The sumptuous splendour of the Sunday night dinner was partially eclipsed by the promise of the Purley Ball later that evening. It was the only thing people were talking about and Robyn couldn’t help being excited at the prospect of dancing with Dan all evening. She was thankful that he was still talking to her after all that she’d put him through. What a weekend it had been, but she wasn’t going to think about any of that tonight, and she wasn’t going to worry about what would happen tomorrow when she had to leave Purley and catch the train back up to Yorkshire.
She couldn’t wait to go upstairs and put on the dress she’d chosen. An hour before dinner, Dame Pamela turned the library into a wonderful sort of dressing room where rail upon rail of wondrous Regency-inspired dresses and outfits had been wheeled out of storage. Katherine hadn’t been sure if they were historically accurate or not, but they were certainly beautiful.
Robyn chose a dress in a lovely shade of rose pink with pretty puff sleeves and a silky ribbon tied under the bust, and Katherine chose a traditional white, its square neckline daringly low cut and trimmed with silver braiding. Warwick resisted Katherine’s urges to don a pair of breeches and a cravat but gave in to wearing a fine waistcoat in a thick duchess satin over his own choice of shirt and trousers.
Of course it wasn’t compulsory to choose a costume—guests could wear what they wanted—but the chance to wear something that made you feel as if you’d stepped right out of the pages of an Austen novel was too good an opportunity to miss, and there’d been a mad scramble for the prettiest gowns.
It was going to be a hugely romantic Regency affair and after dinner was over and everybody changed, walking down the staircase in their peacock splendour, they all made their way towards the Great Hall. It was a room that new guests to Purley had not yet seen. The huge white double doors that had remained closed over the weekend were flung open to receive everyone, and the room was greeted with gasps of delight as they entered. The walls were peach coloured, the white plasterwork was stunning, and the ceiling was embossed with thick whorls with cupids firing their arrows at the guests below. At its centre hung an enormous chandelier. Robyn gazed up into its depths. It looked like a frozen waterfall and sparkled and danced with light.
Everywhere, candles and mirrors reflected the guests and gave the impression that the room stretched to infinity. It was the most beautiful, most over-the-top scene Robyn had ever cast eyes on. She was breathless and speechless. Was this how Catherine Morland felt the night she attended her first ball in Bath? She looked around at the other guests. There was Rose and Roberta, both sporting feathery fascinators that bobbed about whenever they turned their heads. Carla was resplendent in bottle green and gold. Even Mrs Soames managed to look glorious in a lilac satin gown, her fan held over her bosom which was threatening to burst from its Regency confines.
Robyn loved the way that her taffeta dress flowed coolly over her legs and she delighted in the way it rustled as she moved.
A string quartet struck up and filled the space with music, and she saw Grace Kaplan in a stunning sky-blue dress, there to make sure her work that afternoon wasn’t wasted and that everyone was up and dancing.
‘It’s just like the Netherfield ball!’ Robyn heard Rose exclaim as she clasped her fan to her chest in delight, and Robyn had to agree with her. It was like a scene from a very expensive movie, and everyone looked like a star that night, not just Dame Pamela Harcourt. Gasps of delight issued forth as she made her entrance. She looked enchanting. Her hair was piled up on top of her head Marie Antoinette-style, and she was wearing a silver dress that sparkled with beads. Diamonds dripped from her ears, throat, and wrists.
‘I’m not sure how Austensian she looks,’ Roberta said.
‘Yes,’ her sister Rose agreed. ‘More ostentatious than Austen, I think.’
Robyn saw Katherine across the room and went to join her, and the two embraced, great smiles plastered on their faces.
‘But there aren’t enough men!’ Katherine said with a sigh.
‘Where’s Warwick?’ Robyn asked her.
‘On his way. I knocked on his door but he wouldn’t let me in. I’m not sure what he’s up to.’
‘Oh, I think I know,’ Robyn said, nodding to the other side of the room as Warwick made his entrance.
Katherine gasped when she saw him and Robyn smiled in delight.
‘I don’t believe it!’ Katherine said. ‘He said he was only going to wear the waistcoat.’
Warwick wasn’t wearing just the waistcoat but was sporting the full period works which included a very snug pair of breeches and a cravat that made him look very Darcy-like.
‘Don’t say a word,’ he told Katherine as he approached her, waving a finger of warning lest she was about to laugh at him.
