Chapter 4 #2
“And you, Lord Langley – do not imagine for a moment that I am unaware of your lurking presence!” She whirled upon him.
“Skulking about in alcoves like a disreputable footman with wicked intentions! I would not be in the least surprised to learn this entire disgraceful episode was your doing.” She advanced upon him with a pointed finger.
“Should it come to light that you encouraged my daughter in this utter madness, I shall see you barred from every respectable drawing room from here to Bath. Your name shall be struck from our Christmas card list forever, and your reputation dragged through the pages of The Morning Gazette like a common rakehell. I shall write to your mother at once and demand to know what sort of rearing produces such a – such a –”
Whatever formidable accusation she had meant to deliver was lost to a tremulous gasp. Lady Tolliver pressed a hand to her forehead and swayed dangerously.
Theo closed the distance in two unhurried strides, catching her as though rescuing a lady toppling in a country set. “Well,” he said, far too entertained by the entire ordeal, “that is certainly one way of concluding a disagreement.”
Hetty, for her part, was entirely useless through her stifled gasps of laughter. “Oh dear. What is to be done? I am dreadfully afraid I left the vinaigrette in my reticule at home.”
“A grievous oversight,” Theo said solemnly, adjusting Lady Tolliver’s limp form. “Shall we abandon her here and allow Society to draw its own conclusions?”
“Theodore Winslow! You are ghastly.”
“Not in the least,” he returned, lowering Lady Tolliver to the floor before withdrawing a pace. “Indeed, I am convinced she shall rouse the instant someone dares utter the word ruin within ten paces.”
At that precise moment, a great commotion erupted from across the ballroom.
It seemed they were not nearly so secluded as Theo had supposed, for Viscount Tolliver had spotted his wife and was now thundering through the assembled guests with the grace of a startled bull.
“My love!” he bellowed. “Hold fast, my darling! Do not go into the light! Someone fetch a physician at once!”
This, of course, was precisely the wrong thing to say.
A collective gasp swept through the room as guests snapped open their fans in unison, and an elderly dowager was heard praying audibly for Lady Tolliver’s soul.
One poor fellow, evidently overcome by the drama, emptied an entire glass of wine down his waistcoat, and a particularly excitable young lady emitted an unrestrained shriek and had to be steadied by her chaperone.
A chorus of “A physician! A physician!” began to rise in earnest, and somewhere near the lemonade table, an overzealous footman rolled up his sleeves as though preparing to perform surgery on the spot.
Theo, to his credit, arranged his features into an expression approximating concern, though the effort was somewhat undermined by the sight of Hetty, whose complexion was now flushed with the strain of suppressing laughter.
“Papa, please. Mama has merely swooned. She is not, to my knowledge, bound for the hereafter.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it!” thundered Viscount Tolliver, dropping to one knee beside his wife with such dramatic force that he very nearly overturned a passing tray of champagne.
“Stand back, all of you! The light of my life has suffered a grievous collapse! I shall not allow her to perish amidst this rabble of ruffians and libertines. I said we ought never to have left home for Christmas this year!”
A bewildered murmur passed through the crowd.
“Christmas?” Theo muttered aside to Hetty. “But it is April.”
She kept her eyes fixed ahead, clearly not daring to look at him lest she dissolve into laughter once more. “Yes, well, you must make allowances for Papa. His grasp upon the calendar becomes somewhat uncertain when agitated.”
“Shall I summon a Yule log and roasted goose?” Theo asked under his breath. “Or will a physician suffice?”
Hetty gave up all pretence of composure, stepping back with one hand clapped over her mouth in a manner that could, at a glance, be mistaken for genteel distress, though Theo knew full well she was struggling not to cackle aloud .
“My dearest, my treasure – do not leave me!” the viscount cried, seizing one of his wife’s limp hands and pressing it to his chest with enough fervour to resemble an amateur stage performance. “My love has succumbed to the plague! Speak to me, I beg you! Blink once if you can hear me!”
At length, Lady Tolliver fluttered her lashes open.
She took in the chaos about her – the flurry of fans, the wineglasses slopping their contents, the viscount clutching her hand as though awaiting the headsman’s axe – bestowed upon her husband a look so withering it might have soured milk.
“For heaven’s sake, Bertram,” she hissed, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“I have fainted, not succumbed to the plague. Kindly remove yourself from the floor before you cause an even greater scene. And no, it is not Christmas.”
“Well,” muttered the viscount as he heaved himself upright, seizing the sleeve of a nearby footman for support, “that does rather explain the lamentable absence of figgy pudding.”
The unfortunate footman could do little more than remain rigid as the viscount clambered to his feet. Around them, the assembled company released a collective sigh of disappointment.
