Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

B alls given by the Duchess of Sedgwick were always well attended, if not outright crushes. Having been instructed to arrive early—in no uncertain terms—he did, having also donned the prescribed green waistcoat. Adelaide’s eyes swept over him as soon as she saw him standing in the duchess’s grand ballroom. To his relief, she gave him a small smile and a satisfied nod.

“Shall I pass, Lady Kemerton?” he asked with a quirk of his brow.

“Oh, Oakley.” She linked her arm through his. “I only want you to be happy! No—not merely happy. Incandescent!”

“Just as she is,” Kem added, bending to put a little kiss on Adelaide’s cheek. Adelaide rewarded him with a little tap of her fan.

“Yes, in fact, I am . Happier than I ever imagined I could be, to be sure. I just do not see the use of despair! We are the fortunate ones, blessed by an accident of birth to have all the finest things in life. We owe it to those less well-situated to at least enjoy our blessings!”

“I shall do my best,” Oakley promised.

“Dance with her twice,” Adelaide advised. “Thrice even! Leave her in no doubt of your regard.”

“Thrice? Let us not provoke another scandal,” Oakley replied with a laugh, just as Scarlett and Worthe, having only just arrived, found them. Scarlett gave Adelaide an expressive look, and suddenly they all seemed to have reasons to leave; all of them save for Scarlett who drew him over to one side to get out of the way of those who were thronging into the ballroom at greater numbers with each passing minute. They found themselves a little corner by an enormous potted fern.

“What is this about?”

“Bess called on me yesterday afternoon.”

Curiously, the news did not send Oakley’s heart into a gallop—more of a dread-filled canter. “With Beamish?”

“Beamish did not call with her, no, but she says he is very well.”

“Is he? Then why is it that he always seems to be somewhere else?” Oakley leant in. “You say she is busy enjoying her husband and yet the husband does not seem to sit still long enough to enjoy the wife.”

His voice had risen towards the end of the sentence, and Scarlett shushed him, then glanced about. “Beamish’s whereabouts are not your concern, they are Bess’s concern, and she tells me she has never been so happy. Happy and…hopeful.”

“Hopeful? Hopeful of what?”

Scarlett gave him an expressive look. “Hopeful in the way every newly married lady who wishes to give her husband an heir is.”

“Oh.” The words hit Oakley like a fist to the chest. “Then I suppose Beamish has been around, at least once or twice.”

Scarlett gave the obligatory weak titter to that. “In any case, it is likely Bess will attend tonight. There is some connection between the Leightons and Sedgwicks.”

“Then I shall eagerly anticipate renewing our acquaintance.” The words tasted bitter in his mouth, and he turned, looking about for someone with a drinks tray or the like. “Where are the servants? I find myself desperate for a glass of ratafia.”

For what felt to be hours, Oakley strolled about, ostensibly seeking Lady Charlotte but in truth, hoping to catch a glimpse of Bess. He was due for disappointment in both quarters. With Lady Charlotte it seemed he had made an unforgivable misstep.

“Oakley, you must dance,” Lady Tipton murmured from behind her fan when he passed her. “The duchess is impatient with any bachelor who is not squiring somebody about on the floor at all times. And not your sisters! They are all married!”

“Whom shall I dance with, ma’am?” he enquired. “Or shall I be so fortunate as to make my own selection?”

“That young lady over there”—Lady Tipton pointed discreetly with her fan—“is the Duke of Sedgwick’s niece. Come, I shall introduce you and then you can ask her to dance.”

Lady Hortense Seifert was pretty, and her gown was made up in the latest style; those things in addition to being the duke’s niece were matters which had formed within her a lofty opinion of herself. She gave an exceedingly gracious nod to accept his offer of a dance—one that seemed designed to impress upon him the favour she conferred in so doing—and then did all she could to impress him with her consequence thereafter.

