The Ideal Bride (62 page)

 
“He wouldn’t have if you hadn’t asked—how did you know?”

 
“He was uncomfortable the moment Harris mentioned the subject—there had to be a reason.” She glanced up, met his eyes. “And there was.”

 
He acknowledged her astuteness with an inclination of his head, and steered her on to fresh fields.

 
As usual with such gatherings, the time in the drawing room before the meal was extended, and even after they were all seated about the long board, the conversation remained scintillating and sharp. At such a dinner, food wasn’t the main course. Information was.

 
Ideas, suggestions, observations—all had their place; in this company, all were treated with respect. Visually, the scene was glittering, gorgeous, subtly and pervasively elegant, outrageous only in its undeniable worth, the gold-plated cutlery, the Sevres dishes, the crystal flashing in poor imitation of the diamonds circling the ladies’ throats.

 
They all noticed, yet were barely aware. To a person, their attention remained riveted on conversation—on why they were there.

 
Caro found it tiring, yet exhilarating. It had been more than two years since she’d attended such an event. To her surprise, her enthusiasm, her enjoyment of the rapierlike cut-and-thrust of comment and dialogue, of witty repartee, all swirling and dipping and connecting, hadn’t died; if anything, her delight in participating and succeeding had grown.

 
Toward the end of the meal, when for a moment she sat back and sipped her wine, and caught her breath after an extended and quite hilarious exchange with George Canning, she caught Lady Osterley’s eye. Seated at the far end of the table, her ladyship, one of the great hostesses, smiled, inclined her head, and lifted her glass in a silent toast of patent approval.

 
Caro smiled back, wondered, then allowed her gaze to travel the table. Realized, confirmed, that each recognized hostess—each recognized power—was spread among the guests so that each could command a section of the table, ensuring no group did the unthinkable and let conversation die.

 
She had been included in the roster of female powers.

 
Her heart tripped, gave a definite jump of joy, of very real satisfaction.

 
Five minutes later, Lady Osterley rose and led the ladies back to the drawing room, leaving the gentlemen to discuss parliamentary business over their port.

 
The ladies had other issues to address, ones equally relevant.

 
Entering the drawing room toward the rear of the female crowd, Caro found Therese Osbaldestone waiting to waylay her. Taking her arm, Therese nodded to the long windows left open to the balcony. “I need some air—come and walk with me.”

 
Intrigued, Caro matched her steps to Therese’s slower ones as they crossed the wide room. As always, Therese was supremely well dressed in a high-necked maroon silk gown. Rings flashed on her gnarled fingers as she moved her cane; she used it sparingly.

 
Content with her own appearance, with her skillfully draped
eau de nil
silk and the carved green amber set in silver that adorned her throat and wrists, Caro followed Therese onto the narrow balcony. They had the space to themselves, as, she was certain, Therese had intended.

 
Hooking the ornate silver head of her cane over one arm, Therese gripped the balcony rails and studied her. Consideringly.

 
Caro met that black stare, one she knew disconcerted others— indeed, was intended to disconcert—with unruffled serenity.

 
Therese’s lips curved; she looked out over the darkened gardens. “Most others would be apprehensive, but of course you’re not. I wished to compliment you on your good sense.”

 
Good sense in what? Before Caro would voice the question, Therese continued, “I think too often we forget to tell others when they take the right road. Then, when hurdles appear and they falter, we criticize, quite forgetting we hadn’t taken the time to encourage when, perhaps, we should have. You may consider my comments in that light, if you please—while I have no wish to manage your life, in your case”— glancing at her, Therese caught her eye—“I suspect a few encouraging words will not go amiss.”

 
Caro waited.

 
“You may not recall, but I was
not
one of those who applauded your marriage to Camden.” Therese faced the gardens once more. “To me, it seemed very much a case of socially sanctioned cradle-snatching. But then, as time went on, I changed my mind.
Not
because I thought Camden an appropriate husband for you, but because I realized he was most definitely a highly suitable
mentor
for you.”

 
Caro let her gaze drift out over the gardens, black in the night. She felt Therese’s gaze on her face, but didn’t meet it.

 
“If I’m not mistaken,” Therese continued, her voice low, her tone dry, “the concept of tutor and pupil most closely describes your relationship with Camden. Consequently, I wished to enthusiastically applaud your return to the fray.” Her voice strengthened. “You have a great deal of skill, of honed talent and experience—and believe me, this country needs them. There are turbulent times ahead—we’ll need men of integrity, commitment, and courage to weather them, and those men will need the support of…”

 
Therese paused. When Caro glanced at her and met her eyes, she smiled faintly. “Ladies like us.”

 
Caro let her eyes flare with surprise; being classed with Therese Osbaldestone—
by
Therese Osbaldestone—was astounding. And an honor.

 
Of that, Therese herself was fully aware; she inclined her head, lips lifting self-deprecatingly. “Indeed, but you know that I mean what I say. Your ‘right road,’ dear Caro, lies in evenings such as these. There are only so many of us who can cope at this level, and you are one. It’s important to us all, and yes, I speak for the others, too, that you continue within our circle. We all sincerely hope you will marry again, and be there to specifically support one of the upcoming men, but regardless, this—our circle—is where you most definitely belong.”

