6 An Evening At Highwood Place

Bertram had not thought at all about the evening party at Highwood Place until the time came to change and he found Bayley had laid out his silk knee breeches.

"Oh, Lord! Must I?"

"Her ladyship is very particular as to attire, sir," Bayley said. "The mistress told me herself what you are to wear tonight."

Bertram sighed, but resigned himself to the inevitable. At home, his evenings could be spent buried in a book, or he might even retreat to his library and carry on with his work, for his family understood him. No one asked him to sit and listen to the girls' playing and singing, or insisted he make up a four at whist. He could disappear after dinner, and someone would bring him tea later. Sometimes, if the words were flowing, he would work on into the night. But he knew his duty. Tonight he must clear his head of all Latin, and be a good guest, dancing or playing cards or whatever was asked of him. It was only one night, after all.

He was in the second carriage with Julia and Lucas, and since the two of them bickered gently together, as brothers and sisters so often do, Bertram was left to his own thoughts. Sometimes he wished that he had been a second son, like his father. Lucas, with his sociable disposition, was far better suited to be the heir, to marry well and take on the stewardship of Westwick, while Bertram was only suited to his books. If he could have stayed at Cambridge and become a Fellow and later a Professor, he would have been perfectly happy. Not that he was precisely unhappy at home, but this business of perhaps inheriting the earldom was a complication he could well do without. And yet, he could not quite approve of the present earl marrying again, purely to get sons — that did not seem right! It was so difficult…

The carriage drive at Highwood Place was decorated with a multitude of coloured lanterns, which were not lit when they arrived, for it was still full daylight, but they looked very pretty. A small army of footmen materialised from the house to help them alight from the carriages, Bertram's father and mother, Emily and Penelope from the first, and Bertram, Julia and Lucas from the second. Mr Franklyn, Lady Esther and Bea were waiting in the hall to greet them, but Bertram was relieved to find that Bea neither said nor did anything untoward. He bowed and bade her good evening, she curtsied demurely and bade him welcome, and he was permitted to move into the saloon. Or rather, the Gold Saloon, for the newly extended Highwood Place now boasted several drawing rooms and saloons.

The room bore an overpowering scent of roses, for there were vases and bowls of them on every surface, in the fireplace and arranged in tiers in the corners. The Strongs and Cathcarts were already there, deep in conversations, so Bertram loitered on the outskirts until the last guests arrived, the party from the castle. Bertram had not expected to see any of them, but although the earl had not come, Kent and Olivia were there, accompanied by Mr Willerton-Forbes, the fashionable lawyer from London, and several others Bertram did not recognise.

Kent, the youngest of the earl's three sons, immediately crossed the room to stand beside Bertram.

"Evening, cousin. Well, this is amusing, is it not? An excellent attendance."

"Who are the three with Willerton-Forbes? The team investigating Nicholson's murder, I imagine."

"Exactly so. The little fellow with the military bearing is the leader. Captain Edgerton of the East India Company Army. No doubt we will hear some of his tall tales at dinner. The elegant lady is his wife, and the big blond fellow eyeing up Olivia is a Scotsman by the name of Alexander. A strange crowd. There is an elderly spinster, too — some kind of companion to Mrs Edgerton, but she does not go into society. Goodness me, these flowers are making me want to sneeze. Lady Esther always puts on a splendid show. There is to be dancing later, I understand, and all manner of delights. Shall you dance, do you think?"

"I imagine it will be unavoidable," Bertram said.

"For you, yes." He lowered his voice conspiratorially, drawing Bertram a little aside from the chattering groups. "Bea Franklyn will undoubtedly insist on it. Another chance for her to get her claws into you, now that she has thrown Walter over."

"Is he upset about that?" Bertram said curiously. "I have not seen him since that day we were all told the news."

Kent shrugged easily. "He does not seem unduly upset about any of it. You know he has gone off to town now? He is to take up a government post, seemingly, with Alfred Strong. Winnie has gone with them."

