Chapter 27
Royal Crescent
Bath
Cam knew her aunt expected her to be perfectly presented.
She was, after all, Lady Camilla Rohman, daughter of the Earl of Whitsonby, sufficiently toothsome and splendidly dowered, and thus it was her responsibility to be admired by all, including the gaggle of watchful older ladies who perennially lined the perimeter of the room eager to condemn whenever possible.
Cam could always count on Cilly to see she had as perfect a presentation as possible. She stood back when Cilly had coaxed the last curl into place, looking at Cam in the mirror. “Well now, aren’t you ever a toothsome sight. You look like a princess, thanks in large part to my genius.”
Princess of what country or city or neighborhood? Well, Cam did look better than she had an hour before. “Thank you, Cilly. You’ve done marvels.”
“Well, of course.” Cilly bent close. “There’s this one dratted curl, why won’t it lay still like its sisters?”
Cam didn’t think the curl looked any different from its well-behaved sisters, but she kept her mouth shut and Cilly tugged and combed until she was satisfied.
Cam rose and looked at herself in the long Cheval mirror.
Her gown was pale blue silk satin with the requisite tight downward arrowed waist, her shoulders were bare except for her mother’s lovely sapphire necklace, the sleeves little tight puffs.
She quite liked the lovely fitted narrow pleats from neckline to the waist. She wore only two petticoats beneath the shimmering skirts.
The toes of her matching blue slippers showed when she walked.
She might not look like a queen in wedding white, but she looked well enough for Aunt Deveraux’s approval.
Cilly said in a pronouncement reminiscent of a voice from On High, “Lady Deveraux will applaud my efforts as well as your fine looks.” She twitched the same soft curl over Cam’s left ear, frowned, sighed.
She handed Cam a matching shawl, gave her a light kiss on her cheek and smiled.
“You will make all the old bats sigh and remember when they were young and ever so proud of their looks. Of course they will compliment you on your looks and secretly hate your lovely guts.”
Aunt Deveraux always enjoyed jaunts to the Assembly Rooms, where she could flirt endlessly with any and every gentleman over fifty, and win at whist. She was ready, now tapping her foot.
She wore her favored yellow, her white hair piled high on her head.
She wore diamonds, a lot of diamonds, wherever there was uncovered space.
She carried her evening hearing trumpet carved of fine antler horn, which didn’t much help with her hearing, but it was splendid to look at.
Cam had always admired it, knew she could use it as well for a weapon.
Finch gently draped a lovely shawl over her bony shoulders when they heard Pilcher Gayson’s arrival in his father’s ancient carriage, black and ponderous but very comfortable. He complimented Cam, but was fulsome in his praise of Lady Deveraux.
Cam bore up well when Pilcher kissed her gloved hand.
Like her, he wore white gloves, so she didn’t know if he still chewed his fingernails.
She had to admit he looked handsome in his evening garb.
He was smart enough to treat her aunt like the queen.
Before he was allowed to lay Cam’s lovely cashmere shawl around her shoulders, he looked at her and slavered.
It wasn’t a good look for him. Did Alex ever slaver?
Then again, Cam didn’t think she’d mind his slavering as much as he wanted.
After he laid the shawl around her shoulders, Cam thanked him even though his fingers caressed her arm.
She knew she had to be on her best behavior so she couldn’t very well break his fingers or smack him, not in front of her aunt.
He was taller and better formed than Teddy Jewel, but she didn’t doubt she could give him a black eye.
When they walked into the Assembly Rooms, Cam looked around, smiled.
She’d admired the long grand high ceilings since she was a child, marveled at the splendid chandeliers.
It was painted a lovely pale blue above the wooden surrounds, the ceiling a sparkling white, just as they’d been for half a century.
Musicians sat on a small dais at the far end, their instruments at the ready.
The room was airy, not too warm even in high summer.
She knew all the unspoken rules and regulations, namely, all those with either mounds of money or a lovely long pedigree, preferably both, were welcome.
Others could attend but they were ignored by their betters.
Still, she’d always thought even if she was a miller’s daughter, she’d be dancing to the same music, enjoying the lovely tea.
Unlike the snobbery of the Assembly Rooms, the formal gardens around the buildings were open to those even without money or pedigree. The Bath elite felt quite good about themselves for allowing this bit of democracy.
Lady Camilla Rohman was welcomed with open arms and effusive greetings because Aunt Deveraux was bosom beaus with most of the grand dames of Bath.
