The Mistress of Hanover Square (15 page)

A few of her friends told her that they had gifts for her, but the engagement was a surprise to most and they exclaimed over it again and again. Some of their closest friends teased Gerard and said that he had stolen a march on them and she was swept away to dance with several of the gentlemen. It was some time before they danced together again, but she
noticed that Gerard danced once with Emily, Marguerite and Helene.

‘I am glad to see you have been dancing,’ she told him when they danced the final waltz before supper. ‘It was good of you to ask Marguerite.’

‘I asked Miss Barton because she was looking sad and had hardly danced at all,’ Gerard told her. ‘I could not avoid asking Miss Ross because it would have seemed rude. She said that she had remembered me and reminded me of the night we met. Apparently, we danced twice that evening and I fetched her some champagne.’

‘Did she remember so clearly?’ Amelia frowned. She would have liked to ask Gerard if there was any way that Marguerite could have known that Lisette had taken her own life, but the evening of their engagement was not the moment. ‘She has not spoken to me of knowing you—though you told me you knew her sister, Lucinda, better.’

‘Lucinda was an odd girl…’

Amelia saw his expression. Something in his look made her spine prickle. ‘What do you mean? I always thought her a sweet and gentle girl.’

‘Did you, my love?’ Gerard’s forehead creased. ‘I thought something different, but keep your memories, Amelia. I hardly knew her after all.’

Amelia was intrigued, vaguely disturbed. He was hiding something from her. She sensed a mystery, but again this was not the time to inquire further. A niggling doubt teased at the back of her mind, but she dismissed it almost at once. Earlier, Marguerite had
almost seemed to imply that Gerard was marrying her for her fortune and that he would be faithless once they were married. Did she know something that Amelia did not? She felt cold for a moment and shivered, then squashed the unworthy doubts.

She raised her head and smiled. Nothing should be allowed to spoil her special evening.

‘Are you happy, Gerard?’

His gaze seared her. ‘Can you doubt it? I cannot wait until we are at Raven shead…to be alone with you…’

Amelia felt reassured. He felt something more than friendship for her. She would be a fool to doubt it, to let her thoughts be poisoned by a casual remark.

Turning her head at that moment, she suddenly saw Marguerite looking at them. The look on her face was so strange that it sent a shiver down Amelia’s spine. Marguerite looked…angry…resentful.

Why should she look as if she hated to see others happy? Amelia had an uneasy feeling that something was very wrong, and yet a moment later, as Marguerite saw her glance she smiled and the shadows were banished from her face.

Amelia decided that she had been mistaken. Marguerite’s expression must have been wistful, not resentful. She was thinking of all the dances and happy times she had missed. After all, why should she resent the people who had given her this chance to enjoy herself? Of course she would not. She had several times expressed her gratitude. It would be foolish to imagine resentment where there was none.

E
mily came to Amelia as she was standing by the buffet looking at a bewildering array of dishes. Her complexion was pale and there were shadows beneath her eyes.

‘Are you not feeling well?’ Amelia asked in concern.

‘I have a headache,’ Emily confessed. ‘Would you mind if I left after supper and went to bed? Is there anything I can do for you before I retire?’

‘I have all I want. Are you truly ill, my love—or is it because…?’

‘I truly have a throbbing headache. I do not know why, for I scarcely ever have them, Amelia. I think it must be something to do with the soap that them aids used for laundering my kerchiefs. I came to ask if I might borrow one of yours this morning, because mine all had a strong perfume clinging to them, which seemed to bring on my headache. The pain has been lingering all day and is worse this evening.’

‘I am so sorry. Yes, of course you must go to bed, Emily. If you are still unwell in the morning, I shall have the doctor to you—and I will have Martha launder your kerchiefs with the soap she uses for mine.’

‘Thank you…’ Emily hesitated. ‘I did not touch your letters this morning, Amelia. I just went into your room, saw you were not there and then left—you do believe me?’

‘Of course. Why should I not? You have always been honest with me.’

‘Someone suggested to me that I had taken the letters and lied to you.’

‘Someone…’ Amelia’s gaze narrowed. ‘Do you mean Marguerite?’

‘I do not wish to say—but I should be distressed if I thought you believed I would lie to you.’

‘Well, you may rest easy, Emily. I know you too well to ever think you would lie to me.’

‘Thank you.’ Emily’s eyes carried the sheen of tears. ‘I thought…but I shall for get it. My foolish head hurts so. Excuse me, I must go. Goodnight, Amelia.’

‘Goodnight, my love. Ask Martha for a tisane if you wish. I hope you feel better soon.’

Amelia frowned as she watched Emily leave the supper room. She was sorry that her friend was feeling unwell for she had enough to bear. The scent clinging to her kerchiefs was odd, for Amelia had experienced a similar thing in the room where all the exotic flowers had been displayed; overpowering perfumes could bring on headaches, especially if one were in close contact through a piece of personal lingerie.

She would ask Martha to wash all of Emily’s things as well as Amelia’s for the next few days. Helene’s maids must be using something that was quite unsuitable.

