Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
The Hamptons’ Grand Ball Supper; Turtle Soup and Asparagus
Three hours later
Isabella had not been jesting about the turtle soup or asparagus, or twenty dishes besides, and Josephine’s eyes grew round with astonishment as she glimpsed the laden supper table.
‘Have you ever seen anything quite like it, Miss Fairfax?!’ Lord Hampton smiled as they assembled to be led into the parlour. ‘I do declare I can smell the baked custard from here!’
Josephine ignored Isabella’s disgusted expression as she took Lord Hampton’s arm, and left her to his ancient friend.
Ordinarily, the young ladies were escorted into supper by their most recent dance partner but, as Josephine had insisted on spending much of the evening in the card room, there were no young gentlemen left.
She threw her friend a swift, apologetic smile as they joined the throng of couples leading the way into the long parlour, though her mind was awhirl with new questions.
Lord Hampton’s account had to be as reliable as any, but it could also change things.
If Pellham had indeed been suffering with melancholy after a family loss, there might be any number of explanations for his untimely demise.
Perhaps the street brawl had even offered a welcome release – yet the only person who knew the full truth was Huntingly.
‘We all have our ghosts, Miss Fairfax… The only question is how far we allow them to control our lives… How can you contemplate a match with me at all? It would make you as good as complicit and, by marrying me, your soul would be stained by my sin for all eternity.’
She closed her eyes as she recalled his hostility, the flares in his eyes touching her bones. That he was haunted by his memories was clear, and she suppressed a shiver as a familiar voice interrupted her thoughts.
‘Hampton! Your servant, sir! Apologies for our late arrival, we have only come up to town this evening…’
‘Fred!’ Josephine exclaimed, more delighted to see her brother than she ever recalled. ‘I didn’t know you were coming!’
‘Sir Francis!’ Isabella chimed with similar relief. ‘How truly delightful to see you! Believe me, the evening has only just begun…’
‘Not at all, you young gentlemen are most welcome, and not least of all by these young ladies. Now then, Colonel, I believe we have precisely two minutes to find out exactly where they have placed the baked custards before Lady Hampton locates me. We might have to deploy a covert operation…’
Josephine laughed and curtsied as the elderly gentlemen took their leave, leaving Fred and Sir Francis to make up their four instead.
‘Thank you, Alfred,’ Isabella murmured as Fred offered his arm, leaving Sir Francis and his sandalwood cologne with Josephine.
Josephine drew a breath, overtly aware that the gaze of every lady in the supper line was lingering on the Olympian beside her.
In all fairness, it was difficult not to look.
Tonight, he was sporting a velvet green frock coat with broad shoulders and a nipped-in waist, beneath which a mustard waistcoat was buttoned high, leading the eye to a meticulously tied cravat with more folds than Josephine could fathom.
His flaxen hair had been styled in the new Romantic way, that required precise short curls to fall around the forehead, and his whole ensemble had been finished with fitted pantaloons and polished evening shoes, in which she could see her own image.
Momentarily, she gazed too, certain that Sir Francis looked the very picture of every hero she’d ever imagined, before Lord Huntingly replaced him, holding a sprig of citrus blossom. She blinked and his image disappeared as the supper line moved forward.
‘We meet again, Miss Fairfax,’ Sir Francis murmured with his golden smile, ‘and I never had the chance to thank you.’
Josephine pushed her glasses up her nose with a faint frown.
‘I believe it was you who pushed a letter beneath my door back at Knightswood?’
‘Oh … yes it was,’ she replied in surprise, making her way to a seat next to Fred at the long parlour table. ‘It was no trouble and I trust it was welcome.’ She smiled politely as an army of footmen began filling the table with an impressive array of first- and second-course dishes.
‘To be fair, I cannot recall the contents well enough to know if it was welcome,’ he replied nonchalantly, his brow wrinkling, ‘but I appreciate your part all the same.’ He surveyed the table appreciatively.
‘Now then, I spy neck of venison, Scotch scallops, boiled chicken, patties and stewed celery among many other delicious dishes,’ he observed, oblivious to Josephine’s frown.
