CHAPTER XXIII
IT did not take the rest of the household long to notice that Hetty and Arthur had quarrelled.
In the carriage on the way to Lady Cavendish’s assembly, they would not look at each another, and when circumstances did force them to speak, they did so with such freezing propriety that Trixie, looking from one to the other, demanded to know what on earth was the matter.
Neither one would, however, answer, and Trixie – tiring of pressing them unsuccessfully – allowed herself to be distracted by the spectacle of their arrival.
Lady Cavendish had, for that evening only, transformed the entirety of her ground- and first-floor rooms into a garden from a fairy tale: palms and ferns were arranged at each corner of each room, hanging-baskets were suspended from the ceiling, and – most impressive of all – garlands wound through trellises set against the walls, so each room felt entirely encompassed in greenery.
Everyone was most impressed, save for Timothy – ‘I’ve had enough of dashed flowers!
’ – while Lady Allerton’s unease at attending another ball so unique was plain, and only grew when they partook of a most elegant supper in which dessert included several dozen pineapples.
This, at four and five guineas a piece, was a truly extraordinary display of abundance that few other hostesses could hope to match.
‘Though I should have served it with different removes,’ Lady Allerton reasoned later that evening. ‘Truly, all the pineapples in the world cannot account for such an excess of syllabub.’ She heaved a sigh and told Arthur: ‘We must think of a theme for our ball.’
‘An ordinary ball will serve very well,’ Arthur said briefly.
‘Perhaps our theme might be fire,’ Lady Allerton mused, disregarding this. ‘We could have performances from fire-masters, and fireworks, and – illuminations upon the front of the building!’
‘One might as well have the theme be danger,’ Arthur commented. ‘No, Mother: I do not particularly wish to be responsible for burning people alive.’
Lady Allerton deflated.
‘I think illuminations would be very fine,’ Hetty put in contrarily.
‘Thank you, Hetty.’ Lady Allerton glared at Arthur. ‘You know, my dear, Lord Allerton might be on Mrs Corcott’s guest list, but Thimbleby is not!’
She turned a shoulder upon him to strike up a conversation with Mrs Corcott, and Hetty – who after a decade of seeking out Arthur’s company now could not bear to be alone with him – turned to make her own escape.
Halfway across the ballroom, however, and her path was obstructed by Sir Marcus Kirkham, who had been lying in wait as a snake in the grass, and halted her not ten steps away and asking if Hetty would like to take some air with him.
‘It has been so very long since we have had a coze together,’ he said caressingly.
‘I do not recall our ever having a “coze” before, sir,’ Hetty said coolly.
Next, she sidestepped Lord Fenton, before finally finding refuge with Mr Hargan, who surprised Hetty with a prompt – if stammering – invitation to dance.
‘I was hoping that your offer of practice might still stand,’ he explained, blushing intensely.
‘Of course,’ Hetty said instantly. ‘May I ask what has prompted such a change?’
His disjointed reply gave Hetty no further enlightenment, but they took to the floor, nonetheless.
Afterwards, Hetty – intent on busying herself in as much riotous enjoyment as she could possibly manage – spent an agreeable hour sipping champagne with the Morgans, laughing with the Marquis and dancing with every person who requested her hand.
It was a great and effective act of revenge: Arthur, try as he might, could not seem to find the capacity to do the same, and those unfortunate enough to engage him in conversation found him sadly lacking in the charm for which he was usually well known.
Fortunately, for Arthur, too much else occurred that evening for his brusqueness to be much remembered.
Most excitingly for the gossips, there was – halfway through the ball – the most deliciously improper scene when the Duke of Sussex, arriving at the ball after the supper had concluded, had only to clap eyes upon Mademoiselle de Nicolet to suffer a great and terrible loss of temper.
He approached Mademoiselle Isabelle in high dudgeon, and in full view of the rest of the guests, they had engaged in a verbal altercation which caused him to immediately storm from the ballroom without so much as a thank you to his hostess.
‘It is safe to assume that their courtship is at an end,’ Prince Wilhelm observed to Trixie. ‘One only wishes he could have waited to do so in private. Do you care to dance?’
But Trixie did not accept his offer. Looking across the room, she saw that Mademoiselle de Nicolet, pink-faced and mortified, was being comforted in a low voice by the unmistakeable figure of Captain Edgewood. Trixie made an immediate beeline in their direction.
‘There you are, Isabelle!’ she declared, just as Captain Edgewood was asking her to dance. ‘We are all waiting for you in the card room!’
The Captain gave a little bow. ‘Miss Allerton, good evening. It is very good to see you.’
Trixie gave him her sweetest smile. ‘I do so wish I could agree,’ she said apologetically. ‘Isabelle, I do not wish to hurry you, but …’
A curious expression upon her face, Mademoiselle de Nicolet accepted Trixie’s summons.
