The Regency (12 page)

‘
Brighton is a delightful place, isn't it?' Mathilde said
enthusiastically.

‘
Very,' Hawker said, with a slight, conspiratorial smile at
Héloïse. 'Did you attend any of the evening parties at the
Pavilion?'

‘Yes, several.'

‘
And how did you like His Highness?' Hawker asked, and
the tone of his voice was satirical enough even to alert
Mathilde.

‘
He was very — affable,' she said uneasily, glancing at
Héloïse for help. From above the sounds of music revealed that the band had warmed up and were ready to play; glanc
ing up, Héloïse saw a flash of white behind the balustrade,
which she assumed was Fanny watching the arrivals. James
and Edward were chatting to the older people and chaperones
who had accompanied the girls.

‘
I think perhaps we might go up,' she said loudly, to catch
everyone's attention. 'I think it is time to begin.’

Hawker bowed to Mathilde and said, 'Might I have the
inestimable honour of your hand for the first dance, Miss
Nordubois?’

He pronounced her name perfectly, which pleased and con
fused her. 'Oh, thank you — I should — but I am engaged
already, to Mr Skelwith.’

John Skelwith, who had drifted up to them, nodded gravely
at Hawker, and offered his arm to Mathilde. Hawker gave a
charming, rueful smile.

‘
I am bested,' he said, and as they walked away, he turned
to Héloïse. 'In that case, ma'am, may I solicit the even higher
honour of your hand?
Voulez-vous danser avec moi, madame la comtesse?’

Héloïse raised her eyebrows at him. 'You speak French
with a French accent, Mr Hawker,' she observed. 'And how
did you know my title?'

‘I have lived abroad a great deal, ma'am,' he replied. 'And
as to your title, it would be simple of me to accept an invita
tion and not discover by whom I had been invited. So then,
may I?' He crooked his arm insistently for her.

Héloïse couldn't help smiling, though she tried to speak
sternly. 'This is a dance for the young people, Mr Hawker. I
do not dance. You must apply to one of the young ladies.
That,' she added pointedly, 'is what you are here for.’

He still held his arm for her. 'I am rebuked. But may I
escort you upstairs to the saloon? Grant me that, at least.’

Everyone was following Mathilde and John Skelwith up the
stairs, and Hawker's nonsense would leave a young woman without a partner, if they all paired off before they reached
the saloon. Héloïse gave a distracted glance about her; but
Hawker was smiling down at her, and met her eyes with a mixture of such admiration, amusement, intelligence, and
conspiracy that she could not prevent herself from placing her
hand on his arm and allowing him to lead her to the stairs. This is a dangerous man, she thought, and determined that
she would keep an eye on him, and make sure he did his duty
and danced every dance, even if it were with the youngest
Miss Grey.

*

Mathilde, at the head of the set for the first dance, eyed John
Skelwith obliquely. Apart from the two lieutenants, who were
frankly terrifying, John Skelwith was the oldest of the young
men present, and his gravity and air of maturity made her
feel nervous and rather shy. She had been pleased that he had
asked her for the ,first dance; she felt it a distinction; and as
the rest of the set formed below them, she decided that
despite his lack of dash and nonsense, she had much the best
partner. His necktie and hairstyle might be sober and unad
venturous, but his breadth of shoulder and strength of calf
needed no help from buckram padding, like Ned Mickle
thwaite's; and if he did not speak much, at least he did not
require constant admiration, like Tom Keating.

Finding that he was looking at her, she met his eyes hesit
antly, and he smiled so pleasantly that she forgot that she had
known him such a little time. It was a confident, friendly,
unchallenging smile, such as, for instance, Mr Edward
Morland might give her, and she smiled back unaffectedly.

‘How pleasant this is,' he said. 'I think we shall have a delightful evening, don't you?'

‘
Oh yes,' she said. 'And private balls are so much pleasanter
than public ones, aren't they?'

‘
I'm sorry to say I have been to so few of either, I can
hardly have an opinion,' he replied.

‘Oh,' she said, disappointed. 'Don't you like to dance?’

He laughed. 'Whenever I have had the chance, I have liked
it very much. But I have been kept busy ever since I left
school, learning my father's business and taking care of it. I
have had little time for pleasure — too little.'

‘That is a great pity,' Mathilde said feelingly.

‘
The kindness of your heart makes you feel more sympathy
for me than I am accustomed to feel for myself,' he smiled,
making her blush a little. 'But standing here, in this pleasant
place, and with such pleasant company, I believe you are
right, and that it is a pity.’

