Chapter Five #2
Lady Winsome and the duke left him as they made their way over to their extended family. They left him in a somewhat better state than they’d found him and for that he would be eternally grateful.
*
Winsome had been nervous to step through the doors of Almack’s, but two things buoyed her.
Her dress was marvelous, a midnight-blue silk with an organza overlay of the same color.
Madame LaFray had counseled her at length over her coloring.
She’d explained that if Winsome went in for pastels, she’d end up looking insipid.
Her blonde hair and fair features must be countered and made to stand on their own through the use of deeper colors.
The madame had taken note of Winsome’s coloring during her other visits and had known just the thing to set them off.
When she’d seen the result of the madame’s designs, she agreed.
In any case, she would not for the world wish to be seen as insipid.
The second idea that buoyed her was her family. They turned out in force to support her—Felicity and Mr. Stratton, Grace and Lord Dashlend, Patience and Lord Stanford, Serenity and Lord Thorpe, and Verity and Lord Wembly. They were such a crowd and all turned up on her account.
Perhaps even a third thing had buoyed her, though it made her feel nervous too.
When they’d entered, Lord Manderbey had stood near the doors and approached them directly.
After the greetings, he seemed to be in a rush to explain that the Countess of Westmoreland had committed him to taking Lady Edith into supper.
He’d made a point of saying he’d not chosen it himself, which of course was flattering as she thought he was hinting he’d rather have escorted her in.
Lord Manderbey had been roped into it on account of Lady Westmoreland owing some sort of favor to Lady Edith’s mother. But, he went on to say that he had requested that he be put down for Lady Winsome’s first, as a consolation.
Of course, she would wish the lord was taking her into supper. She really wanted to find out more about the dunning and his comment about playing cards. It seemed those inquiries would need to wait until the dinner on the morrow.
And then, this Lady Edith—why should she be dining with the lord on account of a favor?
Was the lady inclined toward him? Or he, her?
He’d not sounded inclined, but it was a little puzzling.
Winsome Nicolet did not like puzzling. She’d read enough stories where things began as puzzling and rapidly deteriorated.
Puzzling was never a good situation. She liked things spelled out as one way or the other.
The duke had led her into the ballroom and they’d encountered a very nervous Lord Landry.
The poor fellow! The duke had taken pity on him and had gone off to arrange things with the Countess of Westmoreland.
He would request Lord Landry be put down for Winsome’s supper. She would do her best to cheer him up.
Now she was surrounded by family and felt as safe as a lamb in a paddock.
Of course, all too soon the ball would begin and she would be on her own.
She would not allow an opportunity to pass, though, that might give her more information about Lord Manderbey and here was his good friend, Lord Wembly, standing by Verity.
“Lord Wembly,” she said, “we saw your friend, Lord Manderbey, at the queen’s drawing room yesterday.” It was vague, but as good an opening as she could think of.
“Really?” Lord Wembly said. “I wonder what he was doing there—he does not have a sister.”
“It is my understanding that his dowager wished to go, and he escorted her there.”
Lord Wembly appeared taken aback. “The dowager duchess? She’s here? In Town?”
“Indeed she is, she will come to dine on the morrow.”
“I had not known,” Lord Wembly said softly. “Gad, she’s decided to put him on a short leash, then.”
A short leash? Did that have something to do with the gambling debts that had been hinted at?
“What does that mean, Wembly?” Verity asked. “Why is he to be on a leash at all?”
Winsome silently thanked Verity, as it was just what she wished to know herself.
“As to that, I do not really know the details,” Wembly muttered. “It’s just, well she can be a strong-willed old girl. Likes to have her way.”
What way was it, though? Was the dowager here to rein in Lord Manderbey’s gambling? Or was it something else?
“Oh God, there she is,” Lord Wembly said, gazing across the ballroom.
Winsome’s eyes followed his. The dowager was just now standing by her father. Goodness, they were both drinking from flasks.
“What is she doing?” Lord Wembly asked.
“As to that,” Winsome said, “I believe my father mentioned he would bring brandy in a flask. And the dowager mentioned she might do it too. Canary, I believe she said. Considering the size of her reticule, it seems she has done.”
“Drinking at Almack’s. That is just what I mean about her!” Lord Wembly said.
“Oh dear,” Verity said laughing, “the dowager and our father coming together is bound to cause trouble.”
“Can you do something to stop it?” Lord Wembly asked his wife.
This sent Verity into peals of laughter. “No,” she said.
The orchestra had been tuning for some time, the conductor putting the musicians through their paces. Now he turned and gave a nod to Lady Westmoreland and the sets began to form.
Lord Manderbey approached and held out his arm.
Winsome laid her gloved hand gently upon it and took a breath. Here she went.
*
Leland had wished to shake the Countess of Westmoreland. He was well aware that the patronesses must have their way, but that had not stopped his irritation over being assigned to take Lady Edith into dine.
