Chapter 17
A Daring Debutante.
Izzy entered the magnificent house in St James’s with the now familiar sensation of being out of her depth.
How did people do this, night after night, sometimes going from one party to another, and not returning home until the early hours of the morning?
It took stamina, that was for certain, though they were probably not plotting to expose a French spy while they did it.
For it was this last item that was truly wearing on Izzy’s nerves.
She kept hearing Ben’s words about Alveston, that he would cut her throat if he suspected she knew his secret. Yet it must be done, and quickly.
There was an insistent voice in the back of her head, telling her she was a fool, that she ought to leave this to people who knew what they were doing.
Alveston would never suspect her, though, surely?
He clearly thought women were incapable of rational thought, let alone calculation, and he believed her a dim-witted little innocent from the country.
It was too perfect not to use her position to find out more.
Ben might not see that she was in the perfect place to expose him, but that did not mean it wasn’t true.
There had to be a way. She felt certain that his arrogance, his smug self-satisfaction, was the key to unmasking him, but she must provoke him into revealing his true nature—preferably without getting herself murdered.
Though not so likely to cut her throat, Clementine also needed managing.
Her sister had been thoroughly unconvinced by her reason for driving out with a man she had treated so curtly the night before.
Izzy had explained it had been to make amends to Mr Midwinter for being so rude to him.
But her sister had been no more convinced at this explanation than for her batting her eyelashes and acting like a simpering fool for Lord Alveston.
Her explanation—because it was amusing—had not been well received.
“I’m watching you, Izzy, and don’t think I’m not,” Clementine whispered in her ear as they made their way through to the grand ballroom.
Izzy sent her a provokingly innocent smile.
“Of course you are,” she replied sweetly, looking about her at the stunning ballroom, lit by hundreds of candles that blazed from huge crystal chandeliers and from wall sconces.
The room was a dazzling confection in pale blue and green, decorated with ornate stucco work in white and gold.
Painted panels of cherubs flying among the clouds decorated the ceiling, giving the sensation of being en plein air, even though they were indoors.
It appeared her grace had also gone to the trouble of having the elaborate dance patterns chalked on the parquet floor, quite an expense for something so ephemeral, for the dancers' feet would rub the pattern away soon enough. The dancing had already begun, with couples taking their places for the next set. Though Izzy’s card was almost full already, from the procession of young men who had visited her that morning, she had left the first couple of dances free.
Before they could take stock of who was here and who they knew, Lord Hartwell appeared from the crowd, smiling warmly at her.
He was a striking figure, dressed in his evening blacks and towering over everyone.
His bulk might lead one to assume he would be clumsy, but Izzy knew he danced divinely, having had the pleasure at Carlton House.
“Evening, Beaumarsh, Lady Beaumarsh, and Miss Honeywell! How delightful to see you again. I believe they are about to begin a reel. If you are not already spoken for, I should be honoured to partner you.”
Izzy smiled at the man with genuine pleasure. He seemed entirely good-natured and the idea of dancing with someone so open and straightforward was a balm to her jittering nerves. “I would like that very much, my lord. Thank you.”
So, with a quick smile for Clementine and Lord Beaumarsh, Izzy took his arm and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor.
There was little time for conversation as the dance was lively and they only came together again for brief intervals, moving too fast to make talking a possibility.
It was fun, though, and the laughter glinting in Hartwell’s eyes only made it more enjoyable.
For a moment, Izzy allowed herself to forget about spies and threats and the danger to Ben and herself.
Just for a moment she allowed herself to be young and carefree and dance with a handsome fellow who appeared to be enjoying himself as much as she was.
When the dance finally drew to a close, she was pink-cheeked and breathless, laughing as Hartwell offered her his arm.
“I think refreshments are in order, Miss Honeywell? Shall we face it together, or do you prefer to stay here, and I shall bring you a glass of something?”
“I’ll come with you, my lord. It would be cowardly of me to leave you to face such an ordeal alone.”
He laughed. “There, see? I knew you was pluck to the backbone. You’d need to be to get past Midwinter’s frosty exterior.”