She felt the implied compliment too deeply at once to
reply; but then, remembering Héloïse's words, that it was a
small occasion beside many others she had experienced, she
summoned her confidence to say, 'Perhaps now you have
begun, you may find it easier to go on.'

‘
To go on with what, Miss Nordubois?' he asked. She raised
her eyes, and found him looking at her in a way that made
her feel breathless and witless.

‘
Why — with dancing and — and balls — and so on,' she
managed to say.

He took her hand at the demand of the dance, and she
liked the gentle strength of his grasp, and the firm way he
supported her.

‘
Perhaps it is a little early to ask,' he said, 'but I imagine I
may not have another chance if I miss this one: so may I take
you down to supper, Miss Nordubois?'

‘
Yes, please,' she said simply, and then wondered if she
ought to have said 'thank you' instead.

*

Lieutenant Hawker was frankly bored. Finucane had been
eager to come to this ball because the wealthy Miss Chubb
would be here, and he was hoping for the opportunity to
advance what seemed to Hawker a very hopeless cause. When
the colonel had relayed the request for another officer to
Finucane, he had put up Hawker's name without consulting
him; and when Hawker had later protested, Finucane had
said, 'Oh don't be such a wet blanket, Fitz! There will be a
dozen pretty girls there, and a decent supper. What more can
you want?'

‘
A great deal more,' Hawker had said disagreeably. 'Country
girls with thick ankles and red faces, and nothing to drink,
I'll wager, but orgeat and lemonade! What the devil did you
give Brunton my name for?’

Finucane laughed. 'Nonsense! York girls are the prettiest in
the country, and quite as smart and sophisticated as your
London girls. As to drink, you don't know, there might be
champagne or anything. And you can take your own flask,
can't you? Damnit, Fitz, you've nothing better to do, after all.
Why not take the chance of seeing the inside of Morland
Place? It's a fine old castle, you know, and the Morlands are
one of the oldest families about here.'

‘
Stiff and fusty-faced, and full of their own importance, I
suppose. Who's the girl?' Hawker asked indifferently.

‘
What, Miss Nordubois? Ward of Lady Morland, some kind
of cousin-twice-removed, I think. She's French, you know.'

‘
So I imagined from the name,' Hawker said with a curl of
the lip.

‘
No, I mean Lady Morland,' Finucane laughed good-nature
dly. 'She's a countess in her own right — Papist, of course
— descended from James II, but with a few bends in the line.
From what I hear, she's had quite a life! Fled the revolution
and — well, there have been some scandals along the way.’

Hawker's interest was slightly stirred. 'Is she a beauty?
Rich?'

‘
What, Lady M? Has her own fortune. As to beauty — I
couldn't say, never having seen her. Her marriage to Morland
was a love-match, so I dare say she is. Why, what's it to you?'

‘
A wealthy married woman with a highly-coloured past,
and French at that, might just amuse me sufficiently to make
it worth going to this dreary ball of yours,' Hawker said. 'God knows, there's nothing else to do in this place! Why did I ever
come to the North? Why did I ever leave Brighton?'

‘
You know why you left Brighton,' Finucane said disoblig
ingly. 'It was because —'

‘For God's sake, don't remind me,' Hawker snapped.

‘So you'll come to Morland Place with me, then?' Finucane pressed home his advantage.

‘I suppose so,' Hawker sighed.

He had come; and it was as bad as he had expected.
Orgeat, lemonade, and a harmless punch to drink; girls only just out, and flanked by chaperones like thorn-hedges to see
they didn't flirt. Lady Morland turned out to be an ugly little
thing, interesting because of the Stuart blood, which shewed
clearly enough in her features and colouring, but too sharp-witted, and too obviously in love with her husband to offer any chance of an intrigue. Every time he tried to slip away
from the dancing to refresh himself from his flask, she
pounced on him and led him up to some giggling girl, and
though he admired her strength of character, his boredom
became more and more acute. She even obliged him — with,
he could swear, a malicious gleam in her eye — to escort
down to supper Miss Lydia Grey, who was the worst giggler
of them all, and who had been schooled by her mama to do
her best to get married to any man who so much as spoke to
her.

At last, towards the end of the supper break, he managed
to slip away on the pretext of fetching Miss Grey an ice, and as soon as he was outside the dining-room, hurried round the
nearest dark corner to get out his flask and give himself a
much-needed bracer. Almost immediately, however, he heard
the sound of footsteps coming towards him. He had no wish
to be discovered thus with a flask in his hand, and cursing
inwardly, looked about him for escape. There were only two
doors: one, by the size of it and the smell of incense, evidently
led to the chapel, which he had no desire to enter. He tried
the other door, swore as he found it locked, and took the only
other available way, up the spiral stairs.