"Winnie?" Bertram looked vaguely round the room, not having noticed Winnie Strong's absence. She was not a person who stood out in company. "Well, that will be a pleasant little holiday for her. She deserves a treat. But how are you all at the castle? I did not expect to see you here tonight."

"That is Olivia, not me. You know how she is wild to be out in society, and now it is all up in the air. She cannot be presented at court, not as a bastard. She wanted to come tonight to prove that she is still a person of consequence in her own county, and Mother is away, so Mrs Edgerton had to be invited to chaperon her, and that meant Edgerton and the whole crowd. Still, Edgerton is amusing, the Scotsman will charm the ladies and the lawyer will dazzle us all with his tales of the Duke of This and the Marquess of That."

Lady Esther came across to them with her polite smile. "We shall be going in to dinner shortly. Mr Bertram, may I call upon you to escort my daughter, as the highest ranking young gentleman present?"

"I?" Bertram said, startled, throwing a glance at Kent, who smiled and shook his head. "Oh… oh… of course, Lady Esther. Delighted, naturally."

When she had moved on, he whispered to Kent, "Are you truly to lose all precedence because of this? You are still the son of an earl, after all, and I am only a nephew."

"But you are legitimate, and the son of the heir presumptive, while I am nobody. Poor Olivia! She will not like it one bit."

Bertram saw the truth of this remark as the dinner procession began to form. Lady Esther, being a duke's daughter, was highly conscious of her exalted station, so the company lined up precisely in rank order, although Bertram was surprised to see the fashionable lawyer and Mrs Edgerton among the first. Kent and Olivia as well as the various Cathcarts were of so little consequence they had not even been assigned partners.

Poor Olivia indeed! As the Lady Olivia Atherton, legitimate daughter of an earl, she had always taken her place high in any gathering, but as Miss Olivia Atherton, without rank or title, she was no one. Her head was lowered as the little procession filed past her, as she tried very hard not to show how much she minded the snub.

Bertram's heart was wrung. He stopped, and everyone behind him had to stop, too.

"Olivia?" He held out his spare arm to her. "Will you not honour me with your company, too?"

Her head shot up, pleasure written all over her face. "Why, thank you, cousin. That would be most agreeable."

And so he walked into the dining room with a lady on each arm, in defiance of Lady Esther, who was too well-bred to show the slightest displeasure at this breach of protocol. Bertram was rewarded for his chivalry, for the two ladies set out to exert their charms on him. Olivia was always lively company, and was delighted to have achieved a higher station than her new rank merited, and Bea… well, Bea was just Bea, good-humoured and boisterous as always. But with such dinner partners, Bertram had no need to struggle for conversation, and if he puzzled over the contents of a particular dish, Bea was able to explain that it had once been quail or a lamb's head or a leveret, before Lady Esther's expensive cook had smothered it in unidentifiable sauce.

When the ladies withdrew and the gentlemen gathered around Mr Franklyn, Bertram was glad to yield his higher place to Kent and Captain Edgerton, and sit with the Cathcart boys where he could listen but had no need to participate. Politics, country sports and horses held no interest for him, and Mr Franklyn never allowed any discussion of a ribald nature, so he prepared to be bored for a half hour or so. However, Captain Edgerton would not allow boredom to take hold in any company he was in, and his two friends, the handsome Scotsman and the fashionable London lawyer, were almost as full of amusing anecdotes as he was. After an hour, the butler sidled in to remind Mr Franklyn that the ladies were expecting them.

The old dining room in the original house, now refurbished and renamed as the Red Saloon, was the appointed place for dancing. The carpets had been rolled up, and the elegant sofas and tables removed, leaving only chairs and a few large cabinets around the perimeter. Mrs Dewar, the vicar's wife, was already ensconced at the pianoforte, preparing to play, with a couple of men with fiddles for support. The windows and the door that led out onto the terrace already stood open, as Bertram's mother fought a spirited but unsuccessful campaign to have them all closed again.

"Come, girls," she said to Julia, Emily and Penelope. "Let us place ourselves as far as possible from unwholesome draughts. Keep your shawls wrapped tightly about you, except when you are dancing. One must not take the least risk of a chill, or else it will settle on the lungs and any inflammation there is invariably fatal. One cannot be too careful in such matters."

