if you wish.”
Dancing more than one waltz with a partner was tantamount to declaring his interest. So, though it was tempting to stick with a familiar face, Joe only penciled his name on her program one time. Newman, not Sprat he reminded himself.
They chatted awhile longer with Daisy before her next partner claimed her for a gavotte, interrupting her story about a tea party gone awry.
“I shall see you soon, Mr. Newman,” she said before she was swept onto the dance floor.
Arthur pointed out various people and told Joe a bit of gossip about each one. When they met up with Sir Reginald and Lady Lawton in the throng, Joe invited Arthur’s mother to dance.
He clumsily followed the patterns of a quadrille and apologized when it was over. “Sorry. I’ve never been particularly graceful.”
“I’m pleased you asked me. My husband doesn’t care much for dancing, and I rarely get a chance these days. You’re a polite young man.” Lady Lawton patted his arm. “But, my dear, let me introduce you to someone nearer your age, Miss Lydia Hopkins, who comes from a solid, respectable family.”
Again, Joe felt awful, as he was certainly not anyone Lady Lawton would wish to match up with the daughter of one of her friends. Fooling all these people was bad enough, but lying to Arthur’s mum or their hostess was quite another.
Lady Lawton introduced him to a blonde girl who looked far too young to be coming out. She must be barely sixteen and, with her slight figure, appeared thirteen, a mere child being offered for marriage already. Although, things weren’t much different on Barrow Lane. Most of the lads and lasses were wed and had a few children before they turned twenty. Sometimes the pregnancy came before the wedding. It didn’t seem right that young people rushed into making a family they couldn’t afford to take care of. But at least Barrow Lane marriages were made for love, for the most part, while rich folks seemed more cold-blooded about their matches.
Joe whirled Miss Lydia around the dance floor, returned her to her mama, then went to find the next young lady he’d promised a dance to. His plan to keep his feet moving and his mouth closed appeared to be working as the evening flew past.
Joe was catching his breath between dances when Professor Holley approached him. “Good evening, Mr. Newman.”
“Good evening, Professor Holley. How pleasant to see you again.”
“Quite the event, isn’t it?” Holley seemed rather nervous as he straightened his cuffs and smoothed his well-oiled hair.
Joe regarded the lavish bouquets of flowers, the gleaming mirrors, the silk wall panels, and the crowd of spectacularly dressed people. “Indeed.” He’d keep his comments to one word until Holley grew bored and drifted off.
“I’ll admit I was rather surprised to receive an invitation. My friendship with Lord Granville is quite new. But he insisted I be included on the guest list. Quite an honor.”
Which Joe took to mean Holley was not used to rubbing elbows with this ilk. The man seemed rather awestruck and that made Joe a little more comfortable. He wasn’t the only fish out of water.
“Any luck at the gaming tables the other night?” the professor asked.
“I would have done better to remain at the theater,” Joe replied. He didn’t want to outright lie about where he’d spent the rest of that evening. “Did you enjoy the show?”
“Quite a hysterical farce overall. Although, of course, one could never quite believe in the lovely Miss Parish as a Yorkshire lass. Her true Hackney accent was obvious to me, of course.”
“How did you come to study language?” Joe guessed the pompous linguist would not hesitate to take the bait and talk about his own scholarly excellence.
“As a lad, I was fascinated by my nanny’s Welsh lilt, our cook’s Irish brogue, and the slight Scottish burr in my father’s speech, which he never completely shed. His side of the family is Edinburgh born and bred.” The professor tilted his head and studied Joe. “You mentioned you’re from Wiltshire? Funny, I don’t hear those broad A’s in your speech. But I suppose school erased any local inflection. Where did you attend?”
Joe and Arthur had decided he mustn’t say Eton since nearly everyone in attendance would have gone there. Rather than make up a school, he sidestepped the subject. “I spent some summers in Canada visiting my mother’s family.”
“Yes, Granville mentioned your Canadian mother. But I don’t think that’s the intonation I’m hearing. It’s almost as if—”
The music stopped suddenly as the butler sounded a note to gain everyone’s attention. All eyes turned to the entrance, and Holley was effectively silenced.
“His Royal Highness, Kind Edward VII.”
A portly bearded man, dressed in a formal military uniform, entered the room. The statuesque woman beside him wore a seafoam green chiffon gown, and rested her white-gloved hand on the back of his.
“The Honorable Mrs. George Keppel,” the butler added.
The entire crowd dropped into bows and curtsies as a His Majesty and His Majesty’s mistress moved forward. Lady Granville hurried to meet him, dropping a deep curtsy despite her age. Joe noted the high color in her cheeks. The king’s presence made hers the social event of the season thus far. Arthur had told Joe one could never tell whether His Majesty would show up at a party or give it a miss. Yet here he was, big as life. Not a picture in a newspaper or a poster but actual royalty. Joe hadn’t thought he would be quite so awed. After all, royals must eat, sleep, and shit like anyone. What made them so much better than anyone else?
But Joe’s stomach was in his throat as he took his place in the receiving line to meet the king.