It seemed to Bryony that the hour for dinner approached at alarming speed. Feeling almost sick with apprehension at the thought of Sebastian and the countess, she still had to be mindful of what the duchess had said concerning appearance. She had always been proud of her long, curling hair and the thought of cutting it à la victime or à la guillotine was a little too drastic to contemplate, even though she conceded that on Delphine such short fashions were very becoming indeed.
Kathleen was not used to modish coiffures, and she struggled a great deal to twist the light brown hair into a neat Grecian knot, but each time she tried to pin it in place it spilled from her fingers and she had to begin again. In the end, however, she managed to persuade it to remain where it was wanted, although she needed rather too many pins in order to achieve this. The pins had to be concealed with small sprays of artificial flowers, which Bryony trusted would meet with the duchess’s approval.
The matter of a gown with a long train was quite another matter. Bryony simply did not possess one, and the only item in her entire wardrobe which presented some possibilities was a blue muslin spotted with silver. Kathleen had the clever notion of removing the fine lace from Bryony’s nightgown and applying it in neat gathers down the back of the blue muslin’s skirt. The gathers continued beyond the hem, being cleverly stitched one to another, so that a train of sorts emerged where none had been before.
A little more of the lace was stitched to the puffed sleeves, and as the clock on the mantelpiece was pointing to eight o’clock, Bryony was at last able to step into her “new” gown. The clock ceased chiming just as Kathleen fixed the final hook and eye, and Bryony stared at her reflection in the cheval glass. The moment had arrived. Now she must go down and face Sebastian and his mistress.
Picking up her silver reticule, she glanced at Kathleen. “Wish me luck.”
“You will not need luck, Miss Bryony, for you look beautiful. Sir Sebastian will be dazzled by you and he will soon turn from the countess.”
Would he? Bryony doubted that very much. Taking a deep breath to steel herself for what lay ahead, she left her rooms and proceeded along the gallery, on her way to the solar, where it was the custom for everyone to gather before going in to dine in the winter parlor. She pondered that at Polwithiel every room appeared to have been given a Gothic name, the entrance hall becoming the great hall, the main drawing room the solar, and the dining room the winter parlor.
Passing through the folding doors, she came to the landing surrounding the well of the grand staircase and saw Felix coming up toward her, having evidently only just left the salle d’armes, for his hair curled damply against his forehead and his coat was tossed carelessly about his shoulders. His valet, looking totally exhausted, followed a few steps behind, hurrying on past when his master stopped to speak to Bryony.
Felix smiled at her. “I fear I am going to be exceeding late for tonight’s exciting diversion, but then, I hardly wish to be prompt when I must look at Sebastian over the epergne.”
She returned the smile. “Have you really been in the conservatory all this time?”
“The salle d’armes, dear lady,” he reproved. “l am a swordsman, not a damned gardener.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Granted. Yes, I have been there all this time, but I have rested now and then and I have taken the refreshment necessary to keep body and soul together.”
“Your valet looks extremely fatigued.”
“As I said earlier, Frederick is out of condition. He is knocked up after five minutes.” He smiled, his glance moving slowly over her. “So, it seems we are to be denied ringlets with the mulligatawny?”
She flushed a little. “Yes.”
“Mother’s work, no doubt.”
“Yes.”
“And are you ready to meet my damned cousin face to face at last?”
“As ready as I ever will be, I suppose.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What an enigmatic reply. Surely it cannot mean that you do not look forward to your brilliant catch?”
“No doubt I look forward to it as much as does Sir Sebastian.”
“However much that may be.” He glanced again at her hair. “A more fashionable coiffure suits you. Those ringlets were decidedly out-of-date.”
She didn’t quite know what to say, for while he had complimented her, he had at the same time been more than a little rude. “Possibly your grace thinks everything about me is decidedly out-of-date,” she said then, her tone cool.
“Oh, no, Miss St. Charles,” he replied, seeming to find her reaction a little amusing, “for your beauty is timeless, and your spirit ... well, interesting.” He inclined his head then and walked on in the direction of his private apartment.
She remained where she was for a moment. Felix, Duke of Calborough, was an extremely handsome man, and conscious of the fact. He appeared to find it entertaining to be one moment charming and the next hurtful. He was a contradiction which she did not particularly care for.
Slowly she walked on in the direction of the solar. Thoughts of Felix faded into the background as she approached the massive doors, guarded by liveried footmen. Had anyone else arrived yet? Were Sebastian and Petra even now waiting beyond those doors? Her nerve almost failed her and she hesitated, but then she drew herself up once more, determinedly walking on toward the doors, which were immediately flung open to admit her. She passed through into the silent, deserted solar; she was the first to arrive.
