Chapter Seven
It was not lost on Olivia Watson, when she and the Mappertons alighted at Almack’s, how strange it was that she, of all people, was entering the most exclusive assembly rooms in Britain.
How many London slum orphans, who had never known either of their parents, had attended these rooms as guests? Scant few, she knew. She felt almost a slight sense of responsibility, as if she were representing those other than herself. Of course, such thoughts were ridiculous. None of the children that she had grown up with at the orphanage cared about Almack’s. They were almost certainly too busy winning their bread—if they had even made it this far into adulthood alive and with their liberty.
Such reflections were chased from her thoughts when she saw the grim faces of Eloisa, Natasha, and Nathanial. They were approaching the door of Almack’s—and, thus, Mr. Willis. The small, thin man was the owner and doorkeeper of the rooms, and he was notorious in London, because he did not hesitate to turn away those who did not adhere to the rules of the establishment. The Duke of Wellington himself had been barred for wearing pantaloons. A voucher meant nothing to Willis, if you showed up improperly dressed or in any way did not look the part. Even an air of unfamiliarity—or foreignness, Olivia expected—could see you rejected.
“It will go well,” she whispered to Eloisa as they approached Willis, “I know it.”
Her friend gave her a shaky smile back. She seldom saw Eloisa waver, but anyone would shiver in the face of this trial. To be turned away from Almack’s publicly, even after possessing a voucher, would be a rejection from which Eloisa and her children would be unlikely to recover.
Eloisa presented the vouchers to Mr. Willis, who inspected them with a skeptical eye. He looked at each of them, his eyes lingering on Natasha—who could blame him, Olivia thought, given the beauty and startling freshness of her face, gown, and hair. The moment expanded. It felt infinite. Olivia held her breath.
And then he bowed them through.
She knew they should appear demure, but Olivia could not help from beaming at Eloisa, who smiled back. They were in.
When they entered the central room, where the dancing was to take place, Olivia was startled by its unremarkable nature. The room was handsome, of course, with fine wainscoting and walls upholstered in a demure light blue. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. A sizable orchestra played from a balcony. Nevertheless, for all the turmoil that attended gaining entrance, the room was not anymore opulent than the assembly rooms she had regularly seen in France—and it certainly was not as lavish as the Templeton ballroom where they had danced last week.
“We don’t know a soul here,” Eloisa said, as they trickled in with the crush. She was right. Olivia could not see one familiar face in the crowd. However, she did see a few darting, even sneering glances coming from nearby groups.
“I see Miss Templeton by the refreshments,” Natasha said, “But I can hardly presume on the acquaintance.”
“It is sweltering,” Nathanial said, “It is a wonder anyone can breathe.”
“It is not unlike any other ballroom in that regard, Nathanial,” Natasha snapped.
“Speak for yourself,” her brother retorted. “I’ll trade you my wool for your silk and tulle and then we’ll see how you judge the temperature.”
“Hush, you two,” Eloisa commanded. “No quarreling.” By the way her eyes darted around the room, Olivia knew she had discovered the hostile looks being cast their way.
For a moment, Olivia felt that she had new insight into how castaways on the sea must feel. The four of them might as well have been floating on a raft in the Pacific, for all the help that seemed likely to come their way. Except a castaway wouldn’t have to contend with how they must appear to onlookers. Did the other guests at Almack’s see a former scullery maid and three foreigners in their midst? Given the speed with which gossip circulated in high society, it was likely that the gawkers knew the exact details of their biographies.
“Miss Mapperton!”
All four of them turned their heads in the direction of the enthusiastic voice. They were rewarded by the sight of Lord Percy making his way through the crush, his sandy hair and kind features offset into handsomeness by his black evening clothes.
“We have been waiting for you,” Lord Percy continued, “Please—come this way. It would be an honor if you would consent to be introduced to my sisters.”
Natasha, Eloisa, and Olivia all gave little curtsies and followed Percy back through the crowd. Nathanial trailed as well, his usual haughty attitude towards English society shaken by the welcomeness of Percy’s appearance.
Soon, they reached the waiting Carrington siblings. Olivia remembered Elizabeth, Percy’s twin, as a dark-haired girl prone to mischief and outbursts of temper. The youngest, Petunia, had only been five or six when she had seen her last, but she had grown into a pretty, slim young woman with curly brown hair. She looked comfortable in the ballroom, but in a natural, friendly way, as if she were used to welcoming others instead of driving them away.