Cam knew she disliked many of them and wondered if the dislike was reciprocated, probably so.
But of course here under the bright lights of the glorious chandeliers, envy and dislike were kept behind hands and only whispered.
Older gentlemen and ladies played cards while young people danced to the musicians’ lively waltzes and country dances.
When Cam walked in on the arm of Pilcher, Lady Hornacker, renowned for her quivering chins, sharp eye and razor tongue, called to her. “Lady Camilla, how delightful to see you again in Bath. Your lovely sister is well? And your father?”
“My sister is well, excited about her wedding. My father is very busy with his new wife, my lady.”
“Ah,” a word that carried a wealth of meaning. She said, a leer in her hard voice, “A gentleman, I suppose, must be applauded at any age when he weds a young wife if he wishes another son.”
If they continued as they’d begun, there would be a dozen children. Cam merely nodded. “Indeed, my lady.”
“I was driving by the Royal Crescent yesterday and heard quite clearly your dear aunt Deveraux demand her early-afternoon restorative.”
Most of Bath probably heard her. Again, Cam only nodded.
“Your aunt Mildred—ah, no, Marguerite, such a clever affectation your aunt chose when she wed with Raoul so long ago. And even now she insists upon it. Even at her age, she draws masculine attention.” And the old bat scowled.
Cam said, “Marguerite is a lovely name, don’t you agree, my lady?”
Evidently not, for Lady Hornacker said without pause, “There she is with Colonel Everhard, off to the game room. Not her usual choice, hmm. Ah, Pilcher, dear boy, how are your mother and father? Of course I had tea only two days ago with Aleria, but one never knows. Health can fail at any moment.”
Pilcher knew he had to be polite to the old besom, his mother always warned him not only was she rich from two dead husbands, she was the third daughter of a viscount.
You never knew when she would pop up. He gave her another grand bow.
“My mother and father send their best wishes, my lady, and yes, my mother continues well.”
She gave him a royal nod. “Pilcher, you may now lead Lady Camilla in a waltz.”
“As if we need her permission,” Pilcher said under his breath as he led Cam to the dance floor. “But Mother told me if she wishes to grant me permission to smoke a cigar, which I find quite nasty, I am to smile and bow and politely excuse myself.”
Cam was surprised at that bit of unexpected jocularity.
Perhaps she’d misjudged Pilcher, but then she quickly discovered he still waltzed like a lame ostrich.
He had to apologize three times for assaulting her slippered toes.
When he asked her if she wished to take a lovely walk in the gardens, she smiled and shook her head, knowing he wanted to get her alone.
A lovely old gentleman she’d seen many times here at the Assembly Rooms asked her to dance.
He was reputed to have been intimate with her aunt Deveraux many decades before.
He waltzed like a dream. She smiled up at him and let him flirt with her.
And always in the back of her mind was—where was Alex? What was he doing, thinking? Why in heaven’s name hadn’t he answered her letter?
Did he waltz well?
Thankfully, Pilcher was forced to relinquish her to a lovely line of other young gentlemen and she danced and danced until, for minutes at a time, she forgot she’d like to shoot Alex for not at least replying with a simple note. Nothing from the lout.
Pilcher tried his best to get her alone, but she knew his every ploy and was nimble.
She was aware of his simmering frustration on their carriage ride back to the Royal Crescent, but with her aunt speaking nonstop in a voice loud enough to make the carriage horses snort and try to break their harnesses, there was nothing he could do about it.
Lady Deveraux had won fifty pounds at whist and bragged without pause.
Cam bid him a chipper good night before he could invite her to go riding with him or invite her to luncheon with his parents, please, anything but that—and she used Aunt Deveraux as a shield. Her aunt kindly acknowledged Pilcher’s escort in a voice loud enough to wake the neighborhood.
Even though Cam had told Cilly not to wait up for her, there she was, sitting in a chair, lightly snoring. Cam smiled, undressed herself and gently woke her and sent her to bed.
Once covered from head to toe in her favorite flannel nightgown and stretched out in her feather-soft bed, she lay there, staring at the high ceiling.
She’d enjoyed herself. She loved to dance, even with the lame ostrich when he wasn’t assaulting her toes.
But she knew Pilcher was going to be a problem.
She lay there listening to the oak tree branch lightly hit against the window.
I’m a female and until I’m married, I’m only a little pawn on a chessboard.
I do as I’m ordered, go where I’m ordered.
What can I do to be different? What can I do to distinguish myself, make myself—more?