She sent him an enquiring glance, and he shrugged. “I was riding in Hyde Park this morning. I saw you out driving with him.”
“Do you know him well?”
Hartwell laughed and shook his head. “I know him, probably better than most. For the best part of a year, we were thick as thieves, but as for knowing him well, I doubt there’s anyone who can say that. He plays his cards close, does Midwinter. He’s coming tonight, though, if you were wondering.”
Hartwell sent her a coy look, and Izzy laughed. “I wasn’t,” she said firmly, but she suspected he knew it was a lie as well as she did.
As it was early yet, the refreshment room was not so crowded as it might be, and Hartwell secured himself a glass of champagne and Izzy a glass of orgeat.
It was chilled, which was a blessing, and Izzy drank it gratefully.
Making their way back through the throng, she noted how many people greeted Hartwell.
“You seem to know everyone.”
He shrugged, turning to smile at her. “Everyone wants to know the heir to a dukedom,” he replied with a self-deprecating smile and just a trace of bitterness.
Izzy felt a surge of compassion for the man. It must be dreadful never to know if people really enjoyed your company or simply wished to profit from it. But then again… he knew everybody.
“Do you know Lord Alveston?”
Hartwell glanced down at her curiously. “I do.”
“What do you make of him?”
He considered her question as they moved through the crowd, which was a good deal easier than usual, as anyone seeing Hartwell coming quickly scattered to give him room.
“I can’t say I know. He’s polite, charming, always seems to be everywhere but never overstays his welcome.
I don’t think he has friends, though, only acquaintances, or at least that’s the impression I have. ”
He pursed his lips, as if wondering whether to speak frankly or simply to be polite.
“It will go no further,” she promised him.
He studied her a moment longer, and whatever he saw in her eyes must have reassured him. “He’s… a bit… slippery.”
Izzy nodded. An apt word for the man if one did not know just how despicable he truly was. Hartwell frowned, concern in his eyes now.
“Has he…? He’s not bothering you, I hope?”
“Oh! Oh, no,” Izzy said at once, not wanting to provoke the man’s chivalric instincts and scare Alveston off. Much as she’d like to see such a thing, she needed the horrid man to believe she admired him. “No, I was only curious.”
He nodded, apparently satisfied. “Well, here we are, then. Safe and sound,” he said upon returning her to Clementine. “I shall see you anon, Miss Honeywell.” With that, he executed a polite bow and left them alone.
He wasn’t even out of sight when a smooth, cultured voice reached Izzy’s ear, making her stomach curdle with anxiety.
“Miss Honeywell, a pleasure as always, and looking radiant as ever.”
Izzy forced herself to relax, easing the suddenly tight line of her jaw as she turned and faced Lord Alveston.
“My Lord, you are too kind,” she said, curtseying and doing her best to look sweet and shy whilst avoiding Clementine’s considering gaze.
Her sister knew she was anything but sweet or shy and was clearly up to something.
Alveston looked every inch the elegant nobleman this evening.
His well-fitting coat highlighted an excellent figure, and though he was built on finer lines than Ben, he appeared to be fit and strong.
There were certainly many young ladies about them who were watching him with admiration and looking at Izzy with undisguised envy.
Oh, you poor fools, if you only knew, Izzy thought, praying she would survive the night without messing everything up.
Plans turned in her mind, ways to force Alveston’s hand, but nothing yet had occurred to her that had the slightest chance of success.
Somehow, she must make society see behind his polite mask and reveal what a blackguard he really was.
“Would you care to take a turn about the room with me? I believe our dance is the one after this.” He held out his arm to her, apparently assuming her consent before she answered, but it suited Izzy well enough so she placed her hand in the crook of his arm and allowed him to guide her.
He glanced down at her, and Izzy had to fight the desire to withdraw her hand.
Being this close to him made her skin crawl, but she must appear docile and submissive if she was to gain his confidence.
They walked in silence for a while as Izzy racked her brain for a way to begin, to unsettle him.
Maybe if he was rattled, he’d make a mistake.
“It is so nice to see everyone enjoying themselves again,” she said, keeping her voice light.
“Again?” He regarded her curiously.