“Shall I call for your carriage, Lady Tolliver?” asked Theo, offering his arm with just enough gravity to make Hetty smother another laugh behind her fan. “Or do you feel equal to the rigours of society now that the worst is past?”
Lady Tolliver, restored to both life and temper, accepted his arm with queenly disdain.
Once upright, she adjusted her gloves and fixed Theo with a look so imperious that a lesser man might have been felled on the spot.
“I am quite equal to it, thank you, Lord Langley. Though if there is another syllable uttered concerning Christmas, plague, or puddings of any description, I shall expire entirely… and take you all with me.”
Theo bowed low. “Then I shall speak of nothing but springtime, robust health, and water biscuits, ma’am.”
“See that you do,” she replied, before rounding upon a passing footman. “You there, boy – lemonade and some headache powder. At once!”
The poor lad turned on his heel and nearly tripped over in his haste.
“I observe she has dispensed with the sighing stage entirely and advanced straight to ordering refreshments,” Theo murmured, low enough for Hetty’s ears alone, as he drew up beside her.
“Yes, well,” Hetty replied, regaining her composure and adjusting her gloves. “Efficiency comes with practice. I really ought to have armed myself with smelling-salts. And perhaps a black veil for the period of mourning she will now require over my ruined reputation.”
Lady Tolliver fluttered her fingers weakly. “I cannot believe my own daughter would subject me to such torment. My heart is delicate, you know, and this music is positively violent. Someone must speak to the conductor – ”
Hetty cast Theo a sidelong glance. “Come, before she remembers we are still here.”
He fell into step behind her as she glided towards the refreshment table: a stately display of syllabubs and trifles, flanked by fluted glasses of orgeat, ratafia and watered wine. She plucked a sugared apricot and bit into it, entirely untroubled by the crowd of eyes that still followed her.
Theo watched her with no small degree of admiration. “I cannot decide if that gown was chosen to torment your mother or the rest of the ton .”
“Why not both?” Hetty replied, her tone perfectly mild as she surveyed the refreshment table. Her gloved fingers hovered over the syllabubs before settling on a small chocolate pastille, which she lifted with care.
“A perilous choice,” Theo observed. “One false move and you shall have it upon your glove, though I daresay none of the gentlemen present would be looking at your hands.”
She gave him a look over the top of the chocolate. “And where, pray, would they be looking?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Where every gentleman has been looking since you entered the room, my dear… straight at your décolletage, and wondering which blessed tailor is in possession of the measurements.”
Hetty made a sound of well-bred disgust and popped the chocolate into her mouth. “You are utterly without shame.”
“And you,” Theo returned with perfect ease, “are utterly without mercy. Have you the least notion of the havoc you have wrought this evening? I overheard a fellow near the orchestra labouring over a sonnet in your honour. The first couplet employed the word orbs .”
“Revolting.”
“I agree entirely. An absolute menace to public decency. ”
“I see your powers of exaggeration remain as unrestrained as ever.”
“They require little embellishment,” he said. “Before the night is out, I expect wagers will be laid on whether your fichu survives the next set.”
Hetty accepted a glass from a passing tray and downed it in a single tilt of her head. “Well… if you still intend to be of use to my most dreadful scheme for ruination, Lord Langley, I should think this a most opportune moment to begin.”
Theo smiled, and without waiting for consent, plucked her dance card from her wrist. “Reckless of you to leave it so unguarded,” he murmured, uncapping the tiny pencil already.
“I was rather distracted by maternal collapse.”
He scanned the list with a critical eye and made a low sound of disgust. “Lord Crimplethorpe? Good God. He smells like boiled eggs.” He struck through the offending name and inscribed his own beside the next set.
“Only one?” Hetty asked.
“Would you prefer I claim two?”
“Two reels and a waltz. We are trying to incite a scandal, are we not?”
He tapped the pencil thoughtfully against his chin. “Two dances might imply genuine interest. Three would be positively brazen.”
“And four?”
He grinned, adding his name once more. “Four would be war.”
“A bold opening gambit,” Hetty grinned. “I should warn you – Georgie keeps a ledger. ”
“A ledger?”
“A matchmaking ledger,” she said darkly. “You shall be in it by morning.”
“Good God,” he muttered, replacing her card upon her wrist. “Is it too late to flee to Portugal?”
“Far too late. You’ve already made yourself quite conspicuous. Lord Crimplethorpe saw you cross out his name.”
“Then the die is well and truly cast, and my reputation for civility dashed beyond all repair. A tremendous relief, really. I have already danced with Miss Pomeroy this evening, and one bore a night is quite sufficient.” He offered his arm with mock solemnity.
“Shall we commence the first official stage of this little scheme, Miss Tolliver?”
Hetty looped her arm through his elbow. “By all means, Lord Langley. Let us be dreadful.”