A Crime of Manners (5 page)

“Lord Baddick! How glad I am to see you. Do you know my aunt, Lady Fuddlesby?”

Lord Baddick saw Miss Lanford was flattered by his obvious interest. He took care to address Lady Fuddlesby with an equal amount of attentiveness. He was rewarded when she seemed as delighted as her niece.

Lady Fuddlesby was not well acquainted with the viscount, but had been told of his helpful intervention at the Pig and Thistle, and so was prepared to like him. Tales of his disreputable treatment of women were not yet well spread among the ton and thus had not reached her ears.

“Lord Baddick, I must add my thanks for your timely assistance to my niece on the road to London,” Lady Fuddlesby said graciously. She wanted the Duke of Winterton for Henrietta but was not so caper-witted as to discourage the attentions of a handsome, rich viscount. If nothing else, Lord Baddick’s attentions might serve to make Winterton jealous, her ladyship judged.

“My lady, I assure you I consider myself the most fortunate of men to have had the pleasure of meeting Miss Lanford. If I was of any small service to her, it can only gladden my heart.”

He bestowed a teasing glance on Henrietta, then continued speaking to Lady Fuddlesby. “I must tell you, Miss Lanford has promised to save me a dance, and I will hold her to that promise with your permission, ma’am. Do you go to the Denbys’ ball?”

Lady Fuddlesby answered affirmatively to both his questions. After more pleasantries were exchanged, Lord Baddick went on his way, eager for the opportunity to further his schemes for Henrietta’s seduction.

Henrietta felt the uneasiness about her upcoming first ball lessen with the knowledge the friendly Lord Baddick would be there to dance with. She could not help but wonder if the Duke of Winterton would attend and solicit her hand. A shiver of anticipation ran up her spine at the thought.

As they resumed their shopping, Lady Fuddlesby chirped, “Mark my words, gentlemen will be about you, my darling girl, like flies around the jam pot.”

Smiling at her aunt, Henrietta hoped she might be correct at least where two gentlemen were concerned.

Only Felice wore a worried frown.

* * * *

At the Duke of Winterton’s town house in Park Lane, Giles was being helped by Tyler into a morning coat of darkest blue superfine. Tyler was a short, slim man with an arrogance almost as great as the duke’s. Because the duke was considered a leader of fashion, the valet never let his master out of the house looking anything less than perfectly groomed and attired. Tyler secretly imagined a rivalry between himself and Robinson, Beau Brummell’s man.

Sir Polly Grey, looking quite comfortable in his large cage, munched a piece of unbuttered bread. Butter upset his delicate system. His black eyes glittered when Giles stood ready to go out. The bird paused in his eating, and he garbled in the old duke’s voice, “Vayne. Marriage. A suitable gel.”

The duke scowled at the parrot and set out on his way to meet his godfather, Colonel Owen Colchester. Having gone to Oxford with Giles’s father, Colonel Colchester was a longtime family friend. He had sent round a note announcing his arrival in Town and his retirement after a life spent in the army. He begged Giles to wait on him at his earliest convenience at Stephens Hotel, the hostelry preferred by military men.

They had not seen each other since the old duke’s funeral over a year ago, and the two men greeted each other with affection. The duke held a considerable amount of respect for his father’s friend and, indeed, deemed him his own closest supporter. The colonel was the only person other than the duke’s mother who got away with calling him “my boy.”

“Well, sir, how does it feel to be a gentlemen of leisure?” the duke asked, the men seating themselves in two wing chairs close to the fire. The colonel was a tall, distinguished-looking, gray-haired gentleman with lively brown eyes. As he disdained the traditional military side-whiskers, his strong face was clean-shaven.

They conversed on several topics including the war and mutual acquaintances before the colonel got around to answering the duke’s question.

“I tell you, my boy, I am at loose ends. My place in the country seems too docile for me right now. A little Town life is what I need to keep me from sinking into the doldrums.” The colonel’s beloved wife had died three years ago after a long struggle with the wasting disease. He still missed her sorely, and they had not been blessed with children.

“You must come and stay with me, sir. Plenty of room, you know. At least stay for the Season. I would be glad of your company.”

