Tangled Reins

Chapter Eight

The next afternoon found the Marquis perusing various documents dealing with estate business which his mother had brought from Hazelmere. Over the years he had developed the habit of paying flying visits to his numerous estates while stationed in London for the Season, fitting these between his social engagements. This year, however, he had neglected business while pursuing Miss Darent. Never a lax landlord, he knew he could not put off visiting Hazelmere.

Glancing up at the clock on the mantel, he saw it lacked a quarter to three o’clock. The weather was fine, with a light breeze tossing the cherry blossoms from the trees in the Square. He rang for Mytton and gave orders for his curricle with the greys to be brought to the door immediately. He then went upstairs to throw a series of orders at Murgatroyd’s head. Ten minutes later, immaculate as ever in top-boots and a coat of Bath superfine, he descended the steps of Hazelmere House. Climbing to the box-seat of his curricle, he nodded a dismissal to Jim Hitchin, adding, ‘Be ready to leave for Hazelmere when I return.’

He tooled the curricle around to the other side of the square and pulled up outside Merion House. Tossing the reins to an urchin, he strode up the steps to the door. He was admitted by Mellow. ‘Is her ladyship in, Mellow?’

‘I regret to say, her ladyship is presently unavailable, my lord.’

Hazelmere frowned. ‘In that case, perhaps you’ll enquire whether Miss Darent can spare me a few minutes?’

‘Certainly, my lord.’

Mellow showed him into the drawing-room and left to find Miss Darent. Climbing the stairs, he wondered if he should risk awakening his employer. After weighing the matter, he rejected the idea. His lordship had his horses with him and would not like to keep them standing. Finding Miss Darent alone in the upstairs drawing-room, he conveyed his lordship’s message.

Dorothea, their visit to the Richmond House orchangery in mind, was unsure of the propriety of seeing Hazelmere alone. But Cecily had gone out driving with Lord Fanshawe, and Lady Merion had still not emerged from her bedchamber. So she descended to the drawing-room but cautiously left the door open when she entered.

Hazelmere, on whom such little subtleties were not lost, smiled warmly as he took her hand, kissed it and, as was fast becoming his habit, did not release it.

‘Miss Darent, will you come for a drive in the Park with me?’

Ferdie had told her that Hazelmere, for the most chauvinistic of reasons, rarely took ladies driving in the Park. She was therefore perfectly conscious of the honour being done her. Deciding that she could not possibly forgo such an invitation, she replied with alacrity, ‘Why, yes, if you’ll give me time to find my pelisse.’

Releasing her hand, Hazelmere, long inured to feminine ideas of time, felt constrained to add, ‘Ten minutes, no more!’

Dorothea laughed over her shoulder as she disappeared from the room. She surprised him by returning in less than ten minutes and, as they left the house, revealed something of her knowledge of him by exclaiming, ‘Good heavens! You have your greys!’

Retrieving the reins and suitably rewarding the attendant urchin, Hazelmere climbed to the driving seat. As he leant down to help her up to sit beside him he answered, ‘As you say, Miss Darent, my greys. And what do you know of my greys?’

This shaft fell wide, however, as she could reply with perfect composure, ‘Ferdie told me you rarely drive your greys in the Park.’

Ferdie had told her rather more than this. Hazelmere’s greys were considered to be the fastest and best matched pair in the country. His lordship, if Ferdie was to be believed, had been offered vast sums for them but, as he had bred and reared them on the Henry estates, he would not part with them for any price.

‘Ah, Ferdie,’ mused Hazelmere, suddenly seeing that Ferdie’s line in inside intelligence could become a two-way street.

Conversation was necessarily suspended as he gave all his attention to negotiating the crowded streets, with the high-couraged and restless greys taking exception to numerous sights and sounds along the way. Dorothea could only admire his skill in successfully gaining the gates of the Park. Once inside, the curricle tooled along at a decent pace and Hazelmere turned his attention to her.

Much to his relief, she wore no hat, so that her face, surrounded by dark curls, was completely visible. As he watched she turned her head to smile up at him, brows lifting in mute question.

Carefully considering it in the dispassionate light of morning, Dorothea had reluctantly dismissed their interlude in the orangery as inconclusive. She had instigated it in the hope that his response would give her some clue to his feelings. But, while the result had been deliciously exciting, it had taught her little. That Hazelmere was well qualified to introduce her to forbidden delights had never been in doubt. While she wished with all her heart that he would say something, anything, to explain himself to her, she was depressingly certain that he would not choose the Park, with his greys in hand, as the place to do so. But presumably he had brought her here to tell her something.

‘Miss Darent, I find I must leave London for a few days. Estate business demands my attendance at Hazelmere.’

‘I see.’ Dorothea was not overly put out by this revelation. If she had thought about it she would have assumed that he must need to visit his estates fairly regularly. Then she remembered her coming-out ball. The sky seemed to darken. The face she turned to him was decidedly pensive as she wondered how to phrase her question.