She first discussed all the house parties she had attended in the autumn, including one at Chatsworth, and continued with what high-ranking noblemen she had danced with. A viscount, Oakley surmised, was well beneath her notice, and he was meant to feel lucky for securing her. The set was excessively long, it seemed.

Following the dreadful dance with Lady Hortense, Oakley was relieved to partner Lady Lenora who, with her customary spirit, had asked him to dance. “If I have one more titled oaf step on my toes, I cannot be held responsible for my actions.”

“What makes you so certain this titled oaf will not step on your toes?” Oakley asked as he steered her towards the forming set. “You know dancing has never been my foremost talent but what I lack in expertise I make up for in enthusiasm.”

“True, but I have grown accustomed to your shuffles and missteps. They are easily anticipated.” She grinned up at him.

As ever, it was easy to dance with Lady Lenora. She acquainted him with whatever gossip she had learnt, including some bit of tattle about his behaviour at the theatre. “What are they saying?” Oakley enquired. “I assure you it was likely far less than it sounded!”

“I have heard that you left her on the street while you mounted a horse and galloped after Mrs Beamish, that Lady Charlotte pulled a pistol on you while you ran after Mrs Beamish in the street, and that Lady Charlotte herself ran after a man while you were left behind.”

Oakley groaned. “I hope it is far less serious than it sounds. I should not like Lady Charlotte to suffer for my ill-mannered impulses.”

“Even the gossips know they are being silly,” Lady Lenora confirmed. “No one really thinks anything of it.”

“Good, good. Still, I wonder whether Lady Charlotte will speak to me again.”

“Likely not. Was she not meant to be here tonight?”

“She was,” Oakley confirmed. “I have seen neither hide nor hair of her.”

As he said so, his eyes made another sweep, going up and down the long line of dancers. He might not be in love with the lady but, given the opportunity, it would be best to lay to rest the gossip by dancing with her and showing the ton they were on amicable terms—at least he hoped they were. He would not like to make an enemy of her or her family. Alas, no matter how many times he looked, he saw no sign of Lady Charlotte.

Whom he did see was Bess, standing off to one side with her mother. The sight made him inhale sharply.

She was beautiful in a gown of palest pink silk which flattered her complexion wonderfully. Her hair, her jewels…even the manner in which she held herself all bespoke a contented, happy woman. For a moment he imagined her in the Tipton countess’s tiara. He shook his head to clear from it such impossible notions.

The music ended just then, and he gave Lady Lenora a deep bow fit for a queen to make her laugh. Then she said, “I see your friend is over there. What say we both go and greet her? It will save you the effort of humiliating me by dashing off to her while I stand about stupidly.”

Oakley would have laughed at that had he not already begun steering her through the throng of departing dancers. “If people would simply wait to join the next set until everyone from the previous group had left…” he grumbled into Lady Lenora’s ear.

“Like swimming against the tide,” she agreed.

Oakley barely heard her. His gaze was fixed on Bess, willing her to remain just where she was while he pushed and poked his way towards her. Happily, it seemed she would stay. Her mother was talking to an older lady who stood beside them, but Bess was not involved in their conversation. Her gaze roamed about the room, only occasionally lighting upon him.

When they at last arrived, Lady Leighton paused to greet them. “Lord Oakley! How good it is to see you.”

He bowed to her, murmuring, “Lady Leighton, Mrs Beamish.”

Bess held out her hand to him, saying warmly, “Oakley, how delightful—Oh!”

The last was said as her ring, presumably her wedding ring, went flying off her finger and skittered across the floor. There was a brief bustle as Oakley bent to find it just as it slid beneath a passing lady’s skirts and then that lady’s escort also bent to retrieve the ring, his head bumping against Oakley’s…but at length the offending article was retrieved. Bess thanked him, her eyes twinkling merrily as she placed it back upon her finger.

“Surely the jeweller could have sized that for you?”

Lady Leighton hurriedly inserted, “She has lost weight, the poor dear! I keep telling her—eat something! But she does not and now she is skin and bone!”