And then, of course, there was Augustus. The only of his siblings that was seated on their approach, he rose from one of the deep armchairs that appeared in short supply. Olivia tried to avert her eyes from him, but, as usual, she failed. Years ago, she had only seen him in evening dress when he departed from Carrington Place or returned home. She had never stood with him in such a space as this one. She had never been his equal then—and she hardly was now, she reminded herself.
The black of his evening suit made his eyes appear even less earthly. She refused to let her gaze drop lower than his neck, but she knew, blast her peripheral vision, that he wore well the taut lines currently in fashion for men’s full dress.
“Ah, Mrs. Mapperton, Count Mapperton, Miss Mapperton, and Miss Watson—I am very glad to see my brother managed to find you,” Augustus said, in a tone that fairly announced he had been the one to send his brother round the room in search of them. “The dance is just beginning, and we Carrington siblings are in need of partners. Mrs. Mapperton, would you do me the honor?”
Eloisa hid her start of surprise with an elegant curtsey and took Augustus’s arm. Olivia knew that, in the eyes of society, he was lavishing Eloisa with a compliment that would not be missed—and she knew, as Eloisa’s companion, she could hardly be asked to dance first. Still, a pang went through her as she saw Augustus depart. She shook her head. She was being foolish. She did not want to dance with him.
Once, of course, she had not known how to dance, but that had changed in France. To be Eloisa’s companion and Natasha’s chaperone, she needed to know the art. She had learned soon after her employment. Eloisa had insisted that she do so. She remembered how foolish she had felt when Monsieur Laboe had swept her across the dining room of their Parisian townhouse. Now, dancing was second nature.
In short order, Percy swept off towards the floor with Natasha, and Nathanial—having no other choice, even though he seemed very ill at ease at the prospect—left with Elizabeth.
Alone with Petunia, Olivia smiled at the girl. “Do not feel that you shouldn’t find a partner on my account. You must have many beaux who want to dance with you.”
Petunia smiled. “I do not know about many. Certainly, some. But I have much to time to dance. I would much rather speak to you.”
Olivia found such a statement quite odd. For a moment, she was speechless.
“I hope you will not find my recalling the association impudent,” she continued, moving closer to Olivia, “But Auggie said that you used to be a maid in our house. A long time ago.”
Auggie. She had forgotten that his family called him by that name. Of course, the younger children wouldn’t remember her.
Why would Augustus bring up such a thing to them? Was it an attempt to humiliate her?
“I was,” she said, trying to carry it off as lightly as she could, “You must find it strange to meet with your former maid here at Almack’s.”
“Oh no!” Petunia said, the girl blushing and shaking her head so that her curls bounced. “That is not what I meant at all. Oh, Auggie will slaughter me, if he thinks that I have been rude! I just—well, there is a rumor that I heard long ago, about my brother, and I have always been so curious about it. But I cannot ask mother or Auggie, of course—it would upset them if I brought it. But I thought you might know. My maid, Valerie, said that it is well known among the servants in our house that my brother was in love with a maid a long time ago. But then she disappeared, and he was heartbroken! I wonder if you knew who she was—you might know, since you worked there when Auggie was younger.”
If Olivia had been speechless before, she didn’t have a word for her state now. The girl seemed to describe her—even though such a thing made no sense. So, perhaps, there had been another maid, before or after. And, then, of course, there had been other maids, she reminded herself. He was the Downstairs Menace. The Ten Guinea Lord. And she had no idea what the girl knew about her brother’s reputation. She must know what he was known for; it was impossible that she would not.
She would have suspected the girl of making some kind of cruel jest, but she saw only questioning in her wide, innocent eyes.
“I am sorry,” she managed, “I know nothing of it.”
“Ah,” the girl sighed, “It was unlikely, of course. I’ve always just been so curious, you see, because Augustus never seems interested in any of the ladies we meet in society. He never has any matrimonial gossip surrounding him—and he is nearly four-and-thirty, you know.” Olivia saw worry flash across the girl’s face. How odd, the girl seemed to have no notion of her brother as the hardened rake of the scandal sheets. She seemed to regard him with some mixture of admiration, pity, and concern. “But I have most probably said too much. Now, you must tell me about Miss Mapperton. Percy seems smitten, along with half of London.”
On much more comfortable ground, she chattered with Petunia for the remainder of the dance. She hoped that pouring this glowing impression of Natasha into Petunia’s ear would help her cause with Percy. Petunia certainly betrayed no sense that the association would be unwanted to her family.
The others returned and soon it was Petunia who departed for the floor on the arm of Nathanial. Elizabeth was almost immediately called away, too, by a gaggle of young ladies with a distinctly bluestocking-ish air to them. Natasha had, apparently, been waylaid by one of the Templeton boys for a dance and Percy had found himself a new partner as well.