Hazelmere, watching her thoughts pass across her face, solved her dilemma for her. ‘I’ll be returning on Tuesday evening, so I’ll see you next on Wednesday night.’

As he watched the sunshine return to her face he felt he should need no further proof of her feelings for him. Her actions and responses in the orangery had been so very revealing. He was tempted to ask her then and there to marry him, but his real dislike of trying to converse with a lady while holding a highly dangerous pair of horses made him repress the impulse. There would be plenty of time later, in more appropriate surroundings. God! he thought, shaken. Imagine proposing in the middle of the Park!

They continued around the Park, stopping to exchange greetings with a number of acquaintances. Hazelmere, not wanting to keep his horses standing, kept these interludes to a minimum. As they completed their circuit he headed the greys for the gates. ‘The weather is turning, Miss Darent, so I hope you’ll not mind if I return you to Cavendish Square forthwith?’

‘Not at all,’ she replied, ‘I know how honoured I’ve been to be driven behind your greys.’

Looking up, she found herself basking in that warm hazel gaze. ‘Quite right, my child,’ he murmured. ‘And do remember to behave yourself while I’m away.’

Incensed by the proprietorial tone, she turned to utter some withering remark, but, quizzically regarded by those strangely glinting eyes, remembered just how often he had extricated her from difficult situations. She was saved from having to reply by their emergence into the traffic, his attention once more claimed by his horses. By the time they reached Cavendish Square she had convinced herself of the wisdom of ignoring his last remark.

Pulling up outside Merion House, Hazelmere jumped from the curricle and lifted her down. He escorted her up the steps and, as Mellow opened the door, raised her hand to his lips, saying with a smile, ‘Au revoir, Miss Darent. Until Wednesday.’

Sunday and Monday saw the Darent sisters attend a number of smaller functions in the lead-up to their own coming-out ball. While Cecily flirted outrageously with her young suitors, most as innocent as herself, Dorothea wisely refrained from giving any of the callow youths worshipping at her feet the slightest encouragement. However, no amount of icy hauteur seemed to deter Edward Buchanan. Unfortunately even Lady Merion was of the opinion that time was the only cure for that particular pest.

So, to her deep irritation, Dorothea found herself too often for comfort in Mr Buchanan’s company. His conversational style drove her to distraction, while his continual and gradually more pressing attempts at gallantry awoke a quite different response. Her sanity was saved by the attentions of Lords Peterborough, Alvanley, Desborough and company, who, much to her delight, seemed almost as accomplished as Hazelmere in the subtle art of deflating pretensions.

Lady Merion sat staring bemusedly at the list in her hand. Was this really the best of all possible arrangements? She had been engaged in the arduous task of deciding the seating at her dinner table for Wednesday night since first thing on this dismal Tuesday morning. The house was a shambles, with caterers and florists coming in to set up their trestles and stands ready for the presentation of their wares the next night. The servants were everywhere-cleaning and polishing every bit of brass, silver and copper in the house, lovingly shining every lustre of every chandelier. Tomorrow night was the highlight of the Season as far as they were concerned and not one of Lady Merion’s glittering guests was going to find the least little thing wrong.

Glancing at the ormolu clock on her mantel, she saw that it was nearly time for luncheon. In a last effort to detect any flaw in her design, she returned her attention to her list. Finally satisfied, she laid it aside and went downstairs to the morning-room, where all their meals this week had been served while the dining-room and drawing-room were redecorated. With the aid of that expert in all things fashionable, Mr Ferdie Acheson-Smythe, she had decided that her main rooms would look well in a clear pale blue, touched with white and silver, so much more striking than the common white and gold. This colour scheme was repeated throughout the main areas of the house and continued into the ballroom. The flowers for the ballroom were to be blue and white hyacinths, white wood anemones and trailing white jasmine.

The pale blue, white and silver theme would provide the perfect backdrop for her granddaughters’ ball-dresses. The culmination of a prodigious effort, they were considered by Celestine among the best pieces her genius had ever created. Dorothea’s dress had been both difficult and immensely satisfying. Celestine herself had scoured the warehouses to find precisely the right weight of silk in a green that perfectly matched Dorothea’s eyes. The dress was shocking in its simplicity. Cut so low as to be ineligible for a younger débutante, the neckline was essentially parallel with the tiny puff sleeves, kept off the shoulder, leaving the shoulders quite bare. The bodice was shockingly snug. From the raised waistline the skirts smoothly flared over the hips, then fell heavily to the floor.

Cecily’s dress, though far less stunning, was still a perfection of simplicity. Of a clear and pristine aquamarine silk, the creation, with rounded neckline and raised waist, trimmed with seed-pearls, set off her youthful figure to best advantage.

In spite of the lowering skies, the sisters had ridden in the Park as usual that morning and had been occupied since with their mail. Joining their grandmother at the luncheon table, they continued to chatter in their artless way, telling her whom they had seen and who had sent greetings. Gazing at their happy faces, she felt a pang of dismay. Soon, too soon, these young things would be gone and her house would return to its previous existence. She was not looking forward to such a quiet future at all.

