Munro drew in a sharp breath. “You gave the Royal Duchess that dress, Brummell?”
Petersham pulled a gold initialled snuff box from his pocket and took a pinch, appearing bored.
Fairingdale looked smug.
I leveled the fop with a pitying expression. “When one is the Arbiter of Fashion, one’s talent for design is often appreciated by royalty. Such was also the case when I helped the Prince of Wales plan uniforms for the l0th Light Dragoons. But, do not worry, you could not be expected to know that, Fairingdale.”
“Fie! People do look to me for style!” His face turned the colour of his puce coat. His eyes blazed with anger. “I’ll take you down from your exalted post, wait and see. You are nothing more than the son of a secretary.”
“Secretary and confidential advisor to the late Lord North, a former Prime Minister of England, to be precise,” I replied in a blasé tone. “A highly respected and coveted position.”
“Mushroom,” Fairingdale spat.
Mushroom, you know, is slang for an upstart, someone above his station in life.
I frowned. “Were there? I do not recall seeing any on the dinner table, and I do delight in them, especially in wine sauce.”
Petersham snickered. Munro looked thoughtful.
Fairingdale glared down his nose, then turned on his heel and minced away.
“I cannot think why the Royal Duchess invited him,” I remarked.
“I don’t think she could have, Brummell,” Petersham said. “He came along with Lord Wrayburn. Fairingdale’s still living at Wrayburn House, don’t you know.”
“No, I did not. I have not met Lord Wrayburn. Which is he?”
Petersham indicated a tall, thin, man, the epitome of an Englishman, a bit pinched-looking. He was past his fortieth year with dark blond hair. He stood conversing with Lady Crecy, a woman anxious to marry off her daughter, Lady Penelope.
My mistake was looking their way. Lady Crecy immediately perceived my gaze and waved a pudgy hand in the air, commanding me to join her. “Excuse me, Petersham, Munro,” I said.
Arriving at her side, I bowed and was greeted with much enthusiasm and a bouncing of Lady Crecy’s too-tight grey curls. “Oh, Mr. Brummell, how delightful to see you! Here, Penelope, make a curtsey to Mr. Brummell, what can you be thinking? Do not mind her, my dear man, she is awed at seeing you again! She remembers well when you danced with her last autumn at my little party, do you not, Penelope?”
Before Lady Penelope could answer, her mother’s tongue ran on wheels. “Have you met dear Lord Wrayburn, Mr. Brummell? Of course you remember all that unpleasantness surrounding his mother’s death last year. Such a scandalous crime. But here he is today quite recovered,” Lady Crecy pronounced with a fond smile.
I bowed and then addressed Lady Penelope. “I am happy to see you looking well, my lady. Are you enjoying the Season?” This would be Lady Penelope’s third Season. Her first two had been marred by her propensity to sniffle. I had passed along the name of a good doctor, and evidently her ailment had been brought under control for she appeared in fine health.
“I am indeed, Mr. Brummell,” she answered, smiling at me with a new confidence. With her expressive grey eyes and enticing dowry, I felt sure that this would be the Season she would find a mate.
I made Lord Wrayburn a bow. “Your lordship, may I offer my condolences on the death of your mother?”
“Thank you, Mr. Brummell. It is a pleasure to meet you. As you might be aware, I have spent most of my life away from England,” he said.
His mother, you know.
“But he is home to stay now,” Lady Crecy crooned.
As I exchanged pleasantries—when I could, since Lady Crecy dominated the conversation—I noticed the admiration in Lord Wrayburn’s eyes when he looked at Lady Penelope. His regard seemed returned. As the next dance began, the couple headed for the floor under the shining approval of Lady Crecy.
While she watched them, I was able to make my escape. I strolled around the perimeter of the room, watching the dancers and making observations. I wished to keep an eye on Lord Kendrick and his nimble-fingered cousin, Lady Ariana. He bothered me. She saddened me.
Again that one particular snippet of the conversation I had overheard between the two played in my mind. Lady Ariana had questioned her cousin as to how what she did—meaning her taking things—was different from what he was doing.
After seeing Freddie dancing with the Duke of Derehurst, I finally located Lord Kendrick at the edge of a group of admirers surrounding the Duke of Derehurst’s stately daughter, Lady Deidre. She held court amongst her swains with great ease, flirting with each one equally so that no one would think himself ahead. I presumed that Freddie had been forced into giving the introduction she had wanted to avoid. Worse, I could see no way to talk to him privately while he was busy pursuing his prey, Lady Deidre.
Speaking of introductions, I had been presented to Cecily and Roger Cranworth just before dinner. To meet the people whose voices I had overheard the night before was intriguing.
To my regret, I have known men of Roger Cranworth’s type in the past. A dashing, reckless sort, he would not be above using his dark good looks to connive and scheme. Always on the watch for a way to gain money without much effort, he was a gamester. And he bullied his sister mercilessly.
