A Perfect Likeness (25 page)

The duchess’s wheelchair had been placed upon the dais so that she could supervise all that went on. Workmen were hammering and sawing wood as an arbor was erected against the long wall opposite the stained-glass windows, while at the far end of the chamber, close to the doors of the porch, a number of other men were engaged upon counting and checking the vast quantity of variegated lanterns which were to be set around the walls of the quadrangle.

Hundreds of other lanterns had been hung in the trees of the park throughout the day, and several wagons of flowers had been unloaded and left in buckets in the shady kitchen garden. The duchess was concerned about the exact positioning of large hoops of fruit, greenery, and ribbons which were to be suspended from the hammerbeam roof far above.

Immense ladders had been raised and men were endeavoring to move one of the hoops an inch or so to one side or the other as the duchess directed, while Sebastian stood a little to one side, his mouth concealed by his hand to hide either his amusement at his aunt’s meticulous attention to detail or his concern for the men’s safety as they wobbled at the tops of the ladders—Bryony could not tell which.

She paused for a moment before going into the hall, looking across at Sebastian before he knew she was there. He looked very elegant in his tight black velvet evening coat with its flat gilt buttons, and the shape of his long, well-formed legs was outlined perfectly by his pale gray breeches. The top buttons of his silver brocade waistcoat were left open to reveal the crisp frills of his shirt, and his valet had made a magnificent effort with his intricately tied neckcloth. His disheveled golden hair, always so startling, looked particularly arresting when he was dressed so formally, and even from that distance she could see how very blue his eyes were as he watched the men on the ladders.

She approached the dais then, the clear white of her silk gown standing out amid the turmoil of all the preparations, and he could not help but notice her immediately. His glance raked her slowly from head to toe and came to rest at last on her pale face. He smiled a little, inclining his head. “Good evening, Miss St. Charles,” he said above the noise.

She sank into a curtsy. “Good evening, Sir Sebastian.”

The duchess sniffed, her lips pursed as if she were being forced to suck upon a lemon. “I suppose you look tolerably well, missy, and since I shall not be present I shall have to trust that you will conduct yourself becomingly tonight.” She glanced up severely at her nephew. “This is all a dreadful error on your part, Sebastian, as I believe you will soon find out to your cost.”

“I do not wish to discuss it, Aunt Calborough,” he replied, “and I would thank you not to speak in such a way in front of Miss St. Charles again.”

Bryony looked at him in surprise, and the duchess’s cheeks became fiery. Her lips pursed still more and her pointed nose seemed to twitch a little, and then she gestured angrily to the waiting footman, who hurried to wheel her away down the ramp which had been placed against the dais for the purpose.

Sebastian turned to Bryony. “If you are ready to depart, I suggest we go out to the carriage.” He offered her his arm and she slowly slipped her hand over the smooth velvet of his sleeve.

They proceeded through the noise and clatter to the porch and out into the sunny warmth of the late-July evening. Sebastian handed her into the waiting carriage, an open landau, and a moment later they were driving down through the park. The estuary sparkled beneath a golden sky as the summer sun hung lower in the west, and when she glanced back at the house the windows caught the light, as if chandeliers glittered brightly in every room. It was a perfect evening, warm and scented.

Sebastian lounged back on the seat opposite, his eyes pensive as he watched her for a moment. “You look very lovely tonight, Miss St. Charles.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You seem startled that I should pay you a compliment.”

She looked away. Startled? Yes, that was exactly what she was.

He smiled a little wryly. “If you’re spirited and outspoken, Miss St. Charles, you’re also more than mistress of the eloquent silence, aren’t you?” He said nothing more then, gazing out of the window and bringing the brief conversation to a close.

They drove on, passing beneath the battlemented gateway and then the place where the hound had been set upon her horse. She couldn’t help shivering a little as she stared toward the trees where she had seen the cloaked figure hurrying secretly away. There was no incident this time and the landau drove safely on, passing the Royal Charles Inn, where Sally’s faithless Tom Penmarrion had flirted with the innkeeper’s daughter.