Lady Merion had decreed that there would be no riding on the day of their ball. Both young ladies were to remain in bed until ten o’clock, when they could join her in the morning-room for breakfast and open the coming-out presents sent by their numerous wellwishers. They could walk around the park in the square if they wished, but after luncheon were to rest until it was time to dress. She had a horror of Cecily becoming feverish from excitement or, worse, of Dorothea succumbing to a migraine.

On hearing this plan for her day, Dorothea declared that she was more likely to become comatose from boredom. However, grateful to her grandmama for all her efforts on their part, she agreed to abide by her strictures.

By the time the sisters appeared at the breakfast table it was covered with bouquets and boxes and trifles of every imaginable type. Trimmer, Betsy and Witchett were called in to assist, and both girls, disclaiming any interest in food, settled down to sort through the welter of presents.

Entering upon this scene, Lady Merion stopped, thunderstruck. ‘Good lord! I don’t think I’ve seen anything to equal it!’ She added two boxes to the piles, one in front of each of her granddaughters. ‘There, my loves! I don’t think any grandmama has had two granddaughters who’ve given her so much pleasure.’

Both girls impulsively rose and hugged and kissed her before opening her presents. To Cecily went a tiny pearl brooch made to adorn the neckline of her ballgown. Dorothea, opening the red leather case she found under the wrapping, gasped as her eyes fell on the single strand of perfect emeralds within. ‘Oh! Grandmama! They’re beautiful!’

After these gifts were tried on and duly admired Lady Merion urged them to continue opening their presents while she joined in the game of exclaiming and laughing over who had sent what.

While the presents today showed a greater degree of extravagance than the more common tributes, both girls had received their share of bouquets and poems and suchlike throughout the Season. However, while she frequently received bouquets from Lord Alvanley and the other members of Hazelmere’s set, all of whom had, each in their own way, worshipped at her feet, from the Marquis himself Dorothea had not received so much as a primrose. She did not know that Hazelmere, expert in such matters and knowing the opposition’s ways too well, had omitted to send her such tributes as a deliberate tactic. Consequently, when she came to a small package amid the jumble and, unwrapping it, found a box from Astley’s she did not connect it with him.

It was not common to send débutantes jewellery. Intrigued, she pushed aside the surrounding wrappings and cleared an area so that she could examine this gift more closely. ‘I wonder who sent this,’ she murmured to herself.

Lady Merion heard her and came to her side. ‘How very odd! Open it, my dear, and let’s see. There’s sure to be a card inside.’

However, on her opening the box no card was found. Inside lay the most exquisitely delicate brooch, composed of emeralds and rubies in gold, in the shape of a blackberry. A slow smile appeared on Dorothea’s face. What audacity!

Lady Merion, seeing the smile, was at a loss. It was Cecily who, looking up from her own concerns, saw the brooch in her sister’s fingers and immediately made the connection. ‘Oh! Is that from Lord Hazelmere?’ Raising her brown eyes to Dorothea’s blushing countenance, Cecily giggled.

Lady Merion grasped the straw. But what on earth did blackberries have to do with Hazelmere? However, knowing that gentleman, she guessed the gift was far from innocent. She baldly stated, ‘Dorothea, I forbid you to wear that tonight!’

‘Oh, no! Don’t do that, Grandmama! See, this tag from Mr Astley says he has taken the liberty of designing the brooch so it can be used as a pendant off the emerald string. How very thoughtful.’

Examining the brooch and then the string of emeralds, Dorothea discovered the secret of joining them and regarded the composite piece critically. It was perfectly balanced and looked both expensive and utterly unique.

‘Dorothea, I don’t know what that brooch signifies, and I’m not sure I want to know,’ declared Lady Merion in her most authoritarian tones. ‘But, whatever Hazelmere means by it, you can’t seriously intend to wear it tonight. Just think how conspicuous it will be! How on earth would you face him while wearing it?’

‘Why, with my customary composure, I should hope,’ returned her wilful granddaughter. ‘I really couldn’t refuse the challenge, Grandmama. You know I couldn’t.’

Reflecting that she knew nothing of the sort, Lady Merion was visited by a strong suspicion that Hazelmere was leading Dorothea into deep waters. But, in the circumstances, there was little she could, in reality, do.

The only deviation from Lady Merion’s rigid schedule was caused by Edward Buchanan. Without warning, he appeared on the doorstep and refused point-blank to accept Mellow’s frigid denial of the ladies of the house. By dint of mentioning Herbert Darent, he prevailed on Mellow to admit him to the morning-room while that worthy conveyed a message to his mistress.

Lady Merion came downstairs, huffily indignant, and sailed into the morning-room. Five minutes later, looking slightly stunned, she emerged and went looking for her elder granddaughter.

Ten minutes later Dorothea, paler than usual, descended the stairs. She paused for a moment, eyeing the morning-room door with revulsion. Then, drawing a deep breath, she entered.