She did not know whether to be relieved or not as she walked slowly across the vast room to sit down gingerly on the edge of a sofa, for if she was spared the moment of meeting now, it simply meant that the ordeal was postponed for a few more minutes. She glanced nervously around, feeling very ill-at-ease and wishing with all her heart that her father had never fallen into the clutches of that crooked land agent, never listened to his grandiose farming schemes, and never consequently found himself in the predicament he had! If only all that were so, then she would at this very moment be seated in the drawing room at Liskillen contemplating nothing more disagreeable than whether the cook had again boiled the cabbage to a pulp.
The sun was low in the western sky and the fading light glowed beyond the magnificent oriel window. The solar was already lighted by a great number of candles, the gentle light bringing the tapestry scenes to life, as if a pageant of medieval ladies and gentlemen moved in silent concourse around the walls.
It was all so quiet that she almost started from her seat when the long-case clock next to the harpsichord in the corner began to chime the half-hour; a second later she did start to her feet, for without warning the solar doors were flung open to admit someone. Her pulse began to race until she realized that it was only Kathleen, hastening to bring her forgotten shawl.
“You will need this, Miss Bryony,” she said, “for it will be cool after sunset.”
“You gave me such a shock,” said Bryony, taking the proffered shawl. “I thought the others were coming in.”
Kathleen glanced suddenly at her hair. “Oh, no, some of the pins are coming out already!”
In dismay Bryony put up a hand to test, and as she did so a long curl tumbled down from the knot.
Horrified, Kathleen immediately began to repair the damage, and she was thus engaged when the doors were opened again and Delphine was admitted. She was alone. She looked breathtakingly lovely in a gown of delicate cream-colored muslin, its long train dragging richly over the floor behind her. The muslin was stitched with countless tiny golden spangles which shimmered and flashed at the smallest movement, and the tall white plumes fixed to the side of the circlet on her head streamed as she walked toward them.
Smiling at Bryony, she waved her fan at Kathleen to continue with what she was doing. “A catastrophe already?” she inquired.
“Unfortunately.”
“But you look very lovely, Bryony. I think you should wear your hair up all the time.” She sat down on the sofa, her fan held neatly on her lap. “You are very prompt, Liskillen must indeed be a brisk establishment.”
“Prompt? But is this not the time I should be here?”
“Dear me, no, no one comes down on time. A delay is positively expected. When my maid told me she had seen you coming in this direction, I could not believe it, and then I thought I would be angelic and hurry so that you would not have to sit alone, dreading what lies ahead. We can dread it together.”
Bryony smiled. “And what have you to dread?”
“Well, I told you that the last time I saw Sebastian we had an argument, didn’t I?”
“Yes.”
“It was rather a singular disagreement and we parted somewhat acrimoniously. I know that I was right and he was wrong, but it will still fall to me to be agreeable and conciliatory tonight, even though I do not feel in the least like being nice to him. However,” she went on more briskly, “I did not only come down to be an angel, I came down to be selfish, as is my wont. I thought that as there would be at least half an hour before anyone else put in an appearance, you and I could chitter-chatter. As I said, I have been positively starved of female conversation of late. One doesn’t converse with Mother, one pays attention, and there is only Petra, who is otherwise occupied for the most part.” She blushed suddenly. “Forgive me, I should not have said that.”
“There is nothing to forgive. You did but state what is fact.”
“It should have been left unsaid, for all that. Let us talk of something truly agreeable instead—the summer ball, for instance. By then you will have your Colbert gown and you will glide before the eyes of the curious like a vision.”
Bryony smiled. “No doubt with my hair still coming loose from its pins.”
“Oh, that is not important. I will have my maid, Richardson, show your maid how it is done. I’m so looking forward to the ball, Bryony, for it is always an occasion. I do wish there were some new dances, though.” Her eyes suddenly brightened. “Perhaps you know some!”
“I doubt if we dance anything different in Liskillen.”
“Do not be so pessimistic, for I am convinced that you know absolutely hundreds.”
Bryony laughed in spite of her continuing nervousness. “If I know one new one, you will be fortunate.”
“Tell me what you know.”
“Well, there’s La Belle Catherine, the Bastille, the White Cockade, La Marlbro’, Nottingham Races ... I can’t think of any more.”
Kathleen cleared her throat timidly, fixing in the last pin. “Excuse me, Miss Bryony, but there’s Captain Mackintosh’s Fancy.”
“Oh, yes,” admitted Bryony slowly, “but that can become a little rowdy and will not be at all suitable for the Polwithiel summer ball.”