At last the landau joined the crush of other carriages turning into Tremont by the lodge. Orange lanterns had been suspended between the trees lining the drive, while out on the lake, where the tide was in, there were countless small boats, each one with a lantern at its prow and stern. Reflections shone in the still water, as if a giant hand had scattered brilliants into the depths.

Tremont itself was ablaze with lights, and as each carriage approached the house, servants with flambeaux ran out to escort it. Bryony’s hands twisted nervously in her lap as the landau moved very slowly forward. Soon the critical eyes of Cornish society would be upon her, and she felt suddenly daunted at the prospect, especially as on top of everything she must face them all in Petra’s stronghold.

Sebastian noticed her apprehension. “You’ve no need to worry, Miss St. Charles, for I promise you that you look everything that is excellent.”

Excellent? Was that what he thought? No, how could it be, when the only woman who was really excellent in his eyes was his mistress?

He sat forward. “I trust you will not remain silent throughout the evening. If it is because you are anxious about facing Petra’s guests, let me again assure you that you look quite perfect, indeed you’re all that they will hope to see.”

“What do they hope to see, Sir Sebastian?” she asked then. “They must wonder a great deal about me, and no doubt they are as influenced by whispers and rumor as you appear to think everyone is by the wrong sort of literature.”

He seemed taken aback for a moment, but then he smiled a little ruefully. “I perceive that you are still offended with me, and so I apologize. The last thing I wish to do is offend you, Miss St. Charles. Indeed I have never knowingly set out to upset you in any way.”

Oh, how gently he spoke, and how believable was the concern in his eyes, but if he spoke the truth, how then could he lodge so openly with his mistress? And how could he defend that mistress, but find fault with his bride? No, Sir Sebastian Sheringham, she thought, if you’ve never wished to offend or upset me, you’ve a very strange way of going about it.

At that moment the landau came to a standstill by the portico steps, and a Negro footman in Petra’s blue-and-silver livery stepped forward to open the door and lower the steps. Sebastian alighted and then handed Bryony down to the flower-strewn gravel. She gazed nervously up the immense flight of marble steps which stretched away between columns to brightly lit double doors.

The sound of conversation and laughter and the strains of music drifted down toward them. She was already aware of attracting many curious glances from other guests whose carriages had arrived at almost the same time, but then Sebastian’s white-gloved fingers were warm and firm around hers as he drew her hand over his arm. Her heart began to beat more swiftly as they proceeded slowly up the steps.

The whole house had been opened up for the assembly and the reception rooms were thronged with elegant people. It was a noisy gathering, with some dancing in the ballroom and a great deal of conversation and iced champagne in the drawing room, where many card tables had been set out. More subdued female chatter could be heard in the library, where tea was being served.

Bryony felt many eyes upon her as she and Sebastian proceeded through the house to the great ballroom. Fans were raised to hide whispers, and quizzing glasses were held up to survey her in detail as she passed. She wanted to hold her head erect and look confident, as befitted the future Lady Sheringham, but instead her eyes were lowered to the shining black-and-white-tiled floor.

At last they reached the top of the black marble steps leading down to the ballroom. It was a magnificent chamber, its walls the palest of turquoise blues, its ceiling coffered with gilded plasterwork and painted with scenes from Greek mythology. Statues of gods and goddesses adorned white niches in the walls and tall Ionic columns of the finest pink marble edged the entire length of the floor. An orchestra was playing a minuet, and graceful dancers were moving slowly to the sedate music, the ladies’ skirts dragging on the sanded floor and disturbing the stenciled designs of stars and half-moons which had been so painstakingly applied throughout the afternoon.

Petra was waiting at the foot of the steps, and she was not at first aware that her most important guests had arrived. She was talking with some military gentlemen and she looked very lovely in a lemon-colored tunic dress over a sheer white muslin undergown. The Greek key design edged the hems of both and was repeated in the matching turban which almost entirely concealed her dark red hair.

A great number of gold chains adorned her throat and arms, showing up to particular advantage against her long white gloves, and the knotted ends of her long shawl trailed to the floor as if by accident, but really by careful design. Her tinkling laughter carried clearly to where Bryony stood waiting for the master of ceremonies to announce them, and the sound of that laugh grated upon her, for it was as false as Petra herself.