It was worse than she had imagined. Lady Merion had mentioned the bouquet of daisies-daisies!-already wilting. What she had not found words to describe was the incredible smug conceit of the man holding them.

‘Ah! Miss Darent!’ Abruptly words seemed to fail Mr Buchanan. Then, unfortunately, his tongue regained its major habit and he spoke. ‘I suspect, my dear, that you know very well why I’m here.’ His archness made Dorothea feel decidedly unwell. Luckily he was standing on the other side of a small round table and she had every intention of keeping it between them.

He seemed to find nothing remarkable in her silence and continued with unabated cheerfulness. ‘Yes, my dear! All right and tight, I’m here to beg the honour of your hand! I doubt you expected a declaration quite so soon, before your coming-out even. Not many young ladies can claim to be settled so successfully before being presented, what?’

She could stand it no longer. ‘Mr Buchanan. I thank you for your offer but I’m afraid I cannot consent to marry you.’

‘Oh, no difficulty there, my dear. Edward Buchanan knows how these things are done. Lord Herbert has already given his consent. All we need now is for you to say the word and we can announce it tonight at your ball.’

Hazelmere, rather more perceptive than Mr Buchanan, could have told him that that was precisely the wrong thing to say to a lady as independent as Dorothea Darent. Colours flying, she made no effort to conceal the loathing she felt. ‘Mr Buchanan. You appear to be labouring under a misapprehension. Herbert Darent may be my guardian but he has no power to coerce me into marriage. I will not accept your proposal. I have no wish to be married to you. I trust I make myself plain? And now, if you’ll excuse me, we’re very busy. Mellow will show you out.’

She swept out of the door, head high, pausing to instruct Mellow to see to their unwelcome visitor before continuing, thankfully and triumphantly, upstairs.

Later that evening, just before her dinner guests were due to arrive, Lady Merion stood in her hallway and watched her granddaughters descending the stairs. Her bosom swelled with pride and a well-earned sense of satisfaction. They were superb!

Cecily, leading, was a vision of childlike innocence, a twinkle in her big brown eyes belying any attempt at gravity. But Dorothea! Breathtakingly lovely, she came elegantly down the stairs, her innate poise allowing her to carry the stunning gown to maximum effect. She was a sight that would stop any male heart. Especially Hazelmere’s! thought her ladyship with a touch of vengeance as her eyes alighted on the blackberry pendant. Dorothea had been right to wear it, she grudgingly admitted, for the pendant set off the whole to perfection, lying glinting green and red against her granddaughter’s alabaster skin.

Within minutes Mellow announced Ferdie, who had promised to come early to lend them his support. Entering the drawing-room, he stopped stock-still and simply stared.

‘Oh, I say!’ was all the elegant Mr Acheson-Smythe could manage. At this evidence of appreciation all three ladies went into whoops of laughter, and a far less formal atmosphere greeted the remaining guests, who began to arrive promptly thereafter.

The drawing-room was soon abuzz with conversation. Lady Jersey and Princess Esterhazy complimented both girls with obvious sincerity. As Dorothea moved away to talk to Miss Bressington, Sally Jersey turned to Lady Merion. ‘M’dear, I just can’t wait to see Hazelmere’s face when he comes through the door and sets eyes on that vision.’

‘Sally, don’t say things like that! I’m dreading that either he or Dorothea or both will forget where they are and do something quite scandalous tonight!’

‘I hardly think, for once, anyone would blame him if he did!’

At exactly that moment Mellow announced the Marquis of Hazelmere and the Dowager Marchioness. While no one was ill-bred enough to stare, Hazelmere was well aware that all eyes, save one set of emerald green, were trained on him. He resisted the temptation to look for Dorothea and instead, with his usual urbane air, led his mother to pay their respects to Lady Merion.

Lady Hazelmere, not under any such compulsion, sought out Dorothea and in an undertone designed for him alone, said, ‘My dear, you are lost! That girl is the most stunning sight I have ever seen!’

Hazelmere, hazel eyes laughing, replied, ‘Thank you, Mama. I rather supposed that to be the case, seeing how closely all these tabbies are watching me.’

Lady Hazelmere chuckled and turned to compliment Lady Merion on her charges. Relinquishing his mother to the group of old friends around their hostess, Hazelmere skilfully drifted into the crowd.

The Hazelmere party was closely followed by the Eglemonts. Under cover of the bustle this created, with most attention being distracted by the sight of Lord Fanshawe greeting Cecily Darent, Hazelmere approached Dorothea where she stood talking to his younger sister, Lady Alison Gisborne. This vivacious blonde, having no doubt who her brother’s inamorata was, had introduced herself to Dorothea. Seeing him, she smiled broadly and announced, ‘Hello, Marc! Yes, I’m just going to see Mama, who I know is dying to say something to me!’ She laughed up at him and departed.

‘How well my younger sister understands me,’ he murmured, raising Dorothea’s hand to his lips as usual. He was thankful for the few minutes he had had to grow accustomed to the vision she presented.

