Chapter 7 #2
Richard waited alone in the entrance hall, pacing beneath the vaulted ceiling and threading between marble columns. He found himself anticipating watching Meriel Shelby walk down the grand staircase to meet him. He wondered what she’d wear—certainly not a simple day dress.
As the minutes passed, he restlessly continued pacing, and the two footmen pretended not to notice. Finally, Hargraves entered and came up short.
“Your Grace, the carriage was brought around for you twenty minutes ago.”
“I’m waiting for Miss Shelby and my son.”
Hargraves hesitated. “I was given to understand that Miss Shelby and Lord Ramsgate are already in the carriage.”
Richard frowned. “They didn’t come through here.”
“The carriage picked them up at the servants’ entrance, Your Grace.”
Richard felt like a fool, as if he were waiting on his escort for the evening. But all he did was grin. “Then that explains it. And I was trying so hard to be punctual, too.”
The enclosed carriage was waiting in the great circular drive beneath the portico. Richard climbed up inside and found Miss Shelby and Stephen already seated with their backs to the front of the carriage, leaving him the best seat. That irritated him.
Stephen was almost bouncing on the bench. “Father, Miss Shelby said we were supposed to be gone already.”
Richard glanced with amusement at Miss Shelby, who closed her eyes briefly.
“Your Grace, I was not implying that you were late,” she began.
Stephen joined in. “I told her that the duke always has the right time. Isn’t that right, Father?”
Richard relaxed back in his seat as the carriage departed. He was childishly glad the embarrassment had been handed off to Miss Shelby. He wouldn’t even bring up the fact that he’d been waiting for her.
“Yes, Stephen, a clock has no meaning for a duke.”
Miss Shelby looked out the window, and he thought her jaw muscles had clenched. She must know he was teasing, but she did not seem in a receptive mood.
“Stephen, I don’t think Miss Shelby understood my joke,” Richard said. “Certainly a duke needs to be concerned about the time. There are always so many meetings to attend, and I could never do business if I left people constantly waiting for me.”
That was Richard speaking rather than Cecil, but Miss Shelby kept her silence and ignored him.
Leisurely, he took the opportunity to study her.
She was wearing a dark cloak that hid her from her neck to her toes.
He was disappointed that she still wore her hair in the usual plain, severe chignon, but he could hardly command that she style it another way. Of course Cecil would have…
“Miss Shelby,” he said, “no elaborate hairstyle for the evening?”
She coolly glanced at him. “Are the guests going to object to my appearance?”
“No, but perhaps I might.”
Her tone became even more frosty. “Your Grace, if you plan to dictate my hairstyle from now on, we will have a meeting to discuss my response.”
Where she would point out a corner of Hell for him to reside in, he thought, not bothering to hide his grin.
It was less than a half hour’s ride into town, and except for answering Stephen’s questions about the fishing fleet and the royal harbor, Miss Shelby said nothing.
Richard was getting the distinct impression that she was angry with him, but he wasn’t certain why.
There could be so many reasons, due to the way he was behaving.
He found himself wishing he could be himself around her—but that would mean telling her the truth, and he would trust no one with that, certainly not a woman he’d met just days ago.
The Assembly was being held in the public rooms above the Bull and Bear Tavern.
The view overlooked the harbor, and Richard studied the fishing boats, their masts rocking gently in the twilight.
Usually landlocked in Manchester, since he’d been home he’d found himself enjoying the sea air.
Maybe he could just stay out here and avoid the crowds, all of whom knew Cecil.
Or he could pretend that his illness had returned, instead of the true reason: that his nerves were telling him he’d never be able to fool so many people.
But these were locals more than Londoners, whose company Cecil usually preferred. Richard told himself that if Cecil’s own servants didn’t recognize the truth, why would mere acquaintances?
So he led Miss Shelby and Stephen through the public room of the tavern, nodding to the various greetings thrown at him by the men at the bar. Cecil was a popular man even with the locals. He felt himself begin to relax.
They ascended the stairs and were met at the top by a line of four matriarchs, forbidding women all, who presided over town events. Richard could not remember their names, but he thought he might once have been afraid of them when they’d visited his father long ago.