The master of ceremonies struck the floor three times with his staff. “Sir Sebastian Sheringham and Miss St. Charles,” he announced. The names caused an immediate stir and a sea of faces turned expectantly toward them as they descended the steps.

Petra smiled, looking the picture of warmth and friendliness as she held out her hands to Bryony. “My
dear,
how truly enchanting you look. I vow you have eclipsed us all with that gown. As for you, Sebastian, I cannot in all honesty say that you look enchanting, but you’ll do for all that.” She reached up to kiss him briefly on the cheek.

“You, on the other hand, look as magnificent as ever,” he murmured, drawing her hand gallantly to his lips.

Petra smiled again at Bryony. “I do hope that my little entertainment will not prove dull, Miss St. Charles. I’ve endeavored to cater for all tastes, and I am promised faithfully that the fireworks will be truly awe-inspiring.”

“I’m sure the evening will not be dull, my lady,” replied Bryony, thinking that the fireworks were not the only awe-inspiring thing, for Petra’s display of apparent friendship was equally as wonderful.

“Well, to be sure, I shall limit the amount of dancing tonight, for I merely wish to whet everyone’s appetite for the ball tomorrow.” Petra studied her for a moment. “Miss St. Charles, I do wish that we could be a little more informal, for I do so loathe having to say ‘Miss St. Charles’ all the time, and as I am renowned for having scant regard for many rules of etiquette, I believe I should flout one of them now by asking you again if we may address each other by our first names?”

She smiled a little. “I have made a solemn vow never to call you Lady Sheringham, of that you may be sure.”

Bryony said nothing, for although it had all sounded so innocent and friendly, the double meaning was there all the same. Of course Petra had vowed never to call her Lady Sheringham; she had made up her mind to prevent the marriage taking place!

Petra seemed puzzled at the silence. “Do you not think rules are there to be flouted occasionally?” she said at last.

“Occasionally,” replied Bryony coolly, looking deliberately away. She was suddenly aware of Sebastian’s hand tightly over hers as it rested on his arm, and she looked up quickly to see his eyes flashing with anger,

“Miss St. Charles,” he said in a low, measured tone, “will you dance with me?” He did not wait for her to reply, but turned immediately toward the floor, thus forcing her to accompany him.

The minuet had just finished and a cotillion was about to commence. As they took up their positions in one of the sets, he spoke briefly. “What is the matter with you, madam? Do you mean always to be surly and disagreeable when the hand of friendship is extended to you, for that is most certainly how you appear to me!”

She looked furiously at him, and there was nothing in the brightness of her green eyes which suggested even a morsel of repentance. He had spoken of never setting out to upset or offend her, but now he had deliberately done just that, showing anger because of her coolness with his mistress! Her whole body quivered and she knew that two spots of angry color were staining her cheeks. So he believed she was surly and disagreeable, did he? Well, she would prove him wrong!

The cotillion commenced and almost immediately she found herself facing a different partner. She smiled at him, sinking into a graceful curtsy as she held out her handkerchief favor to him. He melted before such a devastating smile, beaming all over his chubby face and obviously thinking the future Lady Sheringham to be a dazzler indeed, quite a gem. She repeated the exercise with each successive partner, proceeding around the large set and being careful to acknowledge each lady whose glance she happened to meet.

By the time Sebastian was facing her again, she knew that she had played her part with every bit as much skill as Petra played hers, for everyone she had smiled at had formed an extremely favorable impression. But as Sebastian bowed to her, his face was still angry, and he did not smile at all as he held out the handkerchief to return it.

She took it and sank into the final curtsy, and as she rose again she smiled sweetly. “Now who’s being surly and disagreeable, sir?”

He did not reply, drawing her hand through his arm again and leading her from the floor.

For the next hour or more she was presented to a bewildering succession of people, the landed gentry of Cornwall, the judges and magistrates, the commanding officers of several army establishments, at least a dozen naval captains and lieutenants, a bishop, and the vicars of every parish in the neighborhood.