Risking a glance up at him, Dorothea found his hazel eyes glinting, and as he smiled at her she felt that the rest of the room could disappear for all she cared. Smiling back, she said, ‘I must thank you for your gift, Lord Hazelmere.’

‘Ah, yes. I hoped it would act as a token of pleasant memories,’ he replied, raising a long finger to touch the pendant and only just resisting the temptation to caress the skin on which it lay.

She had expected some outrageous remark. ‘Yes, I always found Moreton Park woods particularly restful.’ Her serenity was so complete that, if he hadn’t known better, he could have thought she had forgotten her first meeting with him entirely.

Laughingly acknowledging the adept return, he took her breath away by murmuring provocatively, ‘You have grown so very expert at fencing with me, my dear, that I fear I’ll have to resort to…more direct methods.’

The emerald eyes flew to his, but just what she would have said in response they never knew, for at that moment Marjorie Darent approached them.

While the rest of the company had the good manners not to interrupt the conversation between Miss Darent and Lord Hazelmere, Lady Darent felt no such restriction. Seeing Dorothea being monopolised by a man she considered one step removed from a rake, she saw her duty clearly. Recently arrived, she had not yet spoken to Dorothea and, being short-sighted, it was not until she was within a few feet that the full effect of Dorothea’s gown struck her.

Favouring the Marquis with what she believed was a gracious smile, she spoke to Dorothea immediately. ‘My dear! Don’t you think a shawl would be more becoming over that gown?’

Hazelmere felt Dorothea stiffen and almost imperceptibly they drew closer together. ‘I think not, Cousin,’ replied Dorothea, holding her temper with a superhuman effort. ‘I’m hardly cold. And besides,’ she continued hurriedly, seeing that her cousin had missed the very large hint and was about to explain herself more fully, ‘I would hardly embarrass Grandmama by adopting so provincial a style of dress.’

Lady Darent stiffened.

Only just preventing himself from applauding, Hazelmere intervened. ‘Miss Darent, I believe my mother is trying to attract our attention. If Lady Darent will excuse us?’ With a nod to that outraged lady, he firmly removed Dorothea from her orbit.

As they moved away he glanced down at the beauty by his side. ‘Good girl! If you hadn’t said that I’m afraid I had something much worse in mind. Remind me that, despite the other…skills I’ve yet to teach you, I don’t need to teach you how to insult someone.’

A gurgle of laughter, quickly suppressed, greeted this sally, and Dorothea turned her sparkling eyes to his face. The Marquis’s mother, towards whom they were headed, viewed this exchange with a peculiar smile. She had never thought to see her son so obviously in love.

The conversation continued to hum and the heat in the drawing-room rose, until Mellow, resplendent in new long-tailed coat, announced dinner. Hazelmere, as the most senior of the peers present, would normally have led in Lady Merion, but Herbert Darent found that he was to perform this office, leaving the Marquis to attend Miss Darent. Cecily was squired by Lord Fanshawe, and the others obligingly took care of themselves.

The dinner was a resounding success and not a single incident occurred to mar Lady Merion’s pleasure. Conversation flowed on all sides, even Marjorie finding in the half-deaf admiral by her side someone with whom she shared some common ground. As all had expected, Hazelmere and Dorothea seemed oblivious to all others, as were Cecily and Fanshawe opposite. Due to Lady Merion’s strategic planning, no one was the least put out by this, except Lord and Lady Darent. Luckily those disapproving figures were too far removed to exert any dampening influence on the sparkling scene in the middle of the table.

With the removal of the last course, the ladies rose and departed for the drawing-room, leaving the gentlemen to their port. At a dinner preceding a ball the ritual separation was usually kept to a minimum. But Lady Merion was taking no chances. She had enlisted the aid of the Earl of Eglemont to ensure that Herbert did not prose on in his accustomed way and drive everyone else to distraction.

For this service Lord Eglemont was an inspired choice. He knew that none of the younger gentlemen present would have the least inclination to remain kicking his heels over the port. And who could blame them? In his view, a dinner and ball was the time for some fun, and even he would rather be back in the drawing-room, watching what devilment Marc and Tony, and even Lord Harcourt and Ferdie, could concoct, than listening to that pompous windbag Herbert Darent.

Herbert, therefore, found the discussion he instituted on the latest ideas of rotation farming taken out of his hands and wound up by Lord Eglemont, who then further usurped his role and led the gentlemen back to the drawing-room.

Lady Merion heaved a sigh of relief when she saw them return. The room was pleasantly a-hum with conversation generated by the groups of young and old scattered through it. Lords Hazelmere and Fanshawe, re-entering the room to find the Misses Darent chatting avidly with groups of friends, wisely made no attempt to disengage them, but made themselves as inconspicuous as possible.

Hazelmere strolled over to his mother. ‘Ah, Mama! I’d meant to ask earlier. Do you know if my esteemed elder sisters will be gracing the ball tonight?’