 
Caro found it difficult to draw breath. Therese held her gaze; there could be no doubt of the sincerity with which she spoke, equally no doubt of the power she still wielded. “This, my dear, is your true life— the circle, the position that will most satisfy you, that will afford you the greatest fulfillment.” Therese’s lips quirked. “If I was given to the melodramatic, I would declare this your destiny.”

 
Therese’s black eyes were impossible to read; her expression, Caro knew, showed only what she wished it to. Yet the impression she received as Therese regarded her was one of fond kindness.

 
As if to confirm her reading, Therese smiled and patted her arm. Reclaiming her cane, she turned toward the drawing room. Caro paced beside her as they slowly strolled back into the light.

 
Just inside the windows, Therese paused. Caro followed her gaze— to Michael. He’d just walked into the drawing room in company with the Prime Minister and the current Foreign Minister, George Canning.

 
“Unless I much mistake the matter,” Therese murmured, “your ‘full tide,’ as the Bard so aptly put it, is upon you. I wished to reassure you that you are on the right path, that when opportunity presents, you should not pass it up, but instead take heart, claim your courage, and seize the day.”

 
With that, Therese inclined her head and regally moved away. Caro remained for a moment, committing her words to memory, laying them aside for later examination, then glided forward to join the nearest group. To return to her anointed role.

 
Michael saw Caro join a group of guests on the far side of the room. Absentmindedly, he tracked her, his attention otherwise on the conversation between the three gentlemen beside him—Liverpool, Canning, and Martinbury. He made no attempt to join in; he knew Liverpool and Canning wished to speak with him, but were waiting for Martinbury to leave them.

 
Caro moved on, joining the group of which Honoria was a part. He caught the glance his lover and his sister exchanged; pleased, he tucked it away—another example of how well Caro fitted in his life.

 
A movement in a group beyond the first drew his attention. Arrogantly assured, Devil detached himself from two grand dames, and went to join his own. Honoria was standing with her back to Devil, yet as he neared, she turned.

 
Across the large room, Michael watched his sister’s face—saw her heart-stopping smile, saw her expression soften, almost glow. Glancing at Devil, he glimpsed, not the same but an answering response, the outward expression of a connection so deep, so powerful it was almost frightening.

 
Was frightening, given the man on whom it had laid its mark.

 
Honoria’s words replayed in his ears.
The one thing… that gave me all that was truly important to me
.

 
He’d thought she’d meant on the physical plane, had searched for what was important to Caro on that basis. Yet perhaps Honoria had meant something else—something simpler, more ethereal, and much more powerful.

 
The one thing on which all else depended.

 
“Ah, Harriet! Well met, my dear.”

 
Michael refocused to find Liverpool greeting his aunt Harriet. Martinbury nodded and stepped away. Canning bowed over Harriet’s hand as Liverpool turned to Michael. “Opportune as ever, Harriet—I was about to have a word with Michael here.”

 
The three—Liverpool, Harriet, and Canning—all turned to him and drew closer; for one fanciful instant, Michael felt as if they’d cornered him. Then Liverpool smiled, and he was no longer sure the impression was such a fantasy.

 
“Wanted to let you know, m’boy, that George here is moving on sooner rather than later.” Liverpool nodded to Canning, who took up the tale.

 
“The extended negotiations with the Americans rather took it out of me, what?” Canning tugged down his waistcoat. “It’s time for fresh blood, new energy. I’ve done my best, but it’s time I handed the baton on.”

 
Harriet was watching with an eagle eye, ready to step in if anything showed any signs of going awry.

 
Liverpool huffed out a breath and looked over the room. “So we’ll have a vacant seat at the cabinet table, and at the F.O., in a matter of weeks. Wanted you to know.”

 
His features impassive, Michael inclined his head. “Thank you, sir.”

 
“And Caro Sutcliffe, heh?” Liverpool’s gaze found Caro; his eyes lit with something close to delight. “
Quite
a find, m’boy—a supremely capable lady.” His gaze returning to Michael’s face, Liverpool was as close to jovial as he ever became. “Glad to see you took my hint to heart. Difficult thing these days, promoting an unmarried man. The party doesn’t have the stomach for it just now. And you couldn’t have chosen better. I’ll look forward to receiving the wedding invitation in the next few weeks, what?”

 
Michael smiled, made the right noncommittal response; he suspected only Harriet picked up his sleight of words, the subtle evasion. Nevertheless, when with the usual comments and assurances the group broke up, Harriet merely smiled and went off on Canning’s arm.

 
Relieved, Michael escaped, strolling to join another group, eventually circling around to come up with Caro.

 
Caro looked up and smiled when he joined her. With a word and a look, she drew him into the conversation she’d been having with Mr. Collins from the Home Office.

 
She was glad Michael had come to her; there were a number of people she thought he should speak with before the evening was over.