‘It looks like Fred and I arrived just at the right time.’
‘Oh, but you did, Sir Francis!’ Isabella gushed, craning her neck around Fred. ‘And I can personally recommend the turtle soup.’
‘Indeed, Miss Hampton? Then I shall make sure to have some,’ Sir Francis replied with another dazzling smile that prompted Isabella to turn bright pink.
‘Do I look like a sailor, Miss Fairfax?’ he quizzed quietly, rolling his eyes.
Josephine coughed on a sip of wine, conscious his comment wasn’t exactly what she’d expect of a bridegroom-to-be. ‘I’m sure she was just being a good hostess,’ she murmured.
‘Certainly.’ He smiled, though there was a fresh gleam in his eyes.
She tried to compose her thoughts which were already so tangled with Amelia’s confidences, Isabella’s expectations and her own disordered emotions. He was too well bred to be anything but jesting and yet, for some reason, she wasn’t quite sure.
‘Do you always say the right thing, Miss Fairfax?’ He threw her an amused glance.
‘I am quite certain I do not, sir,’ she answered with conviction, thinking back to the morning she asked a disgraced lord to marry her.
She flushed at the memory as Sir Francis stared, a flicker of candlelight in his eyes.
‘Perhaps you haven’t done quite as you should …
once?’ he murmured suggestively, a small smile playing around his lips.
‘Pray do tell, Miss Fairfax, for I thought I knew the female mind but, indeed, you are proving quite the mystery.’ His smile widened as he reached towards the scallop dish and seemed to, quite deliberately, brush his fingers against hers.
Josephine stiffened, a surge of indignation replacing her jangled nerves just as they were interrupted.
‘What a delight to see you here this evening, Sir Francis, and you too, Mr Fairfax,’ Aurelia trilled from further down the table. ‘My younger sister was quite in raptures with your recent performance at the Davenports’,’ she added, as Miss Amelia inclined her perfectly ringleted head.
‘Miss Amelia is too kind,’ Sir Francis replied with one of his brilliant smiles that mesmerised every other young lady within ten dinner places, ‘but the truth is that, apart from the enigmatic Miss Fairfax here, I had very little competition.’
Josephine flushed as the admiring young ladies switched their attention from her companion to herself with far less enthusiasm. Yet she was conscious of a faint stir of injustice too – Lord Huntingly had outshone them both that evening, and to pretend otherwise was wrong.
‘Sir Francis is also too kind,’ she added swiftly. ‘For, without doubt, Lord Huntingly was the most adept performer of the evening.’
She’d intended to be honest, but the moment she spoke his name aloud a strange silence stilled the air. She glanced around, suddenly aware she’d committed a societal faux pas and that the cloud surrounding Huntingly’s name was bigger than even she’d realised. She swallowed, feeling oddly defiant.
‘Your defence of Lord Huntingly is to be expected given your forthcoming event,’ Sir Francis murmured once normal chatter resumed.
‘Though you must know his name is far from unblemished?’ He selected a cherry from a large platter.
‘Indeed, if I were you, I should take a little care before announcing it in polite circles, for you aren’t wed yet and, even when you are, your Fairfax reputation will have much work to do to counteract his history.
Indeed, might I offer you some advice, Miss Fairfax?
’ He glanced at her from beneath his long lashes.
Josephine knew he meant well, that she should nod with the usual quiet grace she was known to possess. Yet in truth she felt far from herself and was aware only of a strange chagrin clawing up her throat.
‘With marriage to such an individual on the horizon,’ he continued, oblivious to her thoughts, ‘some might say that now is the time to enjoy yourself.’ He popped the cherry in his mouth, reminding Josephine forcibly of a winged god at a Renaissance feast. ‘There is plenty of time for fashionable protestations after the vows, after all.’ He smiled, clearly well pleased with himself.
‘Well, that is where you and I differ, Sir Francis,’ Josephine replied, finally finding her voice. ‘For I’ve never been in the least bit in vogue.’