Lady Hazelmere’s strait-laced elder daughters were every bit as great a burden to her as they were to her son. ‘I fervently hope not, my dear!’ She turned and, leaning across Sally Jersey, addressed Lady Merion. ‘Hermione, you didn’t invite Maria and Susan, did you?’

To both mother and son’s dismay, Lady Merion nodded. ‘Yes. And both accepted.’

Lady Hazelmere turned back to her son, pulling a face.

He bent to whisper in her ear. ‘In that case, it would be wise if you dropped a word of warning in my loving sisters’ ears, regarding the wisdom of giving myself and Miss Darent a suitably wide berth tonight.’

Lady Hazelmere looked at him in surprise. He smiled down at her in his usual maddening way before moving off into the room. She spent some minutes trying to solve the riddle, finally deciding that he must mean to do something that would incense her elder daughters. What it could be she had no idea but, as she turned to Sally Jersey sitting beside her, she found she was not alone in suspecting her son of being up to something.

‘Anthea, what on earth is that boy of yours up to? He and Tony Fanshawe are behaving very coolly.’

‘I’ve really no idea, Sally. You should know mothers are always the last to be told anything. But I must say,’ she went on, ‘I do think you’re right. They’re certainly planning something.’

As the time for the ball approached Lady Merion moved her dinner guests up to the ballroom. The florists and decorators had excelled themselves, but the exclamations and congratulations of the ladies were soon drowned by the arrival of the ball guests. The chatter and talk as acquaintances met swept like a wave across the room as all the ton rolled up to Lady Merion’s ball.

Dorothea and Cecily were stationed at the head of the stairs with their grandmother to receive the guests. For the next half-hour they were completely absorbed in greeting and being presented to the ton at large. As the surge of arrivals started to ease and then reduced to a trickle the ballroom was close to overflowing, and all the glittering throng of the élite of London society were present. The room looked magnificent, and Lady Merion felt she had achieved the very pinnacle of success. Catching Mellow’s eye, she gave the signal to start the ball. As he moved majestically down the room the guests parted to clear an area for the first waltz.

Traditionally the first section of the first waltz was danced only by the young lady in whose honour the ball was held. Tonight Dorothea would go first down the room, followed by Cecily, before the rest of the guests joined in. If strictest protocol was followed Dorothea would be partnered by Herbert and Cecily by Lord Wigmore, Lady Merion’s cousin. However, when approached by her ladyship, Lord Wigmore had readily relinquished this task, chuckling when he heard who was to take his place. Herbert was simply informed that, as he did not waltz, a suitable replacement had been found. He was put out but did not have the gumption to cause a fuss. His grandmother wisely refrained from telling him who was to lead his ward out.

She had also, under orders, not told her granddaughters who their partners were for this all-important first dance. This had placed no strain on her inventiveness, as neither girl had thought to ask, both imagining that Herbert and Lord Wigmore were inescapable fixtures. So, with inward trepidation, Lady Merion, standing between the two girls at the top of the shallow steps leading down to her ballroom and, seeing the musicians preparing to strike the first chords, said, ‘Off you go, my loves! Your partners are arranged and will meet you at the bottom of the steps. And my very best wishes for a most wonderful ball for you both!’

The sisters moved down the stairs, Dorothea slightly in advance, carrying herself with that self-confident air that drew all eyes. Inwardly she was dreading this dance. She knew Herbert could not waltz to save himself. The next few minutes could be hideously embarrassing. Then her already huge and glittering eyes widened even further as, stepping on to the ballroom floor, she saw the Marquis of Hazelmere coming towards her, magnificent and smiling as ever.

He bowed to her and she automatically curtsied gracefully. He raised her and she went into his arms with her usual total abandon, her face radiant and her eyes sparkling with laughter. As they turned with the dance she cast a quick glance across to find Cecily had been met by Fanshawe. She sighed with relief, and said in heartfelt accents, ‘Oh! You have no idea how thankful I am that it’s you!’

Hazelmere smiled as they slowly went down the room. ‘Neither your grandmother nor I felt horrible Herbert was a suitable partner for you, nor that the not nearly so horrible but staid Lord Wigmore was quite right for Cecily.’

Alive to the silence around them, Dorothea, laughter in the big green eyes she did not dare take from his face, asked, ‘Are we making a scandalous spectacle of ourselves?’

Hazelmere, still smiling, murmured, ‘I rather suspect we are. But I doubt if it’s for the reason you suspect.’

She looked her question.

For a moment the hazel eyes glinted. He elected to answer only half of the query. ‘While my dancing the first waltz with you, and Tony with Cecily, is not precisely correct, it’s nevertheless acceptable in the circumstances of your having no near male relatives other than Herbert, who everyone knows can’t dance.’

‘So they may disapprove but they can’t condemn?’

‘Exactly so.’

They had reached the end of the ballroom and Hazelmere expertly executed a difficult turn, sending them back through the other couples now on the floor.