"Yes, Mama," they chorused, making a show of tightening their shawls over bare arms, to be loosened the instant their mama looked elsewhere.

Where she was only taking notice of the windows, they were assessing the gentlemen as they arrived, their hopeful expressions settling into resignation, for even Julia's lack of skill with numbers could not disguise the fact that there were considerably more young ladies than gentlemen willing or able to dance. Bertram could see at once that he was not going to be able to evade his duty. There would be no escaping to the card room this evening. The one bright spot was that he would only be obliged to dance with Bea Franklyn once. He looked around for her, planning to get this chore out of the way early, only to see her with her hand already resting proprietorially on Mr Alexander's arm. As the music started up, he looked around quickly, and spotting Bridget Dewar nearby, held out his hand to her.

There was a great deal of pleasure to be had from such dancing. It was certainly not impromptu, and nothing under Lady Esther's aegis could ever be described as informal, but there was not the rigidity of a regular ball. The older generation joined in just as enthusiastically as the younger, young ladies without partners stood up together and nobody minded much when anyone went wrong or toes were stepped on. Bertram had danced with Olivia, Alice Dewar and Lily Strong, when he was accosted by Bea Franklyn.

"Your turn to dance with me, Bertram," she said cheerfully.

"It would be my pleasure," he said politely.

"Shall we wait near the windows? It is so hot in here, do you not find? I declare, if I do not get a little air, I am sure I shall melt away altogether. Shall we step onto the terrace for a moment?"

Rather alarmed by her high colour, he agreed to it at once. The terrace was certainly cooler, delicately lit by lines of coloured paper lanterns which cast soft light over Bea's gown, turning the pale silk to gentle shades of blue and pink and orange. A slight breeze ruffled the dark curls framing her face, pressing her skirts closer about her legs. She looked remarkably pretty, was his surprised thought.

She crossed the terrace swiftly, resting her hands on the stone balustrade and gazing out into the garden. The little pools of light made no impression on the darkness beyond, and to Bertram, it felt very like standing at the rail of a ship gazing into the black ocean.

"I should like—" she began, and then stopped, her breathing rather rapid.

"What should you like?" he said gently. "May I fetch something for you? A cool drink, perhaps?"

"No… no… I merely thought… perhaps…" Again her breath came very fast, but Bertram could see no cause for her agitation.

"Miss Franklyn?" he murmured, but she made no response.

Then, from behind them, came a voice high with distress. "Miss Franklyn! Miss Franklyn! Do come back inside, I beg you. The night air… so very injurious… I could not forgive myself…" Bertram's mother materialised in a flurry of alarm, throwing a thick woollen shawl about Bea's shoulders. "Bertram, what are you about, to be taking Miss Franklyn outside! At night, too, and when she is excessively heated from dancing. How many times must I tell you that one cannot be too careful in such matters? My dear Miss Franklyn, will you not come back into the safety of the house before you catch a chill?"

"Yes… yes, of course," Bea said, laughing suddenly, and allowing herself to be steered back to the house. "I am so very sorry to alarm you, Mrs Atherton. But do not blame Bertram, for it was entirely my doing. I was so hot."

"No, no! He should have prevented you. He ought to know better. Come now, you will be much better inside. Deploy your fan with vigour, and Bertram will fetch you a glass of lemonade… or an ice, if you promise to eat it very slowly. Too much icy cold food consumed in haste is just as fatal for the constitution as too much hot food. There now, here is your mother, who will feel just as I do, I am sure. No harm done, Lady Esther, for I believe I covered her with the shawl before her blood could be chilled."

"You are all kindness, Mrs Atherton, I am sure," Lady Esther said frostily, "but Bea hardly needs such coddling. You will have her overheating in this heavy wrap. I know you mean well, but I believe I understand my daughter's constitution better than you do."

"Oh… of course… a thousand apologies, my lady."

Bertram followed them back into the house, his mother distressed, Lady Esther regally in charge and Bea… Bea was giggling, as if it were all a great joke. She was a strange girl, sometimes.