Cecily Cranworth had rich dark hair like her brother’s, but unlike him she was attractive in a pretty, wholesome way. Her big brown eyes nervously watched for her brother’s signals. His duty was to provide her with a way to find a suitable husband, but his refusal to give her a Season in London spoke volumes about his character.
Roger saw his sister smiling shyly at a plainly dressed man who approached her where she sat on a chair against the wall. Roger broke from a group of young gentlemen and quickly made his way to his sister’s side. The plainly dressed man saw him coming and reversed his direction. The smile faded from Miss Cranworth’s face to be replaced by a look of apprehension. Roger Cranworth spoke in his sister’s ear. A moment later, she got up and moved towards Lord Kendrick, no doubt on her brother’s orders.
Toying with my watch chain, I wondered again what was going to happen when Roger finally realised his sister had no chance with the puffed-up Marquess of Kendrick.
The dance ended and there was a pause in the music. Here was my opportunity to dance with Freddie. I reached her just as Signor Tallarico did. “Sorry, Tallarico, but the Royal Duchess has already promised this dance to me.”
He let out a theatrical sigh and put his hand to the hilt of his sword. “Remember I told you, Duchess, that I would impale myself on my sword if you did not save two dances for me.”
“You shall have the next, Signor,” Freddie said, turning to me.
“Victor, call me Victor,” he beseeched.
I took her arm and led her into the dance before she could reply.
“Are you having fun, Freddie?” I asked.
“Oh yes, George, dear. Your liqueur and all the champagne has made me quite giddy.”
We could only have brief exchanges, as the steps of the dance parted us frequently. Her face glowed with happiness. I found my ability to enjoy her pleasure vastly diminished by thoughts of the missing letter. I could not let her see my distress, though.
“Who is that plainly dressed man standing talking with Old Dawe?” I asked when we came together again.
Freddie looked in the direction I indicated. “Doctor Curtis Wendell. Recall I told you he is the county physician who also helps look after my animals.”
“I remember.” The dance separated us again.
Ah, Doctor Wendell must be the one Roger Cranworth deemed unworthy for his sister. From the look in Miss Cranworth’s eyes when the doctor had been about to sit with her, I judged the admiration she held for him high. Surely he was to be desired over Lord Kendrick or the vulgar and elderly Squire Oxberry. The latter had not joined the dancing party, declaring it was well past the time he normally retired in the evenings. Poor Miss Cranworth.
The dance went on for another quarter hour. I found myself wishing Freddie and I were alone. The dance, like life, kept parting us.
On one such occasion, out of the corner of my eye I saw Lord Kendrick take Cecily Cranworth through the open doorway leading outside. Here was a surprise. I thought he entertained no further thoughts of the title-less girl.
At that moment, the music came to an end. Freddie was once more across from me. “What is it, George? You are frowning.”
“Lord Kendrick has taken Miss Cranworth from the ballroom. Miss Cranworth must be thinking this is her chance to secure Lord Kendrick’s promise of marriage. From what I heard him say, she is sure to fail. Where is her brother?”
Freddie glanced about. “He is over there with Signor Tallarico and Lady Ariana.”
The Italian saw Freddie’s gaze and swiftly crossed the room, seeing his opportunity to claim his dance. Roger Cranworth remained with Lady Ariana, unconcerned about his sister. There was a definite look of admiration in Lady Ariana’s eye as she spoke with Roger Cranworth. Certainly she appeared more animated in his presence than I had ever seen her.
“George, what should we do?” Freddie asked before Tallarico reached us. “Her reputation will be ruined if she stays alone in the marquess’s company much longer.”
“I shall find Miss Cranworth and be sure of her safety. Stay here.”
Tallarico was only too happy to replace me at Freddie’s side.
My progress towards the doors to the gardens was slow. People milled about, everyone seeming to want to greet me. I maintained my usual aplomb and tried to look unhurried. To call attention to Miss Cranworth’s predicament would only bring scandal on the girl’s head. I persevered in my quest to reach her, however. I could not like the idea of her being alone with Lord Kendrick after what I seen between him and Lady Ariana earlier.
At last I was through the door and out into the night. Cautiously, I walked across the neatly cropped grass and looked around. If the two were engaged in a civil conversation, I would quietly withdraw.
The cry I heard coming from the direction of a large pine tree was far from civil and not one of delight. I quickened my steps to meet a disgraceful sight. Lord Kendrick held Miss Cranworth in a cruel grip, one arm linked around her waist, the other captured her wrists in front of his chest. His lips crushed hers in a brutal kiss. She averted her face from him, beseeching him to stop.