‘Do you not care for the fellow?’ she asked. ‘I found him very sympathetic.’
‘I find that singularly unsurprising,’ Trixie said. ‘He’s a snake, you know.’
Trixie did not need much prompting to divulge the full story. She had been discreet for such a long time – days! – that she could hardly keep it to herself any longer.
‘Shall I cut him for you?’ Mademoiselle de Nicolet asked, once the tale had concluded. ‘I will, you know.’
Trixie was rather gratified. ‘That is kind. If you could do so with many observers I should appreciate it greatly.’
Mademoiselle de Nicolet promised she would do so. ‘Although I am perhaps not in a position to be rejecting suitors any more. I suppose you saw what happened.’
‘Everyone did,’ Trixie said apologetically. ‘What on earth occurred to have him so cross?’
‘I did not think he would take it quite so badly – all I did was wear someone else’s flowers …
’ She looked down to the delicate posy she was wearing.
‘I do not care for roses, and they clashed so horribly with my gown – and these are quite the most beautiful things I have ever seen. What else could I do?’
‘Perhaps you might have told him before he hauled all those roses up from Kent,’ Trixie reasoned practically.
Mademoiselle de Nicolet bit her lip. ‘Is it very bad? My aunt warned me that such scenes are the ruination of a lady’s reputation.’
‘Oh pish,’ Trixie said. ‘If he wants to make a fool of himself then that is his prerogative – as long as everyone sees you dancing and enjoying yourself, they will think him at fault, not you. Quick, who is your partner for the next set?
‘I had saved this dance for the Duke, but now he’s left in a cloud of rage …’
‘You must dance,’ Trixie insisted. ‘Here – Corky! You do not have a partner.’
Corky, who had been trying to skulk past Mademoiselle de Nicolet without being noticed – Timothy’s warning made ever more prescient by the public casting aside of the Duke – gulped. However, never one to shy away from a duty, he swept Mademoiselle de Nicolet off to the dance floor.
It was first of several unfortunate pieces of timing that night that Mr Timothy Allerton should enter the ballroom at just that moment – and one of the first sights to meet him was Corky dancing with Mademoiselle de Nicolet, a spray of unmistakeable blooms upon her person.
He had known, at once, that Corky had betrayed their agreement, and though he knew he should have expected treachery, it still winded him.
Unable to bear the sight before his eyes, he disappeared in search of a refreshment which would soothe this fresh sting of betrayal.
Arthur, meanwhile, was just as blue-devilled as his brother.
‘Arthur, why on earth are you not dancing?’ Lady Allerton chastised him, appearing at his right shoulder. ‘To be on the sidelines when I dare say there must be a dozen young ladies in need of a …’
She followed his gaze to where Hetty and Colonel Davenport were taking to the floor – Hetty no longer needed to watch her feet, it seemed – and trailed off.
‘I vow I have never seen her in such bloom,’ her ladyship observed – her planned scold of Arthur apparently forgotten. ‘Is it not wonderful?’
‘Yes,’ Arthur said shortly.
‘And it is all down to the Marquis! Encouraging her out of her shell.’
Arthur was tempted to explain exactly who it was who had been helping Hetty – not that popinjay in his tight trousers – but bit it back. ‘I need a drink.’
He stalked off to the card room where, he hoped, there would be something stronger than the punch Lady Cavendish was serving at the refreshment table – an instinct that proved true, if one judged by the wobbly way Timothy greeted him.
Having imbibed several glasses of brandy in quick succession, his mood had not improved, but his balance had taken the greater hit.
‘Arthur,’ he said, reaching out to grasp his shoulder. ‘Arthur, you would not believe—’
‘Not now, Timothy,’ Arthur dismissed him, making an about-turn – abruptly deciding that he could not even linger here, but needed to leave the entire assembly.
This increased Timothy’s sense of ill usage, which had, alas, only been magnified by the brandy he had drunk whilst stewing on Corky’s perfidy.
‘Dash it, I’ll just consign myself to the devil, shall I?’ he snapped at Arthur’s departing back.
He considered the prospect of rejoining the table, but felt – rightly – that he was unlikely to recoup any of the losses he had already sustained.
Instead, he made his way, a trifle unsteadily, towards the door, just as Corky – most unfortunately – attempted to enter it.
Timothy had just decided that the truest revenge would be for him to politely ignore the betrayer when the catastrophe happened.
Corky, walking past, contrived to trip, spilling his glass upon Timothy’s trousers for the second time in as many months.
‘Oh!’ he said, in an affectation of shock that fired Timothy up even further.
‘There!’ he said, dashing his own glass upon the fellow’s waistcoat. ‘That is what I think of you!’
‘How dare you!’
After that, a duel had seemed inevitable. Corky had issued the challenge immediately.