11. April 27, 1830
11
APRIL 27, 1830
DUKE OF CHELMSFORD’S MANSION
* * *
T ransformed Upper Level Ballroom
When Olivia returned to the heated whirl of the ball, she felt somehow deflated. The stuttering way her heart had felt whilst in Will’s arms was gone. Another lengthy, intricate dance was forming out in the middle of the floor. The musicians had just returned from a well-deserved break and were making the nonsensical sounds of tuning their instruments.
She sighed and sought out Lady Camilla and Lady Alice who were taking their leisure in comfortable seats at the side of all the dancers. Lady Camilla, of course, had the excuse of age. Oliva’s friend Alice had confided just the day before that she and Sinjin were expecting another child, and she intended to sit out this ball. As she approached her small group of supporters, a dark-haired older gentleman walked up to Lady Camilla to pay his respects. When he tilted his head toward her, Olivia noticed that despite the fitness of his athletic body, there were slashes of silver at his temples.
When she arrived, Lady Camilla turned to her with a mild, noncommital look. “Miss Whitcombe, this is Baron Barclay Reynolds, an old friend of my estates manager. Lord Reynolds, this is Miss Olivia Whitcombe, niece of the Duke of Chelmsford.” Olivia returned his bow with a small curtsy and eyed the empty chair at Alice’s side with relish.
“Miss Whitcombe,” he intoned. “May I escort you to the dance now forming?”
Damn . She so wanted to say “no,” but knew that was one of the major sins a young woman could never commit at a ball, especially one in her honor. As they walked toward the other dancers, he touched her back lightly with his hand as if moving her where he wished and demonstrating his power over her. A chill coursed down her back at his touch.
She took her place and wondered whether she’d actually danced a hole in one of her slippers. Her feet ached with an intensity much worse than she’d ever experienced standing all day in her laundry. Her aching feet had made her forget another of Alice’s warnings. It was midnight already, and supper would be served at one. She was now obliged to sup with this overbearing man.
Once the dance started, they passed each other rarely, but the times they did come together lasted all the way up the line and made it possible for some limited conversation.
When they came together at the bottom of the line, he looked directly into her eyes and she thought he said, “Your eyes really are like hers.”
When he twirled her around and they were facing each other again, she said, “I beg your pardon. I didn’t understand what you said.”
“You look just like your mother. The two of you have eyes unlike any others I’ve ever seen.”
Just before they parted at the top of the line to make way for the next couple, she gave him a cold look and said, “My mother is dead.”
He laughed as though she’d just related a humorous on dit and moved away through the set.
* * *
The duchess joined the ladies who sat serenely at the edges of the dance floor of the ballroom. “Lady Camilla, who is that man dancing with Olivia?”
“He’s a friend of a friend. Baron Barclay Reynolds.”
“Oh, the tin man.” El recalled hearing about the man from Percy.
“What?” Alice had nearly drifted off to sleep but jolted awake at the words, “tin man.”
“He claims to own tin mines in Cornwall, but I’ve never seen him leave London. He’s a member of Percy’s club, White’s.” El’s face took on a speculative look. “The true source of his income is somewhat of a mystery. Percy can’t make out how a man with so little land could have accumulated so much wealth.”
“Surely you have something on him through Goodrum’s.” Alice gave her a questioning look.
“He never comes to Goodrum’s, and I’ve never heard of him gambling at anyone else’s tables either. A very strange sort of bird.” El shook her head. “I hope Olivia’s not too tired to stand up for herself if he’s too boring, or controlling. I don’t like his attitude.”
“Oh, we have a signal set up.”
“A signal?” Lady Camilla peered at Alice with interest.
“Of course. It’s one of the unshakeable laws of being a wallflower. You have to let your friends know you need help with a pre-arranged signal.”
“And what did you and Olivia settle on?” El leaned close
“She said she’s going to wiggle three fingers behind her back to summon the cavalry.”
Lady Camilla gave out a throaty giggle. “Then we shall have to send Captain Atherton to the rescue.”
They stared out onto the floor at the same time, but Olivia was still dancing, no finger wiggling in sight.
* * *
Will and the duke stood with the door cracked open at the entrance to the servants’ passageway and spied on the dancers out on the floor.
“Who is that man?” Will’s tone came out sharper than he’d intended.
“A bit of a mystery. He’s a member at White’s, keeps himself to himself. He presents like a gentleman with a great deal of wealth, but the only thing anyone knows about him is he has a tin mine out in Cornwall. The price of tin being what it is, that line of business is hardly the way for a man to live like a nabob who made a fortune in India.”
Will said nothing, but he felt as though his entire insides were turning to ice. He had no claim on Olivia. He had no right to influence whatever choice she’d make, but he’d be damned if he’d let her go to some sneaksby.
His Grace was quiet for a long time before adding as an afterthought: “You won’t say anything to Her Grace about our little talks today…will you?”
It was all Will could to do to keep from laughing. One of the most powerful men in the kingdom was terrified of his wife. But then not many men would be up to the task of being married to the fearsome Duchess of Chelmsford, otherwise known as Captain Eleanor Goodrum Whitcombe, proprietress of the infamous Goodrum’s House of Pleasure.