The colonel accepted this welcome invitation promptly. He thought it would be an excellent opportunity for him to keep an eye on his godson. He shared the seventh Duke of Winterton’s feelings regarding Giles’s need to marry, although this belief in the colonel was not as violent as it had been in the old duke. More to the point, he sensed an un-happiness beneath Giles’s air of fashionable boredom that troubled his fatherly nature.

After concluding arrangements for the colonel’s removal to Park Lane, the duke continued to another call he was not as enthusiastic at making.

Matilda, Dowager Duchess of Winterton, kept her own town house in Berkeley Square, one of the best addresses in London. Lady Fuddlesby’s old rival was enjoying her widowhood. A controlling sort of person, she’d spent her life crossing swords with her autocratic husband in a loveless marriage and now relished not having to deal with him or his detestable parrot.

Her mouth turned down at the corners, and her dark hair was flecked with gray, but she had a regal bearing.

At present she was entertaining Hester Eden, Countess of Mawbly, and the woman’s daughter, Lady Clorinda Eden, in the Egyptian-styled drawing room. While the teacups were being passed around, the Duke of Winterton was announced.

Looking at the company, he drawled, “Perhaps I have called at a bad time, Mother?”

She answered him in a high, thin voice. “When was your company ever not wanted, Giles?” Although she was fond of her son, he proved as hard to control as his father, rankling her grace. She found Giles’s single state vulgar and deplored the attention drawn to the family by it.

She looked to see Lady Mawbly’s reaction to her son’s entrance. The dowager suspected he was the reason Hester befriended her. A shrewd expression crossed her features while she thought with approval of Lady Mawbly’s thinly veiled desire for a match between her daughter and Giles. Lady Mawbly’s sole interests in life were her standing in Society and the acquisition of jewels. Clorinda was a suitable girl with a sizable dowry, and she excelled in all the ladylike accomplishments. She would do as the future duchess.

The duke dutifully kissed his mother’s cheek and turned to the other ladies present. The dowager performed the introductions and he bowed low. Dismissing Lady Mawbly as a rabbity woman, wearing what must surely be the entire contents of her jewel box, he concentrated on the charms of her daughter.

He thought Lady Clorinda a Diamond of the First Water, sure to be the Season’s Beauty. As Winterton scrutinized her, she sat in a calm and composed manner on a chair boasting of legs shaped like crocodile heads.

“Lady Clorinda, how fortunate we are to have you enliven our Season.” He took in the glory of her emerald-colored eyes and golden curls. Her cleverly cut white muslin morning gown managed to reveal her seductive figure while remaining perfectly correct, intriguing him.

The vision spoke. “Thank you, Your Grace. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” Her voice was low and well modulated.

Deciding to stay longer than he initially planned, the duke sat on a remarkably uncomfortable backless sofa with serpents carved in the legs.

During the polite social conversation that followed, Lady Mawbly mentally rubbed her hands with glee. She could not have wished for a better opportunity for her Clorinda to meet his grace! How clever she was, cultivating the dowager duchess’s company instead of resorting to the machinations of other matchmaking mamas! But she dared not press her advantage. She waited for a break in the conversation and rose with a clattering of necklaces.

“How the time does fly! Clorinda and I must be on our way. My husband, the earl, is in Town,” she said as if her husband demanded every moment of her time. This was certainly not true as her ladyship led her husband a dog’s life, nagging him mercilessly. But Lady Mawbly was fond of punctuating her sentences with references to her husband’s title because she had been a mere baron’s daughter before her marriage.

Clorinda took her leave of the duke and his mother with a quiet dignity. The minute the two ladies reached the privacy of their carriage she let loose her ire. “How can you be so stupid, Mama?” Clorinda hissed, stamping the tip of her parasol on the carriage floor for emphasis. “I was just about to ask the duke if he would be attending the Denbys’ ball Friday, and what needs you do but jump up and make us leave,” she finished in a disgusted tone.

For underneath her soft-spoken, poised exterior was the soul of a shrew. Clorinda shared her mother’s love of Society, and that, combined with a willful, selfish personality, made her determined to become Winterton’s duchess.

“Calm down,” Lady Mawbly said soothingly, sensing one of her daughter’s tantrums coming on and seeking to avert it. “Did you not mark the way his grace never took his eyes from you? Why, you have enslaved him already, my pet. I am certain he will be at the Denbys’ and will rush to secure two dances with you.” She went on in this manner the entire way back to their town house before Clorinda was pacified.

