Lady Hathaway's House Party (6 page)

Without realizing she did it, Belle gripped Oliver’s arm a little more tightly and slowed her pace. He turned to her. “Buck up, old girl,” he said in a low but kindly voice. “The quizzes are all alert to see if you bolt.”

She took a deep breath and smiled up at him, a determined, steely smile he had not seen before. “I
said
I’d stay, and I’ll stay.”

Talk was resumed, on every subject under the sun except the item of interest approaching through the doorway, who continued walking as though there were nothing unusual in the duchess hanging on her husband’s arm and smiling at him. The first group reached was composed of youngish married couples,  friends of Belle’s from London who had been invited with her pleasure in mind. They were of course known to Oliver as well, and welcomed both the Avondales warmly. Too warmly, they both realized at once, due to the mistaken assumption that this joint appearance was in the nature of a reconciliation.

“Belle, and
Oliver
—how nice to see you!” Mrs. Delford said, and might as well have added “together,” for it was implied very clearly in her voice and smile.

Kay, the compleat hostess, rushed in to correct this misapprehension and to get it started circulating about the room that the meeting was accidental, to save her guests embarrassment. Guests ought not to be humiliated under one’s roof. “Yes, such a
coincidence,”
she said. “Belle was invited, and Oliver just came barging in unannounced. He is on his way to London. Oliver is my cousin, you must know, and makes himself free of my house in the most brazen-faced way imaginable. I never know when he will pop in, but I am always happy to see him."

“Oh, then you’re not . . .” Mrs. Delford stopped, as her husband lightly nudged her elbow to silence her.

“No, Marnie, we’re not,” Belle told her, and smiled mischievously, to show no offense was taken. She was glad this was the first group to be confronted. She had always liked the Delfords, Marnie and Ed, but especially Marnie. She was the closest thing to a real friend she had made in the city.

Mrs. Delford was a country-bred girl like herself, and like herself had married a town buck ten years her senior. Ed was not a nobleman, but a wealthy gentleman of fashion, and she thought Marnie Delford’s problems must have been similar to her own, with the difference that these two got on famously. It was pleasant to be in company with a young couple who didn’t consider marriage either a joke or a bore.

Unfortunately, they had not been part of Oliver’s set. She met them only infrequently, and when she wished to secure their company it was necessary for her to go without Oliver. She had felt out of place, hard as they tried to make her not feel that way. But in the Delfords’ circle, five or six young couples like themselves, the husband and wife did things together, went for drives and rides, and on such outings as balloon ascents and picnics, as well as to concerts and balls. A spare wife could not but be a nuisance.

Still, she was glad to see them here, the Delfords and Sloanes. They would be her allies for the ordeal ahead. Kay had them asked because of herself—how thoughtful of her. After a little chatter the Avondales were moved along to say hello to other more elderly friends of Kay’s, a member of Parliament and a cabinet minister, the Traywards, cousins of Kay and Oliver vaguely remembered from the wedding, and then it was Lady Dempster, with her lorgnette raised. She was shortsighted, and didn’t like to miss a thing. She was fairly panting with anticipation.

“Hello, Lady Dempster,” Oliver said, and from the sound of his voice Belle assumed a setdown was to be forthcoming, before ever the lady opened her mouth. Oliver was not frequently rude, but if there was one thing that annoyed him, it was a gossip.

She underestimated Lady Dempster. It wasn’t often that she was outspoken by anyone, nor was she now. “What a famous joke! Your barging in and catching Belle out the first time she brings her new beau into public. That will teach you, sly puss,” she added, turning to wag a finger at Belle.

“You misunderstand the matter,” Oliver told her, while his wife waited with her heart in her mouth to hear what he would come out with.

“What do you mean?” Lady Dempster jumped in, her eyes bright with joy to be in on a secret. “It was all planned—is that it?”

“There is a divinity that shapes our ends,” Oliver went on, looking about the room in a bored way. “You’ll just have to be patient and see what the divinity has in store for us.”

“But it is all your doing,” she persisted to Avondale. “It was no accident?”

“My
doing? No, no, I am monstrously flattered, ma’am, but I
did
say a divinity. I am only human.”

