Chapter Twenty-Two #2
Beatrix nodded reluctantly and they returned to the ballroom. The earl had let the word out and they received congratulations. The countess was delighted, and she said as much to Lord Harrelston. Even the queen was pleased.
Queen Charlotte said, “Now Lord Harrelston, I give you special dispensation to dance with your fiancée all evening and ignore every other lady in the ballroom.”
So that is just what he did.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Corbyn returned to his room in the early morning hours. He had danced with Lady Beatrix, or rather Beatrix or her nickname Bitsy, all night with the queen’s blessing.
They had sometimes sat out and talked at one of the dark tables in the corners of the room. He’d been determined to secure her, and he had. She admitted to wondering if he would, and hoping he would. And then fretting about the book.
They were so well-suited. When he’d kissed her for the first time on the balcony he’d wondered if it would shock her, as she’d been so sheltered. He did not know if she’d been shocked but she had been enthusiastic. They would get on well together. He was sure of it and he would make sure of it.
He found Farber in his room, feet up by the window, with a glass of brandy and a bottle he’d got from somewhere by his side. “So you’ve done it,” he said.
“I have. We are to have a new countess.”
“Congratulations. You must be in a very fine mood, and I have something to tell you that will make it even more fine.”
“I cannot imagine anything being more fine.”
“Then perhaps view it as the cherry atop the syllabub.”
“Did you catch Monroe with the eggs?” Corbyn asked. “Is that what you’re talking about? The bag of eggs I gave to Lady Beatrix went missing and I am certain he took them. The idea of precious stones was too tempting for a man down on his luck.”
“I saw him, and followed him all the way down to the lake with the bag in his hand. Lord Chester was waiting for him and found himself in a predicament. Chester was out in the rowboat with your net, scooping up what eggs he could find. Hilariously, he forgot to bring the oars.”
“Idiot.”
“Indeed he was. So with no other option available to him, he attempted to paddle with the net. However, a net, having the net-like quality of being full of holes, will not get a person anywhere. Finally he was forced to jump in and swim for it.”
“Did you confront them?”
Farber shook his head. “No, no, I let them make off with the eggs. They were in very good spirits over it, despite Lord Chester being soaked from head to toe. He took the bag and Monroe returned to the ball.”
Corbyn looked at his valet quizzically. He’d told Lady Beatrix not to spend a moment wishing the eggs back, but really, Farber might have taken them back easily enough. It would have been a nice surprise for Beatrix.
“Ah, I see you do not know the whole story. It’s been a great secret until now but no longer.
The servants’ hall was abuzz with it. Each egg had a small marking on it—E for emerald, T for topaz, LG for large garnet, that sort of thing.
The reason the footman took your eggs was to write down all the letters on them so they could keep track of who got what. ”
“Why?” Corbyn said, entirely lost.
“Here’s where it takes an amusing turn. What was inside the eggs was just paste representing the real stone. As it was explained to me by Lady Dudmore’s maid, you do not think the lady and the queen would set real precious stones out floating on her lake where they might be lost forever.”
“So you’re saying…”
“That’s right! Chester and Monroe have made off with paste. They will not discover it until Monroe sees Lady Dudmore handing out the actual stones on the morrow at departure.”
Corbyn laughed. “What a situation they’ve got themselves into. It is a case of just desserts.”
“And you too, my friend,” Farber said. “What a situation you’ve got yourself into, also very much deserved.”
Corbyn picked up the bottle, poured himself a brandy and refilled Farber’s glass. They reminisced about old times and speculated on the future. Farber was of the opinion that Corbyn could not have chosen a better lady.
He entirely agreed. He set out to find a marriage like his sister’s, and he was confident that was exactly what he’d found.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Beatrix could hardly imagine that she would sleep even a minute. How could she? She was an engaged lady.
And yet, she had. Lydia had lulled her to sleep with tales of the various goings-on below stairs. The lady’s maids had divided into two camps—the queen’s maids and everybody else. The housekeeper was dosing herself with laudanum over it.
Now the day had dawned bright and Beatrix had made excellent progress with her breakfast. Lydia had run round like a chicken between bites of toast, getting everything ready for their departure.
Lord Harrelston was to wait until they departed so he might see them off, and then he would come to the house on Grosvenor Square the very next day to take her on a carriage ride through the park.
Lydia hurried her out of her bed as she had a great need to pack Beatrix’s nightclothes. “Come, come,” she said, “the countess is already dressed.”
