Hope's Betrayal (20 page)

“I’ve never been
scared in my life.”

“…oh hush,
George, and take a brotherly hint. Marrying Eulogy was the best thing I ever
did. No one thinks less of you for having feelings.”

Hope squirmed in
her seat. At her side, George grew tense as a volcano about to erupt.

 "I can
assure you, whatever foolish imaginings you have concocted, nothing could be
further from the truth."

Charles
stretched languidly. "Perchance you protest too much."

"Brother, I
know you are merely trying to provoke a reaction… it's not going to work. 
You're flogging a dead horse."

Hope stared
helplessly from one to the other, wishing they would stop.

"Now, now
boys," Lady Ryevale interjected. "Let's not spoil these last few days
together by scrapping."

"Yes,
Mother." Her boys muttered more or less in unison.

"Besides,
Hope's arrival is most timely," Her Ladyship continued brightly,
"because, Charles, you were about to tell me about the Castelle's. I'm
sure Hope will be intrigued to hear what you have to say"

Dumbfounded,
Hope's jaw dropped. A blush heated her cheeks as the morning went from bad to
worse.

"Mother?
You are up to something." Charles looked mildly amused. "I can’t
imagine what interest the Castelle's could be to either you or Miss Tyler.
Apparently they withdrew from society almost twenty years ago."

Hope sat rigid
in her seat, silently fuming; whatever she had told Lady Ryevale about her
mother had been under the influence of laudanum. However much Her Ladyship had
done for her, didn’t give her the right to go delving into her past.

"No
particular reason. It’s just I was recently reminded of a contemporary of mine,
Emma Castelle, and it put me in mind of her family."

"Most
unlike you, Mother, to want to know about the ton. I do believe you're
plotting! How intriguing." Charles turned his velvet-brown eyes full
square on Hope.

Hope suppressed
the urge to bolt from the room and felt George stir beside her.

"Heavens!
Is that the time?" George stood and teetered alarmingly. "Miss Tyler,
my crutch if you would be so good."

As she passed it
over, but one moment the crutch was in his hand, the next it had slipped and
somehow shot under the settle.

"How clumsy
of me." George wobbled on his feet. In the commotion, Jack jumped forward
and grabbed his arm to steady him. By the time the Captain was safely seated
and the crutch retrieved, Eulogy had changed the topic of conversation.  Hope
fished the stick out from under the seat, and still sick with humiliation, handed
it over.

"Thank you,
Miss Tyler." For a moment, George's hand rested on hers and he gave it a
squeeze. There was a look in his eyes which made her heart race, and left her
wondering if the Captain hadn’t dropped the crutch on purpose.

*****

Despite their
intimidating presence, as Jack and Charles prepared for their return to London, Hope found herself regretting their departure. On the last morning together even
Charles, usually a late riser, made the effort to join his family for
breakfast.

"The birds
are so damned noisy." He yawned and stretched. "That's the trouble
with the country, can’t sleep for all the noise."

Jack and Eulogy
also had dark circles under their eyes, but for a different reason. During the
night Eulogy had been struck by a sudden craving for pickled herrings, and had
woken her husband to go and find some. But now, in the morning light, Eulogy
looked distinctly queasy, half-heartedly nibbling on a corner of toast. Lady
Ryevale regarded her daughter-in-law with sympathy.

"You must
be carrying a boy, my dear. When expecting my boys, I felt uncommonly ill of a
morning."

 Charles rolled
his eyes with feigned distress. "Pray Mother, do not regale us with more
tales from our childhood."

Closest to the
window, George rose unsteadily to his feet and insisted on opening it.
"Fresh air, that's what you need, Eulogy."

Jack shook his
head. "Brother, you have a lot to learn about women. Isn't that right,
Miss Tyler?"

The withering
look George threw at his younger sibling was not lost on Hope.

In truth, Hope
would have felt more comfortable eating in the kitchen. It was at Her
Ladyship’s insistence she now joined the family for meals.

"Now this
is nice, having everyone together like this. I was wondering if you might not
be able to stay an extra few days."

"Mother,
why do I not like that look?"

"Don’t be
silly, Charles. It's just we've all been invited to the Wainwright's
ball."

The three
brothers groaned simultaneously as their mother continued.

"It would
be lovely, for old time's sake, if we could go as a group."

"I'd love
to…" Charles arched a haughty brow, "but London calls, been too long
away already, irons in the fire and all that."

"Same
here." Jack added quickly. "I can’t impose on Chaucer's good nature
any longer. He needs me back at The Gallery."

"Such a
shame. Well, I suppose I shall have George and Miss Tyler for company. We shall
just have to make the best of it."

It was George's
turn to look wary. "I'm really not sure, Mother. I never was one for
balls. And besides, I can barely walk, let alone dance."

"Oh come
now. You've been closeted away for far too long. You're going and there's an
end to it. Isn't that right, Miss Tyler?"

Startled, Hope
dropped her knife. "My going wouldn’t feel right, Lady Ryevale."

"Nonsense.
You will come as my companion. I'll need someone to talk to while George mixes.
Conversation closed."

That, it seemed,
was that.

*****

 Charles took
his leave and returned to London. A couple of days later Jack and Eulogy did
the same. Suddenly the house which had been bursting with male vigor and
feminine laughter, seemed quiet and empty. To keep herself occupied, Lady
Ryevale threw herself into preparations for the ball and insisted on calling in
Mrs Locke to measure Hope for a gown. Knowing Her Ladyship was missing her
sons, Hope didn’t have the heart to refuse.