Now they were older, more stooped than he remembered, and still they peered at him from behind monocles and over fans. He found himself tensely waiting for the inevitable cry of “You’re an imposter!”
“Looking healthy, I daresay, Your Grace,” said one old woman with enough feathers in her hair to take flight.
He grinned. “Just being in your presence makes a man feel invincible, Your Ladyship.”
He wanted her to titter with laughter, but the four of them of them regarded him sourly.
“Who’s that cowering behind you?” said another woman, garbed in black like a perpetual widow.
Richard stepped aside, and Miss Shelby was put on display. Stephen held her hand. To her credit, she swept into a graceful curtsy.
“This is my son’s governess, Miss Shelby,” Richard said. “Miss Shelby, these are the great ladies who control all the social aspects of Ramsgate.”
After that, they ignored Miss Shelby and peered at Stephen, who stared up at them wearing an eager smile.
“You’ve never brought your son before,” said the woman in feathers.
“I didn’t think him old enough before.”
“Well, the children’s Assembly is through those doors.”
Miss Shelby put a hand on Stephen’s shoulder to guide him away.
Richard wanted to follow, but how would it look for Cecil to care about a children’s party, when he’d brought along a governess for that purpose?
Instead, he wandered into the room beneath thousands of candles in the chandeliers, and found himself besieged by eligible young ladies and their mothers.
Since they’d all been introduced to Cecil, they felt free to approach him.
Luckily, they reintroduced themselves. He thanked God that everyone knew of his brother’s forgetfulness.
He took turns dancing with them all, but he couldn’t help thinking how insipid and silly they were compared to Miss Shelby.
None of them spoke of anything more interesting than the weather, or gossip about the other Assembly guests.
He found himself glancing often through the open double doors to the children’s party.
There were flowers and streamers and the happy sound of children’s laughter.
Once he glimpsed Miss Shelby herself, and he almost stepped on his partner’s toes, before he whirled her away from the door.
Miss Shelby wore a gown of deep purple, like the sky an hour before sunrise.
She didn’t belong in that room. To her credit, she watched over Stephen while wearing a smile, when many of the other governesses strained to see into the main Assembly.
When he felt he’d done his duty as a dancing partner, he discovered a card game in a third room. Just as he was about to enter, a man intercepted him.
Sir Lambert Metcalfe, a landowner from nearby Broadstairs, flashed him a friendly grin. “Thanet, how good to see you up and about. Come tell me what you’ve been up to here in the country.”
To Richard’s surprise, Metcalfe took his arm and tried to steer him away. He eyed the man, showing none of his suspicions. “I’m feeling well enough for a card game. You still play, don’t you, Metcalfe?”
Perspiration seemed to break out on the man’s forehead as Richard watched. Metcalfe was actually trying not to look into the card room.
“It’s crowded, Thanet. Let’s have a drink together instead.”
Richard forced a grin. “No, I’m in the mood for cards. Why don’t you want me to go in there, Metcalfe? Worried I might win too much?”
The man’s face reddened, and with a reluctant sigh, he pulled Richard into a corner of the room, where a tall column partially obscured them from the rest of the guests.
Metcalfe blotted his bald head with a handkerchief. “I didn’t want to be the one who told you—good gracious, I certainly don’t believe it.”
Richard leaned back against the wall, trying for Cecil’s languor, even though every nerve in his body seemed on fire with tension. “Just say it, Metcalfe. Whatever it is, I probably won’t care all that much.”
“Oh, you’ll care, my boy—uh, I mean Your Grace. Thanet.”
He leaned in close enough so that Richard could smell the brandy on his breath.
“Thanet, there’s a nasty rumor circulating that you cheat at cards.”
Richard never let his pleasant smile die.
In fact he started to laugh, causing more than one head to peer around the column at them.
But he didn’t feel any amusement as he wondered if this was a deliberate attempt to discredit Cecil.
“Damn, Metcalfe, as if anyone could believe such a ridiculous thing. Why would I need to cheat at cards, when I’m already so good? ”
And in his worry, he’d made a critical mistake; Cecil wasn’t good at cards. He didn’t have the patience or the discipline for it. But Richard did.