“What then,
was
it an accident?” the inquisitive dame pressed on, not to be put off in this fashion.

“A happy accident,” Belle said, and tried to get away before Oliver said something worse. She was detained by Lady Dempster’s bony fingers on her wrist.

“Did
you
put Kay up to it?” she asked in a voice that was intended to be hidden from Oliver.

“Lizzie, you wretch!” Kay laughed, trying nobly to hide her chagrin. “How dare you badger my guests? It was accidental, and pray let us not make a mountain of a molehill. There is Ralph Ponsonby, Belle. You will want to say hello to him.”

Grateful to get away, Belle went off with Kay, but she noticed that Oliver remained with Lizzie Dempster. Now what was he saying to her? Something nasty, from the satirical face on him. “You caught her red-handed,” Lizzie continued to Oliver, wishing it were Belle she had detained. She’d get no news from this clam.

“Mr. Henderson is a neighbor of my wife’s, and a connection of Kay’s. There is no romance in it.” He longed to give the nosy creature a leveler, but wanted even more to keep her gossip-mongering to a minimum.

“They came together,” Lizzie went on. “I drove up right behind them, and mighty happy they looked too, your grace.”

“But they are not returning together,” he said rashly.

“Is there to be a reconciliation? That’s what I want to know.”

Oliver bent his head close to the old hag’s face and said in a hushed voice, “She hasn’t got me back yet, Liz. This is your chance. Shall we rendezvous at midnight? I may not be available much longer.”

He meant to insult her, but she laughed merrily. She hadn’t thought she would get a thing out of him, and was happy to have a nice repeatable joke at least. “I might take you up on that!” she threatened, and let him escape, for she was eager to pass the conversation on to Lord Eldon.

Oliver caught up to Kay and Belle just as they turned away from Mr. Ponsonby. “Why do you have that harpy here?” he asked Kay.

“To amuse the ladies. It is but a dull crew of gentlemen I have managed to collect, with Raffles not showing up. A gossip will keep the ladies nearly as well entertained as a flirt.”

“Guess what they’ll be gossiping about,” Belle added her complaint indirectly. “What did you say to her by the way, Oliver, to set her cackling?”

“I honoured her with a brief, a
very
brief, flirtation.”

“You’re good at that,” Belle said, and turned to welcome Marnie Delford, who had come back to talk. She joined the Delfords and Sloanes, who discreetly refrained from speaking of accidental meetings and reconciliations, and she passed the time till it was the hour to dress for dinner pleasantly with them. She didn’t give Arnold a thought till she was in her room changing, but then she wondered where he had been, and was just a little grateful that he hadn’t been in the saloon, trailing around after her with Oliver watching him.

Strange that Oliver had taken him in such strong dislike. He hadn’t used to mind it in London if she had a puppy sitting at her feet. He had been wonderfully tolerant. If he voiced any complaint at all, it was that she had served her admirer the wrong beverage, or had worn a dress that was not stylish enough.

She thought he would have no complaint of her gown this evening. She made her toilette with even more care than she had intended, and she had not planned being a dowd in her first public appearance since her estrangement. Her marriage gowns had been left in London at Avondale House, but since removing to Easthill with her father she had continued wearing the more modish fashions discovered in London. She had found in Amesbury a woman capable of making her up the styles she now favored, and wore on this occasion an ensemble adapted from La Belle Assemblée by herself—a dark-green silk underdress covered over with ecru lace. It was straight-cut, almost of a widowish severity, but on a young lady it appeared sophisticated rather than austere. That was one trick she had learned from Lady Hasborough. “Don’t be afraid to tackle matron’s gowns, Belle. They look like the deuce on us matrons, but lend you young girls a bit of chic.”

She had simplified her hairstyle too. Her curls were no longer worn loose, but bound back to make her look older, and at her ears she wore the pearl ear drops her father had given her for her birthday. They bounced and jiggled playfully at every movement of the head, counteracting the severity of the hairdo. She knew she looked well as she revolved in front of her mirror, and smiled at how differently she appeared from the little quiz that had invaded London a year ago.

