‘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 bouque
ts 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 Haze
lmere 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.’