Beatrix leapt out of bed. She peered out the window as Lydia fetched her clothes. There were already several carriages outside. Some of Lady Dudmore’s guests were leaving very early. She supposed they had their fill of the lady’s entertainments.
Gracious, there was their own carriage. She assumed her father was one of the guests eager to depart.
Lydia got her into her dress and fixed her hair. Beatrix insisted on wearing the topaz bracelet. The countess came through. “Let us descend. There are footmen waiting on the landing, waiting to bring the trunks down.”
They made their way downstairs and found Lady Dudmore in the front hall, and Lord Harrelston too.
“Ah, Lady Beatrix,” Lady Dudmore said. “Your young gentleman has been by my side for the past hour.”
“Of course I have,” Lord Harrelston said.
Lord Monroe hurried down the stairs. Beatrix wished he would hurry right back up them.
“Harrelston, felicitations and all that. Just waiting for my carriage, terrible hurry, so much to attend to in Town.”
Lady Dudmore was standing by a table. There was a charming little silk bag with a drawstring pouch on it. She picked it up. “Your jewels, Lady Beatrix.”
“Oh. Goodness, I thought they had gone missing.”
Lord Monroe took that moment to drop his travel case on the floor. He scrambled to pick it up.
“The bag of eggs?” Lady Dudmore said. “Indeed, that was odd, I cannot imagine who would make off with them, but there were only paste stones in those eggs.” Perhaps noticing Beatrix’s confused expression, she said, “Heavens, you did not imagine the queen and I would have real stones floating around on the lake?”
“I hadn’t thought…” Beatrix said. She had been worried about the eggs going missing but then Lord Harrelston had said not to bother with it so she hadn’t. She turned to him. “Did you know they were paste all along?” she said laughing.
“I did not. I discovered it when I retired last evening. My valet brought the news from below stairs.”
For some reason, Lord Monroe had staggered to a chair and sunk into it. Beatrix could not imagine why he was so affected, he’d not found any eggs before going down in flames.
“Before I forget,” Lady Dudmore said, “the queen sends her regards.”
Beatrix was rather dumbfounded as the earl and countess took their leave. Lord Harrelston walked her out to the carriage. “I have no idea what stones are in that bag,” he said, “but we’ll think of something to do with them. Perhaps make jewelry for our next generation, to mark this momentous time.”
“That is a marvelous idea.”
“Harrelston,” the earl said, emerging from the house, “I’ll alert my man that he’s to expect to hear from your man.”
“Indeed, Lord Copperstone. He will do so promptly.”
“Beatrix,” the earl said, “tear yourself away for now. I understand Harrelston is to come calling on the morrow.”
“Yes, Papa,” Beatrix said. She dutifully got into the carriage, though she’d really prefer to grab Harrelston by the hand and pull him to the ballroom’s balcony and carry on kissing.
She supposed they’d have all the time in the world for that once they were married. Beatrix had tried to explain to Lydia how lovely kissing was, but their maid could not envision it. It seemed to be the sort of thing one must try for oneself.
As the carriage set off, Beatrix leaned out the window and waved. Lord Harrelston waved from the drive. Finally, they rounded a bend and he was out of sight.
Beatrix sat back and smiled.
“Well?” the countess asked.
“I am happy, Mama, he is the best of men.”
“Yes, I know,” the countess said laughing. “I was talking about that bag in your hands.”
Beatrix glanced down at the bag of stones. She opened the drawstring and poured them on her skirt.
There were more than a twenty lovely stones—three emeralds, three topaz, four sapphires, two garnets, one small the other larger, three rubies, two citrine, a tourmaline, an aquamarine, and three well-matched pearls.
“That is a fine addition to a trousseau,” the countess said.
“We are to make jewelry for our children,” Beatrix said. “He is a very fine man, a very fine man.”
The countess looked at her with an indulgent expression as if she’d seen this sort of thing before. But she could not have. Not this. She was the luckiest lady living.
“Monroe looked a bit peaked this morning,” the earl said.
“I’ll bet he’s coming down with a cold after that unfortunate swim.
Cold water and a stiff breeze never did anybody any good.
What was he doing, waving that torch around, does he not know that sails are flammable?
And I still am not clear on how he managed to sink that boat. Deuced odd.”
Beatrix did not give a toss for Lord Monroe’s cold or his sail or his boat. She leaned back in her seat and thought about Harrelston. Her own Harrelston.
How strange that she’d come to Town set on Lord Chester, despite never having laid eyes on him since she was too young to even remember. He was never meant for her. Lord Harrelston was meant for her. How miraculous that he thought the very same about her.