Amelia was thoughtful as she ate a little supper. She had hoped that Emily might have something to celebrate this evening, but Toby Sinclair had not been able to tear himself away from his family at this sad time. She supposed that he could not decently attend a ball so close to his father’s funeral. He was perfectly correct not to come. Perhaps he would write to Emily—or seek her out when they went down to Ravenshead in two days’ time. She put her thoughts to one side as Marguerite came to sit with her and eat a syllabub.

‘Are you enjoying yourself, Marguerite?’

‘How could I not when everyone has been so kind?’ Marguerite’s mouth curved in a smile. ‘Is Emily unwell? She told me she was going to bed…’

‘She has a little headache. I dare say it will pass by the morning.’

‘She was pale. I would have made her an infusion to help her had she mentioned her headache.’

‘Oh, I dare say she will ask Martha. It is a pity that it should come this evening, for Emily seldom has headaches.’

‘Perhaps she has been feeling out of sorts. Someone mentioned that she had suffered a disappointment recently. Heartache sometimes manifests itself as illness, do you not agree?’

‘You should not listen to gossip,’ Amelia said. ‘Besides, I am sure Emily will be better soon.’

Gerard watched the woman from across the room. Why did he have the feeling that she was not all that she appeared? Her smiles made him uneasy—for she seemed to be saying that she knew something he did not. He was pleased when he saw her leave the room. He wished it was as easy to send her packing altogether, but knew that Amelia trusted her, was fond of her. To voice his suspicions would only bring a cloud to their time of happiness—and perhaps he was wrong.

For the moment all he could do was to watch and wait. He turned as Max joined him, understanding that there was something he needed to tell him.

‘A few moments of your time, Gerard—in private?’

‘Of course,’ Gerard agreed. ‘I am promised to Amelia for the next dance, but she is otherwise occupied for the moment.’ His eyebrows arched. ‘You have discovered something?’

‘Yes. It means nothing and yet it might…’ Max said. ‘One of my footmen was up with a toothache early this morning and he saw something that might interest you.’

Amelia saw Gerard leave the supper room with Max. She frowned, because she had wanted a few moments alone with him. However, on further reflection she decided that what she had to say would keep for another day. She turned as Helene came up to her.

‘Emily was looking pale earlier,’ Helene observed. ‘Has she by chance taken a chill?’

‘She says that the perfumed soap your maids used
for washing her kerchiefs gave her a headache. I shall ask Martha to use my soap for her in future since it seems that she is sensitive to strong perfumes, as I am myself.’

‘I was not aware we were using strongly perfumed soap.’ Helene looked puzzled. ‘I shall ask my housekeeper and it shall be changed, Amelia. Some of the lilies used this evening had a very strong scent. I had one pot taken out this morning because it was overpowering.’

‘Yes, I noticed the lilies,’ Amelia said. ‘I should have developed a headache had I stayed near them for long.’

‘I shall not use that particular variety in the house again,’ Helene said. ‘I am sorry Emily was made unwell. I had thought it might be something else.’

‘You mean because Toby Sinclair did not come this evening?’

‘No…’ Helene hesitated, looking slightly conscious. ‘Forgive me, Amelia—but I am not sure that Emily likes Miss Ross. I think they may have had words…but I may be mistaken.’

‘Emily is always so thoughtful,’ Amelia said. ‘I cannot think she would take a girl like Marguerite, who has suffered much at the hands of her parents, as she did herself, in dislike. They hardly know one another, after all.’

‘As I said, I may be mistaken—’ Helene broke off as Marguerite came up to them. ‘Miss Ross—have you enjoyed yourself this evening?’

‘Thank you. It has been a lovely evening. Amelia
was so kind as to give me this dress…’ Marguerite held out the skirt of the green gown. ‘It is beautiful.’

‘It becomes you well,’ Helene said. ‘I have seen you dancing several times. I think you have made friends and admirers, Miss Ross.’

‘Thank you,’ Marguerite said, but did not smile. ‘I passed Emily as I went to my room just now, Amelia. I believe she had been to yours. She said that she has a terrible headache. I offered to make her a tisane myself, but she refused me.’

‘Emily had no doubt been in search of Martha to ask
her
to make her a tisane, as I advised,’ Amelia said. ‘Ah, here comes Gerard—I am promised to him for the next dance.’

Amelia said goodnight to Gerard. He had escorted her to her door, seeming reluctant to let her go inside. He kissed the palm of her hand, closing her fingers over the kiss.

‘Keep that until we can be alone,’ he said. ‘Sleep well, my dearest. I trust that nothing will disturb your sleep this evening.’

‘I dare say it will not. Martha has instructions to lock the dressingroom door when she leaves the room. Max provided her with a key and I also have one so I do not think anyone will intrude on me again.’

‘Max has his footmen on duty all night so you should be quite safe,’ Gerard told her. ‘I shall see you in the morning, but you will sleep in and I have things to do—so you need not look for me before noon.’

Amelia nodded and went into her room. Martha
came when she rang the bell and unfastened her gown at the back, helping her off with it.

‘What is that smell, Miss Royston?’ she asked, wrinkling her nose. ‘You do not have a new perfume?’