Delphine looked indignant. “And why not? I’ve never heard of it before, but if it becomes lively, then it sounds the very thing. We are not always sedate here, you know. Even Mother unbends a little after a glass or two of iced champagne. She has even been known to smile.”
“The last thing she would do is smile if she knew I’d brought such a dance to her ball,” said Bryony, laughing a little. “I rather think she’d grind her teeth instead.”
“Then we won’t tell her if she’s being disagreeable,” replied Delphine. “We’ll blame Felix and say he discovered it at the Argyle Rooms or some such Cyprian haunt where Mother would never dream of setting foot. You must show me the steps, Bryony, for it sounds a splendid dance.”
“Of course, if that is what you want.”
“There is no time like the present.”
“Now?” gasped Bryony, taken aback.
“Why not? We’ve time enough.”
Bryony was appalled at the thought of being caught demonstrating such a gallop as Captain Mackintosh’s Fancy. What if the others should come in? Oh, no, the prospect was too dreadful. “I couldn’t possibly,” she said firmly. “I’d be too afraid of someone coming in.”
“There isn’t anyone to come in. Felix has barely returned from his wretched swords, Mother has changed her mind again about which dress to wear and how to do her hair, and Petra will keep Sebastian waiting for simply ages, she’s notorious for it. So you see, we have ample time and I’m simply dying to see the steps. Oh, please, Bryony, I promise you we won’t be caught cavorting around like something from Astley’s amphitheater.”
Bryony was loath to give in, even to such pleading. “I can’t dance without music,” she said, anxious at all costs to avoid anything which might upset the duchess.
But Delphine was equally determined. “Music? Your maid knows it. She can hum or sing the words or whatever.”
Kathleen’s eyes widened. “Me, your ladyship?”
“Is there another maid present?” demanded Delphine a little acidly.
“No, your ladyship.”
“Then I must mean you,” said Delphine coolly, her tone making Kathleen blush.
“Yes, your ladyship.”
“Do you know the tune?”
“Yes, your ladyship.”
“Then the problem of music would appear to be solved,” replied Delphine triumphantly, smiling at Bryony. “You are trapped, you have no option but to let me have my way.”
Bryony smiled reluctantly. She truly didn’t want to demonstrate the dance, she thought the moment most inopportune, but at the same time she liked Delphine and was grateful for her kind friendship; besides, going through the steps was not so very much to ask. “If you are sure no one will come in yet.”
“I’m quite sure,” replied Delphine, glancing at the clock.
“All right, then, I’ll show you the steps.”
“Excellent,” cried Delphine, beaming, “and I swear that I will have perfected it by the night of the ball and everyone will think how clever I am!”
Bryony laughed, moving to a fairly clear portion of the floor and putting her shawl and reticule upon a chair. Delphine got up from the sofa. “If that is where you are going to do it, I will move, for I wish to have the very best possible view.” She sat on the chair, putting Bryony’s things carefully on her lap.
When Bryony was ready, Kathleen cleared her throat nervously and then began to hum, keeping the rhythm decorously slow. Bryony went through the sequence of steps, her skirts raised just a little so that Delphine could follow. When she had finished, Delphine made no secret of her disappointment. “That was hardly rowdy! It was almost sedate.”
“It should be danced much more swiftly,” explained Bryony, “but then you would not be able to see the steps properly. It really is quite complicated, with many different sequences, and that is why things are apt to become a little chaotic at times.”
“Oh, couldn’t I see it at the proper pace?” begged Delphine. “I promise you that no one will come in yet.”
“I would rather show you properly tomorrow,” suggested Bryony tentatively.
“Mother is set upon commencing your tuition tomorrow and she will keep you busy all day, of that you may be sure. Oh, please show me the dance, Bryony, humor me.” Delphine smiled disarmingly.
Bryony was filled with grave misgivings, but she nevertheless felt she had to give way before such an entreaty. Very much against her better judgment, she nodded at Kathleen, who reluctantly began to hum again, this time at the correct speed. Bryony began to dance once more, her raised hem fluttering and the lace on her train dragging richly over the floor. Her ankles flashed in and out as she twisted and turned with her imaginary partner, but then she was suddenly aware of Kathleen’s horrified gasp and immediate silence.
Lowering her skirt, Bryony turned slowly in the direction of the maid’s gaze, and her heart almost froze with dismay, for there, looking on in shocked amazement, were the duchess, the Countess of Lowndes, and Sir Sebastian Sheringham. To make her mortification complete, Bryony’s willful curl chose that moment to tumble down once again from its pins.