9. April 23, 1830
9
APRIL 23, 1830
DUKE OF CHELMSFORD’S MANSION
* * *
B erkley Square, Mayfair
Just then, her bedchamber door opened a crack, and Alice popped her head around the corner. “How goes the preparation for battle?”
Olivia sighed and raced to her friend’s side dangling half-pinned parts, with Madame Clarot in hot pursuit. “Ladies, ladies…how will we ever be ready on time if we can’t stand still for a few moments?” She’d pasted a friendly smile firmly on her face, but somehow, Olivia wasn’t convinced.
Alice intervened smoothly. “Why don’t you and your assistant begin work on the changes you’ve already measured whilst I steal Olivia away for just a few minutes of last-minute details about the ball we have to discuss?”
“But of course, Lady Alice.” Madame Clarot was smiling with her voice, but the slight frown on her face told another story. “We have plenty to keep us busy until the two of you return.”
Alice flashed her brightest smile. “Thank you so much.” At the same time, she grasped Olivia’s hand and dragged her out of the room into a nearby empty bedchamber. Once they were safely inside, she leaned all the way out of the doorway and looked both ways up and down the hallway before shutting the door and turning back to her friend. She motioned to the bed where they both climbed up and sat cross-legged.
Even after all her precautions, Lady Alice still spoke barely above a whisper. “There are some things you need to know before we descend into the cage of tigers that your coming-out ball will be.”
Olivia gazed at her, wide-eyed. “What have you heard?”
Alice returned a puzzled look. “What should I have heard?”
Olivia cast down her gaze, unable to face her friend. “There is an ugly rumor which may or may not be true, but I can’t take any chances.”
Alice sat for long moments, staring off in the distance and chewing on her lip. For one horrible moment, Olivia feared the possibility of scandal about to fall down on her head might have pushed her friend to a place where she’d be afraid to help her for fear of scandal by association.
Finally, Alice spoke. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’ve already spoken to Lady Camilla. She knows what happened at the opera, because CB filled her in on the striking resemblance. However, no one knows you were at the opera, except for our close circle. We’ve all decided we’re going to stonewall the gossip. Whoever is spreading that horrible rumor has some ulterior motive. Otherwise, why now? It’s their word against yours.”
“But why would anyone believe me? I’m a nobody, a lowly laundry maid.”
Alice gave out a low chuckle. “You’re the niece of a duke, for heaven’s sakes. Have you forgotten already, you silly girl? Now straighten that backbone of yours and listen to me.
“I have a list of the wallflower’s do’s and don’t’s I drew up during my three dreadful Seasons: 1 - never dance with someone to whom you’ve not been introduced, and once you’re introduced to an upstanding gentleman, you cannot refuse to dance with him, unless you feign extreme illness and dance with no one else the rest of the night; 2 - never allow any man, no matter how handsome, talk you into going off somewhere alone with him during the ball without a chaperone; 3 - never, ever dance with the same gentleman more than twice; and most important, 4 - never show your anger in public, but always get even. And then there’s the hand signal.”
“What hand signal?” Olivia wrinkled her nose in disgust.
“If you’re cornered or held up on the dance floor by some lackwit or boor, use a hand signal to alert all of us you need help.”
“How about I wiggle three fingers behind my back?”
“That could work, but make sure you’re in a position where we can see your sign of distress. We’ll have plenty of gentlemen, all known to you, who will patrol the perimeter of the dancers, ready to swoop in and save you.”
“I can take care of myself. You forget I’ve been in more street fights that any duke’s niece would have a right to claim.”
“Just remember, though, you’ve probably never encountered the likes of the disgusting rakes and lechers of the ton. They rely on young women being afraid to cause a scene in the middle of a ball. Personally, I like to catch them off guard, stomp my heel on top of one of their feet, and pretend it was an accident. That usually gets their attention and encourages them to move on.”
* * *
After Olivia and Alice had left the modistes alone, Madame Clarot turned on her assistant Marie. “ Why , in the name of all that’s holy did you pass on the on dit about our client to The Morning Post ? I know it was you.”
Marie sniffed back a tear and bowed her head. “I’m so sorry, Madame, but I needed the money.”
“Don’t tell me you’re selling secret information about my clients behind my back now?”
The other woman began to sob. “He…he won’t leave me alone, and each week he wants more money.”
“Who?”
“The blackmailer.”
“My God, Marie. What have you done?”
