Chapter Seventeen #2
Grace claimed Dashlend had said nothing about it, but gave himself away. He had a habit of scrunching his brows whenever he was concerned.
Patience explained that Stanford had inquired if the other husbands knew about it. She’d said she thought so and he clearly wished to know more but she’d changed the subject.
Verity said that Wembly had whispered, “Oh, I see.”
Serenity mentioned that Thorpe did not give it too much thought, as he was too caught up on whether or not Winsome had actually gone to Kent. In any case, he got a note from Lord Wembly that they were all to meet at White’s and then would travel together to meet their wives at the masque.
Patience speculated that their dear husbands were to have some sort of meeting of solidarity at White’s, to better withstand whatever their wives were up to.
“I do not see why our husbands should worry we are up to something, just because we all come together in one party,” Verity said.
Felicity had laughed and said, “We have too often been up to something. And just have a look at us this moment, Verity. All together, we look very formidable. They probably have a right to be worried.”
They looked round the carriage at one another and then laughed the rest of the way to Lady Darlington’s front door. The Nicolet sisters piled out of the carriage, collected their dear Papa, and made their way inside.
As they made their way into the ballroom, Winsome looked round it.
She did not know for certain what Lord Manderbey would wear, but she suspected it would be a simple domino and half mask.
There were those gentlemen who would compose elaborate costumes, but that would not suit him.
He was elegant and sophisticated; he would hardly arrive as Zeus or a Turkish potentate.
“Does he know that you come as Cleopatra?” Felicity whispered.
“No, I do not believe we ever touched on the subject,” Winsome said.
“Well now, here we all are,” the duke said jovially, “at the masque that is not a ball. Thank the heavens for good sideboards.”
It was true that Lady Darlington’s masque was not done in the usual way.
There were some violinists providing soft music, but no orchestra.
It was held in a ballroom, but there was no dancing.
There was no supper, either. Rather, there were sideboards lining the room with all sorts, as well as footmen coming round with small bites of food.
Verity had said that their father was so fond of the thin-sliced ham rolls, stuffed with herbed creamed cheese, that he’d been known to take over an entire tray.
Verity suspected that the footmen were now well-acquainted with the duke and his habits and they would give him a wide berth.
For entertainment, everybody would drift round talking and admiring one another’s costumes before voting on them, prizes to be announced at the end of the evening. There were small tables placed here and there for those who did not like to be on their feet for hours at a time.
“Ho there, you,” the duke called to a footman.
The young man trudged over to the duke, holding a tray of petite ham rolls.
“Might as well leave that with me,” the duke said.
“Yes, Your Grace,” the footman said with a sigh. Winsome suspected the poor fellow had been warned by Lady Darlington’s butler to avoid just such a circumstance.
“He is so tall,” Winsome said to Verity and Felicity. “I should be easily able to pick him out but I do not see him.”
“I am certain he will come,” Felicity said.
“He would not have sent that cheeky letter to Valor if he would not,” Verity added.
As she talked to her sisters, Winsome caught sight of an alarming vision.
A lady, who she believed was the dowager, had come into the ballroom in some sort of costume, though she was not clear what.
She was dressed in an old beaver coat that swept the floor and topped by a too-large beaver hat slipping down her forehead.
Very improbably, her slippers were covered in tufts of fur.
Perhaps she came as a beaver? It would be unusual, to be sure, but then Serenity had come to her first masque as a bee so Winsome supposed anything was possible.
The dowager looked round, then her eyes settled on Winsome and her sisters. She shuffled her way over.
Why was she alone? Why did not Lord Manderbey escort her?
“Duke, Lady Winsome, glad you are not hiding yourself away. Not the thing.”
“We never hide,” the duke said, “nor do we have any reason too.”
“Quite right,” the dowager said.
“Duchess, I am off to the sideboard to pour a glass,” the duke said. “I presume you are not opposed to a glass yourself.”
“Very perceptive, Duke, as always. That will be just the thing.”
The duke set off for the nearest sideboard.
“I put the blame on Landry,” the dowager said.
Winsome was stock still, hardly knowing what to say to that.
Patience jumped to the rescue. “That is a unique costume, Your Grace,” she said. “I wonder if Serenity set off the trend of coming as wildlife when she came as a bee two seasons ago.”
“Wildlife?” the dowager said.
“Oh, I did think, are you not a beaver?”