‘Incidentally,’ he continued, ‘this is also the one occasion when I can with impunity waltz twice with you. This dance is special and not listed on the programme and therefore doesn’t count. So, my dear Miss Darent, may I have the double pleasure of the supper waltz and of escorting you to supper?’

Thinking that that would ensure a most enjoyable evening, she laughingly agreed. As the last notes drifted down the room they glided to a halt and he led her back to Lady Merion’s side. Reluctantly relinquishing her, he kissed her hand and, with a peculiar smile that made her unruly heart somersault, disappeared into the gathering crowd of well-wishers.

Lady Hazelmere’s reaction to that first waltz was much the same as that of many in the watching crowd. When Hazelmere took Dorothea into his arms the entire company held its breath, usually the prelude to an outburst of censorious whispering. However, all the censorious minds simultaneously realised that there was nothing particularly scandalous after all. A minute’s reflection convinced the leading ladies that Lady Merion had pulled off a major coup. The gentlemen, almost to a man, found the incident highly entertaining.

What particularly tickled Lady Hazelmere’s quirkish sense of humour was the outrage engendered in a large number of the more staid female breasts by the way her son and the lovely Dorothea danced. The ton had thought they were accustomed to the sight of Miss Darent in Lord Hazelmere’s arms. But they had only seen them dancing in a crowd of other couples, not alone on a deserted ballroom floor. Tonight the first shock had come when Dorothea went so readily into his arms. But the way they moved together had really set the cat among the pigeons! So graceful, so completely attuned to each other that the intimacy which obviously existed between them was displayed for all to see. That performance had bordered on the indecent. Even more wonderful, thought the knowing Lady Hazelmere, was that not one word could be said of the matter. Not one single movement, not one flicker of an eyelash, had been in any way improper. The most censorious of the tabbies would not dare breathe a word for fear of being, quite justly, accused of having a mind of somewhat questionable taste. It was highly unlikely that her wicked son had not known how it would be. Equally certain that the lovely Dorothea was quite innocent in the matter. Well, no, perhaps not innocent, amended her ladyship, but Dorothea could certainly not have known how revealing that dance would be. No gently nurtured female could possibly have gone through with it.

At least I now know why Marc wanted me to warn off Maria and Susan, she thought. And, thinking just how scan-dalised her elder daughters were bound to be, she laughed and went to carry out his commission.

For both Darent sisters their coming-out ball was the most enjoyable night of the Season. They were fêted and saluted at every turn. Dorothea danced with every one of Hazelmere’s close friends, with whom she now enjoyed an easy acquaintance. She also danced with Herbert, but in a quadrille, which he performed adequately if not gracefully. It was more than halfway through the evening before she found herself once more in the Marquis’s arms, going down the floor in the supper waltz.

Guessing that she must have been making constant conversation, he did not press her to talk, merely murmuring, ‘Tired, my lovely Dorothea?’

For a moment his use of her name did not register. Then she looked up and found all inclination to question his right to use it evaporating. Meeting his eyes, she felt that deliciously warm feeling spread over her. So she assented to the question with a smile, her long lashes dropping to veil her large green eyes from his gaze in a manner he recognised only too well.

Smiling, he wondered if he dared tell her how she looked when she did that, or what the action commonly conveyed, but decided that after such an explanation she would in all likelihood not speak to him for a week.

Suppertime was hilarious. As Dorothea and Cecily were the twin foci of attention, they could not sit together. Instead, Dorothea and Hazelmere were surrounded by a reckless throng of his close friends. While he sat beside her, interpolating remarks only when the conversation threatened to get too deep for her ears, they entertained her with numerous anecdotes, many reflecting on Hazelmere himself. They knew he was perfectly capable of putting a stop to it any time he wished, so when he made no move to dampen their spirits their hilarity knew few bounds. In this way the half-hour devoted to supper whizzed past until Dorothea was claimed by Lord Desborough for the first of the last three dances of the evening.

At the end of the measure she was hailed by a small group of her grandmother’s acquaintances, older ladies whom she had not yet had time to talk to. Laughingly dismissing Desborough, she went to spend a few minutes in their company. Eventually excusing herself, Dorothea passed slowly through the crowd, stopping to chat here and there, dispensing just the right degree of notice at each halt. Turning from one such encounter, she was addressed by Miss Buntton, a blonde ice-maiden two years her junior. ‘My dear Miss Darent,’ said Miss Buntton in her normal frigid accents. ‘Your gown is really so superb! Truly esoteric! But I fear my mama would never permit me to wear such a gown. She always says it does no good to stand out in a crowd.’

Dorothea, long inured to Miss Buntton’s waspish jealousies-thought she really made it too easy. ‘I’m sure, my dear Miss Buntton, that you run no risk of displeasing your mama.’ With a smile of gentle malice, she was about to move on when another, older woman, whose name she could not recall, standing on the other side of the blonde beauty, intervened.

‘Miss Darent! I’ve been hoping to meet you. I’m Lady Susan Wilmot, Hazelmere’s sister.’