* * *
Will swallowed the lump in his throat and reminded himself of the duke’s warning. Olivia needed him, she needed her best friend to give her the courage to stand up to all the ugliness and snobbery of the ton. Instead, he’d flummoxed both of them the night of the opera with his inexplicable rude, bad behavior. However, he was not sorry for the outcome: Olivia crushed to his body, Olivia responding and returning his kiss with such fervor. He was surprised Dickie hadn’t found them with Olivia against the wall, her legs wrapped around him, his… God…he had to stop thinking about what might have been.
He’d slip over to Berkley Square, spend maybe a few minutes giving her encouragement, and then he’d be gone. He didn’t want to linger to find out in the days and weeks ahead that she’d accepted a proposal of marriage and would be sharing her life (and bed) with someone she barely knew. But the stranger would be a gentleman. That was the most important thing.
He’d be damned if he’d stick around to watch her walk away on the arm of another man. That was a favor too far, even for the Duke of Chelmsford.
When he slipped through the servants’ entrance and headed on through the kitchen, Cook motioned for him to sit down for biscuits and tea. “Can’t stop today,” he apologized. “I’m only here for a few minutes. Is His Grace at home?”
Cook rolled her eyes and motioned upward with her thumb. “He’s up there in Her Grace’s study.”
Damn . He’d have to wait. His captain was beginning to get suspicious of his long absences between walking his assigned beats, and he’d hoped to slide in and out of the house within a few minutes. But he didn’t want to neglect to check in with the duke whilst he was there. He wanted to make sure His Grace knew he was doing what he’d suggested. He’d learned long ago that “suggestions” from the Duke and Duchess of Chelmsford were not really suggestions. Their suggestions were actually orders, and they expected their orders to be followed.
With a sniff of Cook’s chocolate biscuits fresh from the oven and a pot of steaming hot tea awaiting him at the duke’s favorite table, Will sighed and lowered his tall form onto one of the wooden benches.
Within a few minutes, the rich cocoa aroma must have reached the upper level where the duke was doing who knew what with his duchess. At the thought of the beautiful, fiery Eleanor Whitcombe, a sort of high seas smuggler when she wasn’t the Duchess of Chelmsford, Will mused that the duke must indeed be addicted to Cook’s biscuits.
The lanky duke, every bit as tall as Will, sauntered over to his side and joined him on the bench. Within minutes, the platter, which had been piled high with the confections, was empty with only a smattering of crumbs remaining.
“What you prompted you to grace us with your presence today?” The duke popped his third biscuit in as many minutes into his mouth.
Will had the good grace to mop crumbs from his lips before answering. “I wanted to let you know the reason I haven’t checked on your household for over a week.”
“Indeed?” The duke swallowed the last biscuit but kept his eyes trained on Will, deadly in earnest.
Will continued. “I’ve been away on an, um, special assignment.”
Without commenting on Will’s frail excuse, His Grace moved on to the most important question. “Have you spoken to Olivia?”
“Erm, not exactly.”
“I see. I suppose stolen kisses in dark corners with masked women do not count as actual conversation.”
Will sucked in a deep breath and felt his body heat with embarrassment from the top of his head to his neck. He wished for nothing more than for the kitchen floor to open and swallow him whole.
* * *
Olivia secretly was enjoying Will Beckford’s extreme discomfiture. Served him right. He’d spent all those years making her think she was just a friend, the tagalong sister of his bosom friend Dickie. The question was, how long should she make him squirm?
A footman had delivered him to the family sitting room like a huge barrel of soap on wash day at Goodrum’s before slamming the door behind him.
He stood there like a great, hulking bear about to growl. “I’m sorry, Olivia. I’ve been a terrible friend. I’ve taken advantage of your regard and confused you in the midst of your preparation to find a proper gentleman for a husband.”
“Then why the hell are you here?” she shot back.
“I hope you don’t talk like that at your coming out ball…you need…”
She interrupted him with the duchess’s favorite command. “Stubble it—. I’m not your responsibility, nor do I have need of any of your cork-brained advice.”
“But…”
“Stop. I’m going to go through with the coming-out ball my brother seems to think I need, and I’m not afraid of facing the high-in-the-instep, self-important members of the ton. They can look down on me, they can give me the cut direct, but they can’t change how I feel about myself in here.” She thumped her chest hard.
At the stricken look on his face, she softened her tone. “We’ll always be friends, but you don’t need to watch over me anymore. I can take care of myself from now on.” When he hung his head, she added, “If you’re worried about my assuming you care for me because of what happened in that darkened corner, I’m willing to forget if you are. Let’s blame that kiss on too much bubbly wine.” She stood then, extended her hand, and sent him away with nothing more than a short “Good-bye.”
On his way out, before turning toward the kitchen and the tradesmen’s entrance below, he had to pass the duke’s study. He’d nearly passed by when an arm shot out and dragged him inside.