* * *
Olivia had concerns of her own. Against her better judgment, she allowed herself to be led into supper by the obnoxious Lord Reynolds. She wistfully recalled the lighthearted conversation with Alice about the perils of wallflowers. She fairly itched to wiggle three fingers behind her back. She knew the legion of gentlemen who attended Lady Camilla would come charging to her defense.
However, she was certain the lizard of a man escorting her would not flinch at publicly condemning her as the bastard daughter of a famous opera singer. The damage he could do to her was nothing compared to what would happen to the duke and duchess. After all, they’d made up a Banbury tale about her being Percy’s niece. And then there was the ethereally beautiful opera singer she’d observed what now seemed a lifetime ago. She did not feel any kinship with the woman, but she knew instinctively the scandal he could spawn in the middle of her coming-out ball would probably destroy Miss Villeneuve’s career as well.
She gave the him a sideways glance. She wished there were something she could do to stop him. Unfortunately, no poison appeared to be at hand that she could slip into his food.
Once she was seated at one of the small tables for supper, he fetched a plate of a wide assortment of delicacies from the buffet table. He’d no sooner than returned with their plates than her “Uncle” Percy glided up.
Lord Reynolds, who had just sat down, leapt up again. “Your Grace.” He nodded in deference to the duke.
“Lord Reynolds…I trust you’re enjoying yourself?”
“Yes, of course, and the company.” The baron gave Olivia a fond look.
“Well, carry on.” The duke paused for a moment before adding, “Olivia, you’re looking a bit tired. Is it possible you’ve enjoyed the dancing a little too much?”
She gave the duke a blank stare, hoping to the gods she didn’t give away her abject fear.
“Perhaps you might want to retire a bit before dawn?”
“You’re right. I’ll consider slowing down after supper. Thank you so much for all your kindness and providing all this.” She spread her arms wide, encompassing the beautifully set supper buffet and the masses of fragrant flowers brought in from their country estate.
“Well, um, if there’s nothing else I can do for you, niece, then I’ll go, um, find Her Grace.”
As soon as the duke had circled back to where Lady Camilla sat with Lady Alice, Sinjin, and the duchess, Lord Reynolds leaned conspiratorially across the table. “He doesn’t trust me, but he will when you tell him you won’t marry anyone but me.”
Olivia nearly cast up her accounts at that pronouncement, and carefully set down the tumbler of punch she’d been drinking so as not to bring on a fit of coughing.
“I’m sorry sir, but you are mistaken…I could never—.”
He interrupted her harshly. “But you will. You have no choice. Otherwise, I’ll destroy everyone you care for. I’ll even turn in your lover, that hulking Will Beckford, for eavesdropping on Miss Villeneuve’s visit to his Peeler office and then following me all over London like some ridiculous dog.”
Olivia thought the worst of what could happen to her had already passed, but the bit about Will was slowly sinking into her consciousness. “What did you say about Mister Beckford?”
“Oh, he didn’t tell you, did he?” He laughed his oily, nauseating laugh again. “Your stupid mother ignored my warnings and went to the Peelers to try to get them to find you.”
“Why? Why would she do that, after all these years?”
“Because she didn’t leave you on that Seven Dials street corner. I did. I knew one of the pickpocket kings would scoop you up in a heartbeat. You had the face of an angel, one that no one would suspect was emptying their pockets.
“She’s been paying me all these years for your keep with a ‘wealthy’ family.”
“What kind of monster does that?”
“Me, and yes, I can. This is how I’ve always earned a living, but now, with your ducal dowry, I can leave that business behind.”
“I’m not going to marry you. I’ll pay you what you want. Leave Miss Villeneuve and duke out of this.”
“Oh, no, my love. That dowry is my ticket to retirement. Miss Olivia Jones, a laundress at Goodrum’s, cannot possibly come up with the equivalent of a ducal dowry on her own. You will marry me, and you’ll like it.” He extended his hand across the table and gripped hers so tightly, tears came to her eyes.
She endured the pain and refused to call for help. She would bring this monster down on her own and enjoy every minute of his torture.
One minute they were alone, and she was at his mercy, but the next minute, there stood her brother Dickie looking like an avenging angel. “Is everything all right here?” His voice vibrated with warning. He was not really asking a question.
Lord Reynolds rose immediately, his evil look replaced by a genial man-of-means look. “I do not believe we’ve been introduced, sirrah.”
“You’re right. We haven’t. Miss Whitcombe is my sister.”
“Pardon my ignorance. I did not know Chelmsford had a long-lost nephew as well as a niece.”
“Well, now you know. Miss Whitcombe is under my protection.”
“Dickie…” Olivia warned him with a whisper. “Please don’t.”
Dickie bowed low. “Olivia, Lord Reynolds, I’ll take my leave now, but I will be seeing you again.”
Olivia’s heart felt as though it was clawing its way up her throat. How was she ever going to extricate her family and friends from the clutches of this fiend?