‘But you look wonderful,’ she told him.
Robyn watched as the two of them embraced and took to the floor.
‘Where’s your lovely young man, then?’ Doris Norris asked, appearing at Robyn’s elbow. She was wearing a pretty gown in primrose yellow and a lovely cameo necklace.
‘We split up,’ Robyn said.
‘I know that,’ Doris said. ‘I meant that hunky young man from the stables.’
Robyn’s eyes swept the floor in embarrassment. ‘I don’t know,’ she said.
‘What do you mean? There he is!’ Doris announced, and Robyn looked up and saw him.
‘Dan!’ she said softly. He, too, was in authentic costume, except his was more Captain Wentworth than Mr Darcy. He was wearing a deep navy and gold jacket with bright buttons and thick gold braiding along the collar and sleeves. His hair looked even brighter than usual, and his appearance caused an instant stir in the women.
‘You can’t beat a man in uniform,’ Doris said, her cheeks turning quite pink as she took in the wondrous sight before her. ‘If only I were a little younger—say forty years younger. My, would he be in trouble!’
Robyn stood completely still. She’d stopped breathing, and it had nothing to do with the tightness of her dress.
‘Good evening, Robyn,’ Dan said as he approached her with a little bow.
Robyn bobbed him a curtsey. ‘I’ve always wanted to do that!’ she said with a smile.
He smiled back at her and then took her hand and led her to the dance floor.
***
Warwick looked around the Great Hall not noticing the beauty of the room, noticing only the absence of a certain person. Where was she? This was awful. She could turn up at any moment, and he had to be ready to intercept her.
‘Warwick?’
‘Yes?’ he said, turning to face Katherine.
‘You okay?’
‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘Fine.’ He nodded. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not being very good company, am I?’
‘Well, you do seem a little preoccupied.’
He took a deep breath. ‘You look beautiful,’ he said, noticing the way her white dress clung to and flowed over all the right places. ‘Really beautiful.’ He leant forward and kissed her cheek.
‘Warwick! Everyone will see!’
‘Good! It’s our last night here, and I don’t want to have to pretend that you’re not the most enchanting woman in the whole room and I’m totally besotted with you.’ He watched as Katherine blushed. She really did that beautifully, like a heroine in one of his novels. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s dance.’ He held his hand out, and that’s when he saw her. She was a wire-thin woman with short spiky red hair, and she was wearing a little black dress that didn’t even bother nodding to the Regency period.
‘Nadia,’ he said quietly.
‘What?’ Katherine said. ‘You know that woman?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I mean, yes. Sort of.’ He shook his head in confusion. ‘I’ve got to speak to her. Wait here. I’ll be right back.’
‘Warwick!’ Katherine shouted after him, but he was already pushing his way through the crowded dance floor, a frown deeply carved on his forehead.
‘Ah, Warwick!’ Nadia shouted as she saw him approach. ‘How are you?’ They air kissed, and he gasped as he smelt the alcohol on her breath. ‘Get me a drink, won’t you, darling?’
He grabbed her arm and took her to one side. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.
‘Whatever do you mean? I told you I was coming down.’
‘Yes, I know—to see Dame Pamela.’
‘And to come to the ball. I’m not going to miss all this, am I?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t think we should be here together.’
‘Why not? What’s wrong with an agent spending some quality time with her author?’
‘Because I’m not an author here,’ Warwick said through gritted teeth. ‘And we’ve got to decide who you are. You can’t be my agent—I’m an antiquarian.’
‘Warwick, what on earth are you talking about?’ she said. ‘Be a darling and get me drink. One of those nice bright cocktails over there,’ she said, nodding towards a waitress holding a large tray of jewel-like drinks.
‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough already?’
Nadia hiccupped. ‘Well, I may be a little merry, but I’ve only just started.’
Warwick shook his head.
‘Don’t worry. I won’t drive home tonight if you’re worried about me. It’s just been a long week, and I want to let my hair down a bit.’
‘But nobody knows who I am here. You do understand that, don’t you?’
Nadia nodded, but she really didn’t seem to be listening to him, and it was then that she saw Dame Pamela.
‘Ah! Do excuse me, Warwick, darling. There’s dear Dame Pamela, and I’ve got this bloody script to off-load onto her.
‘Nadia!’ Warwick called after her, but it was no use; she’d gone.
This was a nightmare, Warwick thought. An absolute nightmare.