Dorothea touched the hand graciously held out to her and murmured something suitable. But Lady Susan was already speaking. ‘Yes, my dear. As I was just telling Miss Buntton, I was so pleased to see Hazelmere doing his duty by you tonight with that first waltz. He’s so lax in certain responsibilities, but, given that Lady Merion must have asked him, as a favour, to replace Herbert, I was pleasantly surprised to see him behave so acceptably. Perhaps it’s a sign that he’s contemplating settling down. Of course, the lady he marries must have all the qualities-as she’ll have to rule at Hazelmere. And naturally she can only come from the finest of family. Wealth, of course, is necessary; Hazelmere after all is one of the wealthiest himself.’ Her ladyship smiled, gimlet-eyes, on Dorothea. ‘I dare say I’m not giving away any secrets in saying that all the family have high hopes of our dear Miss Buntton here.’

‘Oh?’ Unable to escape the net of her ladyship’s eloquence and feeling oddly depressed, Dorothea could not resist a glance at our Miss Buntton. Good lord! The girl was actually simpering!

At that moment a hand touched her arm. ‘Dorothea! Here you are! Come and meet my brother-in-law. I’ve promised to introduce you.’ Lady Alison Gisborne’s eyes met her older sister’s across the little group. Lady Susan coloured.

Missing the byplay, Dorothea, with relief, nodded to Lady Susan and Miss Buntton and gratefully departed to meet Andrew Gisborne.

As the closing strains of the last waltz drifted across the ballroom, and tired couples turned to find their parties, Dorothea found herself at the side of the ballroom on Lord Alvanley’s arm. His lordship was scanning the room, obviously looking for someone. ‘Ah, there he is!’ Looking down at Dorothea, he explained, ‘Marc asked me to return you to him after the dance.’

As they slowly made their way across the wide room, pausing to bid goodbye to departing guests, Dorothea saw Lady Alison pause by her brother, dragging on his arm to get his attention. For a moment Hazelmere listened as she spoke, clearly relating some message. Then she swiftly drew his head down to plant an affectionate kiss on his cheek and, with a cheerful wave, hurried to join her husband by the stairs.

By this time they had come up to the Marquis, who was conversing with an opulent beauty introduced earlier to Dorothea as Helen, Lady Walford. The four remained chatting for a few minutes as the company in the ballroom thinned. Then Lord Alvanley suavely offered Lady Walford his arm and, after taking their leave of Dorothea, they left.

Hazelmere, seeing the appreciative grin on her face, said, ‘Yes, Alvanley and I are very good friends.’ Her smile deepened. After a pause he continued, ‘My dear Dorothea, are you planning to ride in the Park tomorrow?’

This succeeded in capturing her attention from a group of guests nodding their goodbyes. ‘Why, yes, I think so,’ she replied.

‘In that case, Ferdie and I, and probably Tony as well, will call for you at ten. Don’t be late!’ He kissed her hand and, recognising the portent of the flash in her green eyes, drew it through his arm; before she had time to tell him what she thought of his organisation of her morning, he strolled with her up the steps to her grandmother.

Lady Merion was exhausted. The evening had been an unqualified success, although in her opinion it would have proved less enervating if Dorothea and Hazelmere had been less accomplished dancers. However, she was not going to cavil at such a minor point and was in total charity with the world. Seeing them come up out of the deserted ballroom, she beamed. ‘My dears! Such a success it’s been!’

‘And all due to you, Grandmama!’ replied Dorothea, impulsively hugging the old lady.

‘Now be off with you, child!’ said her ladyship gruffly. ‘Cecily has already retired. I’m sure Lord Hazelmere will excuse you.’

Hazelmere lifted her hand from his sleeve and, elegantly dropping a kiss on her wrist, said, ‘Goodnight, Dorothea. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.’

With another glance of green fire she was gone.

Lady Merion watched this exchange and, once her granddaughter was out of earshot, said, ‘You do play close to the wind.’

‘Only with your granddaughter,’ came the outrageous reply. As she gasped he continued, ‘Am I correct in thinking the horrible Herbert that gorgeous creature’s guardian?’

Knowing she was being distracted from her main grievance, she was forced to reply, ‘Yes, unfortunately.’

‘No matter.’ He shrugged, turning to take his leave.

But she had no intention of letting him escape so easily. Fixing him with a look that forcibly reminded him of his mother, she asked, ‘When are you going to ask for her hand?’

‘In my own good time,’ he returned, unperturbed by this direct inquisition.

‘So you intend to offer for her?’

At that he smiled. ‘Do you doubt it?’

‘After that first waltz, no one present could doubt it!’ she retorted acerbically.

‘Which is precisely as I intended.’ With a smile of unruffled calm he bowed elegantly before descending the stairs.

Lady Merion watched his retreating back. For some reason she felt that, in spite of his cool handling of the affair, which she could not but applaud for the eminent good sense it showed, his success so far had been unnaturally easy. In her experience, headstrong young women like Dorothea were unlikely to appreciate his calm management of the affair. No, my lord, she thought, there’s trouble ahead somewhere.