That left the uncomfortable trio of Olivia, Eloisa, and Augustus. They all stood stiffly with one another for a moment—but their trio was interrupted almost instantly by a neat-looking man around the age of forty.
“I beg your pardon, madam. I know that I take an unspeakable liberty, but I could not resist,” he said to Eloisa, “I must ask. Are you Eloisa Duras?”
Olivia saw Eloisa start at the use of her maiden name, which she had not used in years.
And then a strange expression broke across Eloisa’s face.
“Alfred Tombey? No!”
“It is me, Eloisa!”
Eloisa made quick introductions between Alfred, Olivia, and Augustus. Olivia saw Alfred start at the mention of Augustus’s title. Olivia vaguely remembered Eloisa speaking about a stable boy named Alfred who had been her friend at her old employer’s. She wondered what Alfred had done to rise in the world and now be a guest at Almack’s.
After a few moments, Alfred quickly led Eloisa away to a quiet corner of the room for a refreshment. And, Olivia suspected, the chance to talk over old times somewhere quieter.
Olivia felt a prickle of anticipation run down her spine as she realized she was now alone with Augustus. Part of her yearned to dance with him and she wondered if he would ask her—but she also knew that they shouldn’t. Not in front of his world at Almack’s. Surely, Augustus’s attention to the family was already drawing enough notice.
She still did not know what to make of what his sister had said. In love with a maid. It seemed to carry some wisp of a story she did not understand but recognized—and, yet, perhaps, it was just a twisted, watered-down version of society gossip.
“Please, will you sit,” a deep voice said, from just behind her ear.
She turned and looked up at Augustus. Part of her still revolted from him. But whatever had happened in their past, he was being undoubtedly kind to the Mappertons now. Didn’t she owe their ally the courtesy of common respect? And, here, in this place, she could not refuse him.
“Yes,” she said, quietly, and let him lead her to a seat a little way off the dance floor.
Once they were situated, he leaned in. “I would ask you to dance, Miss Watson, but I am not sure you would accept.”
“I wouldn’t,” she said, quickly, with more bite than she meant, and she saw his expression fall a fraction, “It would attract too much notice. People will already exclaim at your attention to the Mappertons. It will not help to add me to that list.”
“If you think I care what these people think of me, you mistake my character, Miss Watson.”
His light eyes caught hers and, for a second, she was lost somewhere between their intensity and the kindness of his tone.
“You may not care what they think but the Mappertons and I do not have that luxury.”
He bowed his head, as if conceding her point. “I merely meant that I do not give credence to societal censure. Surely, my blackened reputation confirms at least that.”
“Certainly, you do not seem to have conducted yourself for the approbation of society.”
“No,” he said with a low chuckle that sent something traitorous snaking through her blood. “I have not. And while I have no desire to change their opinion of me, I would like to improve my standing in your eyes.”
“You cannot care what I think,” Olivia blurted out, “Please—don’t be cruel.”
“I never want to be cruel to you, Olivia. I never did. I understand that, in the past, I may have made a poor impression upon you. If I hurt you, I am deeply sorry.”
Olivia was stunned by the words. He was admitting that the way he dismissed her was cruel—and asking for her forgiveness.
She nodded, stiffly. It was humiliating, in a way, to have to acknowledge what he had done. But it seemed petty to treat him with incivility now, especially when he was going to such lengths to make amends. And, really, he was doing much more than anyone would think was warranted. Most people, in his world and hers, would think the ten guineas thirteen years ago sufficient compensation.
It didn’t matter how it had rent her heart. The heart of a maidservant was worth far less than ten guineas in most corners of Britain.
“And I want you to know,” he continued, “that I have no designs on Miss Mapperton. And no objections to her acquaintance with my brother.”
“Eloisa doubts Lord Percy is at an age to be serious in his affections.”
“I do not think obtaining a certain age is necessary for lasting attachment. I see no objection to the match, if he wants to make it. But that’s not my affair.”
“Isn’t it?”
He shook his head. “No, Miss Watson.”
From the way he looked at her, his light eyes alit with that intensity, she had the strange feeling that he was implying something else was his affair—her. But he didn’t say it. And why would he feel any uncommon interest in her? For whatever reason, he felt he needed to right this wrong of his past, and he was merely doing it.
Soon, Petunia appeared at her brother’s shoulder, and their tete-a-tete was dissolved.
But for the rest of the evening, Olivia felt the thrum of his nearness—and of the absorbing expression that had been in his gaze.