As that was the case, he’d lurked near the doors for Lady Winsome’s arrival. He’d dropped some hints that his dining companion had not been his first choice and that he’d petitioned for Lady Winsome’s first set as a consolation. He thought she’d taken his meaning.
He hoped so, anyway. There would be no end of gentlemen doing their very best to impress her.
She had looked very well in that absurd court dress, but now, to see her as a proper lady out for the evening…
she was spectacular. Everything about her was elegant, from her hair to her slippers.
The shade of the dress was perfection for her coloring—so many ladies who were fair attempted a match with lighter colors but there was something about it that looked almost childish.
Lady Winsome Nicolet looked anything but childish.
Leland led her to the top of a forming set, then was irritated to see that his profligate cousin, St. John, joined as the bottom couple.
He had not known St. John was in Town. His cousin was partnered with Lady Edith, who Leland would be forced to take into the dining room.
Lady Edith was large and a bit ungainly, but that was not what really put him off about her.
She was so forceful in her manner, wishing to bend a person to her opinion.
She was almost like his grandmother incarnate.
St. John appeared to ignore Lady Edith entirely, as he was determinedly smiling at Lady Winsome.
That, in itself, was irritating. And then, Leland was not even certain how the fellow had afforded to come to Town this season, as he’d so recently bailed him out of a crushing gambling debt.
He ought to be at home, keeping his head down and not giving the palace any reason to think he might not be the ideal ambassador to Portugal.
The orchestra struck up a cotillion, led by Lady Westmoreland and the Duke of Bolton.
As they were the top couple, Leland led Lady Winsome through the steps. She was so graceful at it. They returned to their place so the other couples might take their turn.
“I suppose you must be relieved to have done with the queen’s drawing room,” he said.
“I got out of that dress as soon as I could and will never in my life don such a mountain of fabric again,” Lady Winsome said.
Leland smothered his laughter. She really had a unique way of expressing an idea. He also could not help his mind drifting to the idea of Lady Winsome getting out of a dress.
In a much quieter voice, she said, “Why does that fellow opposite keep staring over here in such a manner?”
Leland looked over and found the lady referred to St. John, who was still staring, despite Lady Edith’s obvious annoyance over it. “A cousin, I’m afraid. Do not ever agree to play cards with him. His name is St. John, a viscount.”
“Oh, Lord St. John. He is on my card for the third,” Lady Winsome said. “Though, why do you say one ought not to play cards with the gentleman?”
“Just a jest, not a particularly clever one. It is only that he is one of my more serious money problems,” Leland said, not paying very close attention to his words.
His thoughts were far more focused on the idea that St. John was on Lady Winsome’s card.
That, taken with the rude staring, began to prompt an idea.
Was St. John planning on making a play for Lady Winsome’s dowry?
He would not deserve her. He was not certain who St. John would deserve, but certainly not Lady Winsome Nicolet.
“I see,” Lady Winsome said. “Do you say, then, that you have a lot of money problems?”
“Beset from all sides, it sometimes seems,” Leland said. “People crawling out of the woodwork demanding money.”
It would not be out of the realms of possibilities that St. John had decided a dowry was the quickest way to alleviate his money pressures.
The man had been informed, in no uncertain terms, that he would not be rescued from gambling debts again in future.
Perhaps the rogue thought he might turn to other avenues to secure funds?
It was time for the change and Lady Westmoreland had called a Grand Chain.
He faced Lady Winsome and extended his right hand.
It was lovely to have her delicate gloved hand in his, though it lasted only a moment.
He passed her off clockwise as he made his way counter, and they met again where they’d started.
Though, he did not like the idea of St. John touching her hand too. What was that degenerate up to?
“I look forward to the dinner on the morrow,” he said, as he could not very well say what he was actually thinking.
“Yes, as to that, you might find us a bit…unusual,” Lady Winsome said. “My father does not see the need to do everything…precisely as everybody else does it.”
Leland had no doubt of it. The duke was his own man with his own peculiarities. “I have some interesting relations myself,” he said, “one of which will be coming with me.”
“The dowager,” Lady Winsome said. “I am afraid the lady has taken my father’s advice regarding bringing a flask.”
“Did she?” Leland asked. He should have known to ask why she brought such a large reticule to a ball. “Just as a general comment,” Leland said, sensing the perfect opportunity for a warning, “do not believe much of what my grandmother says. She is an inveterate liar, always for her own purpose.”
Rather than shock, this caused Lady Winsome to laugh. “My father plays very loose with the truth, though it generally has no particular purpose but for his own amusement.”
She then went on to tell him about Captain James Cook Day and the resulting barring from several inns.
The dance ended far too soon and Leland stayed on for conversation as long as he could do before having to seek out his partner for the second dance.
“Until tomorrow, Lady Winsome.”
She smiled at him. That brilliant smile. He really could look at it all day.