Meanwhile, the duke commented to his mother that Lady Clorinda was a prettily-behaved girl, raising his mother’s hopes that he might marry after all.

Later, he found himself comparing Lady Clorinda with Miss Henrietta Lanford, then wondered why, when such a comparison left Miss Lanford the clear loser, the thought disturbed him.

He chided himself for unfairly comparing the two. Miss Lanford could not measure up to Lady Clorinda in any way. She was unsuitable for the title of duchess, being a mere squire’s daughter. Lady Clorinda, on the other hand, was an earl’s daughter. God put one in one’s station in life and expected one not to step below it when choosing a mate. This was his father’s philosophy, and Giles told himself he shared it.

He certainly did not spare a thought for the effect his careless words to Lord Kramer comparing Miss Lanford to a horse might have on her life, for he had quite forgotten them.

* * * *

The night of the Denbys’ ball seemed an eternity away and then it was upon them. Felice kept busy assisting first Lady Fuddlesby, then Henrietta.

Trying to sit still while Felice arranged her hair, Henrietta felt her nerves stretched to the breaking point. She struggled for composure while her mind dwelled on the Duke of Winterton. Surely he would attend the ball. Would he find her new hairstyle and fine gown pleasing? Would he dance with her?

“Mees, you must stop the fidgeting or I cannot do my work,” Felice admonished.

At last it was time to leave. It was never far to go anywhere in the West End. Henrietta and Lady Fuddlesby could have easily walked to the Denbys’ town house in Hanover Square, but that would

have been a social disgrace equal to tying one’s garters in public.

The two ladies stepped out into the wintry spring evening and entered Lady Fuddlesby’s carriage.

The night was thick with fog. Henrietta thought London appeared more than ever a fairyland. She recalled her dreams were always set in misty scenes and felt herself a princess in the softness of her white silk gown. Pearls decorated the thin braids Felice had artfully wound through the curls in her dark hair. As befitted a young girl in her first Season, a pearl necklace and eardrops were her only jewelry.

Lady Fuddlesby, lovely in dark pink taffeta with diamonds flashing at her neck, recalled her own first ball and said, “Oh, my dear, this will truly be a night for you to remember all your life. And you look most becoming.” She could hardly wait to see the Duke of Winterton’s reaction to her niece. She would wager he had dismissed Henrietta as nothing out of the common way after that first ill-timed meeting. A smug smile curved her lips.

Henrietta blinked back sudden tears. “Thank you, my lady. I confess I was unable to eat a bite of the delicious dinner Mrs. Pottsworth prepared, being so beset with anticipation of this evening. I do hope I will not disappoint you. You have been so very kind.” She reached over to clasp her gloved hand with her aunt’s in an affectionate squeeze.

Lady Fuddlesby smiled warmly and then remembered a task that lay before her. “I must seek out Lady Cowper to secure your vouchers for Almack’s. The opening ball is next Wednesday evening.”

Lady Fuddlesby chose Lady Cowper to appeal to, as Countess Lieven and Princess Esterhazy were awfully high in the instep, and one never knew what they might take exception to. She never considered asking Mrs. Drummond-Burrell. Lady Fuddlesby shuddered, picturing that terrifying woman.

Their carriage fought its way through the press until they arrived at the Denbys’.

Walking into the imposing town house, Henrietta could hear the strains of music coming from the ballroom. Her stomach a tight knot, she stepped up to the threshold and stared.

The room was bright from the light of hundreds of candles. Hothouse flowers scented the air. Henrietta saw a crowd of people all dressed in their finery. The gentlemen, in dark evening dress, were a stark contrast to the ladies in their colorful gowns. Jewels caught the candlelight and glowed.

A quadrille commenced and Henrietta said a silent thank-you to Biddles for having insisted on a dancing teacher. She grasped the tip of her ivory fan tightly, hoping she would remember the steps of all the dances.

Lady Fuddlesby led her over to rows of gilt chairs placed against the wall for the chaperons and the unlucky ladies obliged to sit out a dance. While they were making their way, Henrietta saw quizzing glasses raised and felt heat rise to her cheeks at the scrutiny. Was this the treatment afforded any new face on the London scene? If so, she must need to endure it.