‘No…’ Amelia glanced around her. ‘I had just noticed it myself—it smells like lilies…the exotic ones they grow in hot houses that have strong perfume.’ She took a step towards the bed, halting as the smell became overpowering. ‘I think…behind the chair…is that a pot of lilies? It is not easy to see, but I believe it must be the source of that smell.’

Martha went quickly to look. ‘Now how did that get here? I swear it wasn’t here when I came in earlier to turn down the bed. The nasty thing!’ She picked it up and went to the door, speaking to someone outside for a moment. ‘I’ve given it to the footman to get rid of. I wonder who could have put that in here.’

‘I cannot imagine for one moment,’ Amelia said. ‘Have a look around the room to make sure nothing else has been hidden and then you may go to bed. I am sure you have become tired waiting up for me.’

‘I like to see you when you come back from a ball, miss. Have you enjoyed yourself?’

‘Yes, very much,’ Amelia said, watching as Martha went round the room, looking behind chests and under tables. ‘I am sure you will find nothing else. Remember to lock the dressingroom door when you go out, Martha.’

‘Yes, of course, miss. I have kept it locked since you told me. If someone entered your room, they
must have a key or they came from the hall. You do not lock it when you leave.’

‘Whoever it was must have entered from the hall. Lord Coleridge assured me that we have both keys to the dressing room. I have not been accustomed to locking my doors during the day. I have never needed to before, but I shall consider it in future.’

Before retiring, Amelia checked the door to the hall and the one to the dressing room. Both were locked. She was pensive as she pulled back the top covers on her bed and looked to see if anything unpleasant had been placed between the sheets. They were fresh and sweet smelling, just as Martha had prepared them for her.

The lilies were further evidence that someone was stirring up trouble for her. She had not dreamed up the intruder of the previous night—and there were the letters that no one would admit to having taken down to the hall. She had not bothered to ask Max if he had franked them for her, but she might do so in the morning.

She knew that if she spoke to the footman outside the door, Gerard would come to her, but she did not consider the pot of lilies reason enough to disturb him. Their perfume still lingered and she found it strong so she opened her a window a little to let in some fresh air. It seemed odd that Emily should complain of a strong soap used for washing her kerchiefs and now the lilies…

Amelia’s thoughts were confused. Emily would not lie to her, but Marguerite had implied that she had
taken the letters—and that she had seen her coming from Amelia’s room this very evening. If she had not trusted Emily implicitly, she might have wondered if her companion had played a trick on her.

Why would anyone take some letters? Why would they hide a pot of lilies in her room? Supposing it was all part of a clever plot to make her believe that Emily was lying to her…Amelia dismissed the idea immediately. Someone was trying to unnerve her. Why? Was it to make her so distressed that she called off her wedding?

She thought it must be the most likely explanation. Yet why should anyone want to prevent her happiness? The only person she could think of who refused to accept her marriage was her brother. However, he had not been invited to Coleridge for the ball, because Helene did not like him.

Michael could certainly not be behind the odd things that had happened this past few days—though he might have paid someone to do it, of course. A servant, perhaps?

In another moment she would be thinking that Martha had placed the lilies in her room herself! This was so foolish and she would not think of it any more.

Martha had left a jug of lemon barley by her bed. She poured some into a glass and drank most of it. It was a little stronger than usual, but not unpleasant. She snuffed out the candles and closed her eyes. No one would disturb her sleep that night!

Martha awoke her by pulling back the curtains the next morning. Amelia yawned as she sat up, feeling that she could have slept a little longer, but as she looked at the pretty enamelled carriage clock she kept by her bed, she saw that it was almost noon.

‘I am late this morning,’ she said as she sat up and threw back the covers. ‘Please pour me a cup of chocolate while I dress. Lisa will think I have deserted her.’

‘I looked in twice, miss,’ Martha said. ‘You were sleeping so soundly that I thought it best not to wake you.’

‘I must have been tired. I do not usually sleep this late even after a ball.’

Amelia went behind the dressing screen, washed and dressed in the greenstriped linen gown that Martha brought her. She drank her chocolate at the dressing table, while Martha brushed her hair and wound it into a shining twist at the back of her head, securing it with pins.

‘Thank you. I shall not eat, because it will be nuncheon very soon. I must hurry to spend a few minutes with Lisa before we are summoned.’

Amelia went up to the nursery. Nurse Mary was folding clothes as the children played with puzzles and books at the table.

‘I am sorry to visit so late. I overslept this morning.’

‘Miss Ross has been to play with the children,’ Mary said. ‘Miss Barton usually comes, but she
hasn’t been this morning. It is the first time she has missed since before Christmas.’

‘She had a headache last night. Perhaps she still has it.’

Amelia spent a little time with the children. She promised Lisa that she would return later that day.

‘We are going to Ravenshead tomorrow,’ she said. ‘I shall have more time to take you for walks then, my love.’

‘Will you be my mama then? Must I call you Mama?’

‘I shall always be your friend,’ Amelia said. ‘If you wish to call me Mama, you may, but if you would rather call me Melia, you can, Lisa.’

‘Nanny said I would have to call you Mama—-even though you are not my mother…’ Lisa frowned. ‘My mother died, didn’t she?’