The change was not only on the surface, either. She was on to them now. Their superficial good nature and friendliness covered a wicked malice. Not all of them, of course. The Delford set was not like that, nor was Kay, but Liz Dempster and her crew, and it was a large one, were all bent on making mischief, making a scandal to have something to talk about. Their whole life was devoted to it. They wanted to cut everyone down to their own insignificant size. They must be bitterly unhappy, to want to see everyone else miserable too. And she had been like a newborn chicken to that gathering of hawks. They had made short shrift of her.

She went downstairs with her head high, ear drops dancing against her cheeks to remind her she was sophisticated. She needed the reminder, for she felt very much like Miss Anderson, with her insides quaking at her first ball. She was greatly relieved to find Arnold lingering at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for her. There were a few others loitering about the hall and entrance to the green saloon as well, but it was to Arnold she walked straightaway, smiling to see him there to protect her. Having stationed himself within view of the grand staircase, Avondale saw both her descent and her reception by Henderson, and was on his feet in a flash. Kay, with her ears pricked for trouble, had seen it too, and was after him like a shot.

“Oh, Oliver,” she said, drawing up to him, then she lowered her voice for her message. “Lady Dempster is positively
goggling
to see what you will do.
Do
act with a little discretion, my dear.”

“Yes, Kay, I’ll take him outside to murder him. Don’t worry I plan to spill blood on your nice carpet.”

“Nor on my nice lawn either, if you please.” She laughed a merry laugh that hid her terror pretty well. “Get Mrs. Ponsonby a glass of wine, will you, please?” As Mrs. Ponsonby was situated close enough to hear this polite command, delivered in a loud voice, Oliver had little option but to do so, thus allowing Henderson to greet Lady Avondale without interference.

“Where have you been all this time?” was the first question Belle put to him.

“I took a little dash over to see Dr. Hutchison,” he told her, trying to make it sound natural. “You know he is a good friend of mine. It is half the reason I came, to have a chance to see him.”

Dr. Hutchison had been the minister at Amesbury until a year ago, and a close friend of Arnold’s. Certainly Arnold had mentioned visiting him while at Ashbourne, but Belle doubted it was an eagerness to see his old friend that had got him out of the house within an hour of his arrival, and with only an hour till dinnertime. It must have been no more than hello and goodbye. She had the sinking feeling amounting to a certainty that he was only trying to get away from herself, because of Oliver.

“He is my friend too, Oliver,” she chided. “I had meant to go with you when you called on him.”

“I’m going back. We hardly talked a minute. I plan to return tomorrow, and he especially asked that I bring you, when he learned that you are visiting Lady Hathaway too.”

“Fine. We’ll go to see him tomorrow then. In the morning or afternoon?”

“We’ll go in the morning, if that’s all right with you. Unless you have made other plans. I don’t mind making your excuses to Dr. Hutchison if you can’t get away.” He was eager in the extreme to make her excuses, or do anything that would put a safe distance between the two of them.

“Yes, that will be all right. I haven’t made any plans,” she said, and waited for Arnold to offer her his arm, as he was always doing, even to go from one room to the next, or from a chair to a table in the same room for that matter. It was the only physical intimacy between them, and he put it to good use.

She would have welcomed the support on this occasion, for her knees felt amazingly watery, but Arnold spaced himself a careful foot away from her side and said, “Well, shall we go in?” He also glanced about the hall for a nice neutral third party to go with them, but found none.

They went into the green saloon, and though a few heads turned to see them, there was no hubbub, as when she had entered with Avondale. She breathed a little sigh of relief, thinking it wasn’t going to be so bad after all, getting back into the swing of things. She introduced Arnold to a few people he had not met, due to his absence when everyone was getting acquainted earlier.

She was aware of Oliver over toward the far corner of the room alone. She disdained to look at him directly to see what held his interest, but no direct look was required to see when he began to walk forward. Before two seconds it became clear he was approaching herself. Arnold’s shrinking off would have told her if the black shoulders fast advancing had not. She could sympathize with Arnold, but she could not do without his support, and turned to speak a question to him, to ensure his remaining with her.

“You don’t have a glass of wine, Belle,” was all her husband said when he reached her, but into it she read a hundred insults. Nobody had bothered to get her one. She didn’t know enough to have a glass of wine when the party has met for a drink before dinner. In short, “You lack polish, my dear.” The old familiar charge.