On the evening
of the ball, Hope was left speechless as she put on the new dress. Mrs. Locke
had excelled herself; the gown a perfect fit, simple but stunning in white
muslin with darling puff sleeves and roses embroidered around the hem. Hope
couldn’t help but swish the skirts so the soft fabric brushed her legs—never
had she felt so special. And as a finishing touch, Lady Ryevale sent her own
maid to dress Hope's hair; not that Hope found it easy to sit still, biting her
tongue with impatience as the maid worked the hot iron through her hair. But
the end result was worth it: a cascade of tumbling ringlets which bounced and
shimmered as she moved her head, topped with green ribbon which matched her
eyes. When Hope finally saw her reflection, dressed and coiffured, she was
dumbstruck; gone was the tomboy smuggler of old, replaced by a young lady of
style, glowing with vitality. With a tremor of excitement, she wondered what
Captain Huntley would think.

She was not to
be disappointed. In full dress uniform, the gold braid glinting in the
candlelight, Captain Huntley looked up as she descended the stairs, and his
mouth opened and shut, like a fish. There was open admiration in his eyes and
he followed her every move. Hope trailed a gloved hand down the banister,
placing one daintily slippered foot in front of the other down the stairs,
taking her time.

"Miss
Tyler, you look…enchanting."

Hope beamed.
"Thank you, Captain Huntley, and you look…impressive." Indeed, which
of them was the more breathless, was open to debate.

His shoulders
seemed broader than usual as he gave her a smile which made her knees shake.
Then came Lady Ryevale, shimmering down the stairs in a gown of turquoise
satin, trimmed with cream lace.

"Mother."
George held out his arm. "You look fabulous."

"Thank you,
dear."

In high spirits
the party of three climbed into the waiting carriage and with the full moon
lighting the way, set off for the Wainwright's. Luckily for Hope, tongue-tied
in George's presence, Lady Ryevale was in a chatty mood.

"The
Wainwright's made a fortune importing tea…"

Hope nodded to
show she was listening, as she fought the urge to gaze at George in his
uniform.

"…not that
we hold new-money against them."

Just as well,
Hope reflected, since Captain Huntley's efforts with the revenue had been to
protect the tea trade. She glanced over, and caught him staring. Flustered, she
looked away.

The carriage
pulled up in front of an imposing building, that Lady Ryevale muttered was
"tasteless rococo." As they dismounted and ascended the steps of the
portico, Mrs. Wainwright stood waiting to greet the arriving guests. She was a
bosomy lady with a penetrating voice and Hope hung back, fascinated by the
three ostrich feathers bobbing and dancing above their hostess's head.

"Thrilled,
positively thrilled you could attend." Mrs Wainwright clasped Captain
Huntley's hand and pressed it to her bosom. "Annabelle," she called
over her shoulder. "Do come and say hello to our hero." She pulled
the Captain closer and said in a stage whisper. "My Annabelle has her
heart set on a dance with you."

He retrieved his
hand, and shook the blood back into it.

"I am
touched indeed, but my injuries prevent me from dancing."

"Such a
shame. But if you find yourself able…"

"Then
Annabelle will be the first to be asked."

As they walked
away, Hope fancied the Captain leaned more heavily on his cane than he had done
previously, and suppressed a smile.

Ascending the
sweeping staircase, towards the chirpy strains of a string quartet, their party
made for the ballroom. But if Captain Huntley had hoped to slip in unnoticed,
he was to be disappointed. No sooner had people spotted his arrival, than they
crowded around; slapping his back, shaking his hand and complimenting his
bravery. It seemed he was quite the hero. A smile crept across his habitually
serious face and it made Hope glad. Whatever Hope thought of the effusive Mrs
Wainwright, she was correct in one thing—Huntley should be greeted as a hero.
Besides, in full dress uniform, the gold braid of his rank glittering in the
lamplight, he looked utterly magnificent and she felt proud.

At the far end
of the room, the quartet struck up a cord. As dancers started to promenade, the
floor bounced a little. Men opposite women in lines, only the top couple in
motion as the others stood idly watching. Despite her nerves, Hope was excited.
This wasn’t so very different from a country dance in the church hall, except
that the dresses were silk and the setting more ornate. Tonight, nothing would
dint her spirits.

"Mother,
shall we sit?" Captain Huntley indicated three unoccupied seats.

"Good
idea."

His hand
gripping his silver cane—the air thick with perfume, tobacco and hot wax—George
coughed.

"Give me a
rough sea and a high wind any day," 

As they made
their way around the floor, conversations stopped and people turned to stare at
her. Hope quailed inwardly as their eyes raked her from head to toe, and
whispered behind hands. George bent his head to her ear.

"They look
because you are beautiful."

Startled by the
compliment, she muttered. "Or because I'm an infamous smuggler."

His eyes met
hers, unblinking and sincere in a way which shattered her composure. "They
are jealous because you are a natural beauty."

Hope found she
was holding her breath, conscious only of his intoxicating presence. It took
every ounce of her will to remember how to walk. All in all, she was glad to
sit down and blend into the background while she regained her composure.

The ballroom was
crowded, Hope guessed there were at least hundred people in the two adjoining
rooms. Never had she seen such wealth and opulence, from the gentlemen in black
breeches and buckle shoes, to the ladies in satins and silks, necks and ears
bright with jewels.

"I had no
idea folk hereabout were so wealthy." She whispered to George.

"Ah, that's
because they've travelled far and wide. Some will have come from as far away as
Plymouth for tonight's festivities."

"Oh."
Hope's eyes grew large with wonder. Lulled by the music and heat, her thoughts
started to wander, catching glimpses in her mind's eye of the world her mother
had inhabited in the ton, of the balls and parties she must have attended….

"Watch
out," Huntley nodded toward the door. "Our hostess on a starboard
bearing. Brace yourselves"