“Gracious no, I am an American Pioneer, that’s what I’m told anyway.
I’m forging my way across the desolate plains in a beaver coat.
I no doubt shot the pelts myself and stitched them all together round a campfire, for what reason I cannot say, but that’s Americans for you.
Now where is St. John? He comes as a medieval king, but I’ve not seen him. ”
None of the sisters answered where Lord St. John could be, as none of them wished to see him, least of all Winsome.
“You must chin up, Lady Winsome. This talk can be defeated,” the dowager said. “Simply retire from view for a good amount of time and then when you return it will all be forgotten. St. John is just the ticket.”
What on earth was the dowager attempting to say? Did she mean that she believed the rumors going round? And worse, did she say that Winsome ought to accept Lord St. John’s suit?
A feeling came over Winsome upon hearing such ideas. She had enough. She simply had enough of this nonsense.
“Your Grace,” she said, “nothing would induce me to engage myself to the ‘ticket’ you mention. I believe Lord St. John is at the bottom of all these rumors and I believe he’s done it for personal gain.”
The dowager staggered back and Serenity caught her to stop her from tipping over. “Lady Winsome, you are surely mistaken. St. John would never invent tales about a lady.”
“I think it is you who are mistaken,” Winsome said with some determination. “May I inquire why Lord Manderbey did not escort you here?”
The dowager waved her hands. “He had some idea of having words with St. John. I presume they have worked it out between them, they are family after all.”
The duke had returned and handed the dowager her glass.
“Papa,” Winsome said, “the duchess thinks I ought to hook my carriage to Lord St. John’s horses so I might be out of society’s view for a few years.”
The duke peered at the dowager as if she were deranged, which Winsome very much thought she was. “Duchess, I would not sanction such a match, even if my daughter wished it, which she certainly does not.”
“You do not think it a wise arrangement?” the dowager asked, looking exceedingly perplexed.
“Nothing more unwise, in my view.”
The dowager appeared pensive. “Gracious, I was certain you’d be for it.”
“No offense to any of your relations, but I do not care for the fellow,” the duke said.
Just then, the fellow in question, dressed as a preposterously ornate king of old, approached. Lord St. John greeted them all in his jovial manner, though there was not much that was jovial coming back to him.
Winsome felt she was about to lose all control of her temper. Lord Manderbey had gone to see this fool—where was he? Had St. John invented some new tale that kept him away?
“Papa,” she said, “perhaps you might take the duchess to our aunt? I am sure Her Grace would like to hear more about the tableau she witnessed at our dinner.”
Her father would be as well aware as she was that Lady Marchfield was not in the ballroom.
At least, not yet. Even if she were, what the dowager witnessed was not a tableau of any sort—it was her aunt’s launching of Mr. Wicket as the new butler.
However, the duke was nothing if not perceptive and took up the hint.
“Quite right,” he said, holding out his arm. “Duchess?”
The dowager was not left with a choice, though Winsome was certain she would have preferred to stay.
“There was a tableau?” Lord St. John asked. “I hadn’t heard about it. Now Lady Winsome I was hoping we might have a moment alone to speak? It is of some urgency, as I have been given the ambassadorship to Portugal. Time is of the essence.”
The man was persistent and absurd. Winsome stared at him but did not answer.
Seeing he was not to get a response, Lord St. John hurried on. “What I say is, considering the circumstances, a match would be beneficial to both of us…considering.”
Considering. Considering this rogue had put her in her current position to begin. Considering he was a conniving liar. Considering he had put her happiness at risk and she might even now be in danger of losing it.
Winsome said, “What did you say to Lord Manderbey when he came to see you today?”
Lord St. John glanced around him as if Lord Manderbey might be lurking nearby.
“Today? Who said he came to me today?” Lord St. John asked.
“The dowager,” Winsome said. “Now, what did you say to drive him away?”
“Say?” he asked.
“Yes, you hear me clearly, my lord, what did you say?” Winsome asked.
“Best to come out with it,” Patience said.
Felicity nodded in agreement. “We are like badgers, Lord St. John. You will not slip away from our grip until we’ve heard the answer to the question we ask you.”
“Well I did not say anything, actually,” St. John said, eyeing Winsome’s sisters, who were slowly circling round him and cutting off any escape. “I was taken up with the arrangements with my costume.”
“He came to your house,” Winsome said, “and yet you said nothing?”