“Miss Cranworth,” I said in a loud voice. That was all I needed to do to break Lord Kendrick’s hold on her. He leaned back and lounged against the tree as if nothing had happened. Miss Cranworth staggered. I said, “I believe you promised me this dance, Miss Cranworth.”
She was overcome and near to fainting. I rushed forward and caught her in my arms. She moaned and stared, eyes wide, at Lord Kendrick.
“How dare you treat a lady thus?” I demanded, glaring at the marquess and dropping any pretense of a chance encounter.
Lord Kendrick smirked. “The chit wants to marry me, if you must know. I was only giving her a taste of wedded life.”
“If that is your idea of lovemaking, I pity any lady unfortunate enough to marry you,” I told him.
All at once, Miss Cranworth found her strength. She pulled herself from my arms and confronted her attacker. “You may have the title of a noble lord now, Connell, but you have no honour!”
Lord Kendrick laughed at her. “Dear me, what a tigress.”
Miss Cranworth’s fear had changed to a raging anger. “I shall never marry you, Connell, never, no matter what!” she said in a furious voice. “I would rather die or see you dead first!”
The marquess’s laughter rang out in the night air. He flicked his fingers at her in a dismissive gesture, then strolled in the direction of the ballroom.
Miss Cranworth’s eyes blazed with hatred, her fists curled at her side.
“Take care not to find yourself alone with the marquess again, Miss Cranworth,” I advised.
“Oh, I shall. Thank you for coming to my rescue, though, Mr. Brummell,” she replied.
Then Doctor Wendell came hurrying out of the ballroom, looking left and right. With a glad cry, she rushed into his caring arms, calling out, “Curtis!”
Finding my presence unnecessary, I rejoined the party. Despite imbibing several glasses of champagne, I was preoccupied with the nasty scene I had witnessed. I would be happy to see the back of Lord Kendrick despite the fact I still had not been able to question him regarding the highwayman. I asked myself what he would he be willing to tell me anyway? Nothing.
I saw Roger Cranworth take himself from the ballroom. No doubt he finally noted his sister’s prolonged absence. I shuddered to think of what he would say when he found her with Doctor Wendell instead of the marquess.
Lord Kendrick remained a part of Lady Deidre’s court throughout the evening. The duke’s daughter bestowed little attention on the marquess, but I did observe her shrewd gaze linger on him appraisingly more than once.
In the small hours of the morning, the party broke up. Ignoring Sylvester Fairingdale’s inquiring look, I escorted Freddie upstairs. I was about to tell her what had occurred between Lord Kendrick and Miss Cranworth, but what happened next made my thoughts race in another direction.
When we reached her private sitting room, Freddie quietly opened the door. “It was a pleasant night, was it not, George?” She crossed into the room, with me following.
She turned and shut the door behind me. A branch of candles served as the only light in the room. We were alone. Not even a dog in sight.
I moved in front of her, taking her hands in mine. “You deserve to enjoy yourself, especially on your birthday.”
“Did I deserve this?” she asked, removing her hands from mine and pulling a ribbon attached to a fan from her wrist. She opened the fan to its fullest. The orange silk sported a painted likeness of Sylvester Fairingdale.
Freddie’s eyes glowed with amusement as they met mine.
“He had the nerve to give you that atrocity?” I asked.
“You do not think I shall find it useful?” she teased.
“Only if you want to frighten someone.”
She tossed it onto a nearby chair. We laughed together, the excitement of the party and all the champagne making us lighthearted.
Abruptly, the atmosphere in the room changed. I took a step closer to her, holding her gaze. “Happy Birthday, my princess,” I whispered. I reached out and caressed a curl laying against the lace of her dress.
“It has been happy with you here, dearest,” she whispered back.
Her lips were but inches from mine, yet they might have been miles away. I could not kiss her. It would not be right. Married women took lovers, true, but not women of Freddie’s integrity.
Yet, I could not bring myself to move away. She is the Duke of York’s wife, I reminded myself sternly, never taking my gaze from her blue eyes.
Then, with one beringed hand, she reached up and touched a lock of my hair resting on my starched cravat. “You have allowed your hair to grow. I like it this way.”
“In that case, I shall keep the style. For you.”
Her hand moved from my hair to my cheek. She stroked the side of my face.
All the while a voice in my brain—I expect it was my conscience—screamed that I must not kiss her.
She closed her eyes.
Well, I had meant to behave.
I bent down and kissed her forehead. I intended just one more small kiss on her cheek—I give you my word!—but somehow or another in a devilish mix-up at the last moment, she turned her head in the direction of my mouth.
My lips pressed against hers, gently at first, then I covered her mouth with mine.
But not for more than three seconds strung together.
The door connecting the sitting room with Freddie’s bedchamber swung noisily open. Freddie and I drew apart.
Ulga with her bag of knitting stood in the doorway.