“I am not skin and bone, Mama,” Bess murmured, colour rising in her cheeks. “I have been busy, no more to it than that. I am not starving by any means.”

“I think you are as beautiful as ever,” Oakley said warmly, revelling in seeing her grow even more pink as a result.

A pointedly cleared throat just then reminded him of his own companion. “Ladies, my cousin wishes to know you, if you would like.”

He made the introductions. The ladies greeted one another and then were in the midst of a feminine exchange of ‘did I see you at this lecture’ and ‘do you know Lady Such-and-such’ when Lady Carbrooke arrived.

“You made a fine pair on the dance floor,” she informed her daughter and Oakley before turning to Lady Leighton and Bess. “How do you do?”

“Lady Carbrooke, this is Lady Leighton and Mrs Beamish. Ladies, my aunt, the Marchioness of Carbrooke.”

The ladies again were called upon to curtsey, but Lady Carbrooke’s gaze had been caught by Bess’s jewels. They were rather magnificent, Oakley had to admit, although nothing compared to the twinkle of her eyes, or the gleam of her smile.

“My dear, your parure is simply lovely. Is it pink topaz?” Lady Carbrooke asked.

Bess flushed the faintest bit, her hand rising to touch the necklace. “Yes, ma’am, I believe it is. It was part of my husband’s family collection.”

“Was it?” Lady Carbrooke leant forwards slightly and peered at it closely again. “It looks very much like a pink topaz parure from the Crowle collection.”

“A topaz parure is not so unusual,” Lady Lenora replied in a somewhat guarded tone. She offered Bess a kind smile and added, “It looks very lovely with your complexion.”

“An Imperial pink topaz is certainly out of the common way. Who are your husband’s family?” Lady Carbrooke enquired, her gaze shifting between Bess’s countenance and the necklace and bracelet of the parure.

Bess’s hand was still on the necklace, her fingers playing with the main stone in a nervous sort of way. When it became apparent that she meant to remain silent, Oakley offered, “The Beamishes are from Hertfordshire, Aunt.”

“The Beamishes of Beauvis in Hertfordshire,” Lady Leighton added brightly. “A fine, old family.”

“I do not know them,” Lady Carbrooke mused. “Beamish, hmm? Who are they connected to?”

Oakley interrupted the conversation, addressing Lady Leighton and Bess. “Will you be in town for the Season?”

“My plans are not fixed,” Bess murmured, dropping her eyes while Lady Leighton murmured something similar.

“You know,” said Lady Carbrooke to Lady Lenora, “the Duchess of Crowle reportedly had her parure stolen. Somewhere along the way, someone replaced it with a paste copy and the original is gone.”

At this, Bess’s eyes flew up, wide and stricken as she gasped. Lady Lenora and Lady Leighton gasped as well.

“Mama! Think of what you say!” Lady Lenora scolded with an uncomfortable-sounding chuckle. “The way you speak makes it sound as if you accuse Mrs Beamish of being a jewel thief.”

“Or at the very least, of wearing stolen jewels,” Oakley chastised. “Really, Aunt.”

It was Lady Carbrooke’s turn to be aghast now. She was never the sort to be malicious, only thoughtless. “Heaven forbid!” Lady Carbrooke cried out. “Dear Mrs Beamish, I assure you I meant nothing of the sort. I am sure the parure has been in your husband’s family for centuries!”

Bess’s eyes showed clearly her dismay, but she managed, very admirably, to say, “I should hope so.”

“I am sure if one held the two sets side by side, they would be very different,” said Lady Lenora.

“Positively! Very different indeed!” Lady Carbrooke agreed with far too much enthusiasm. “In fact, now that I look again, it is really not very similar at all. Quite different.”

“I have not seen the Crowle parure, so I cannot say, but given the relative fortunes of Beamish versus Crowle, I would suppose that the Crowle set has far more jewels, and likely larger ones as well,” Lady Lenora asserted.

“Just so,” Oakley agreed staunchly.

“I beg your pardon, Mrs Beamish, I assure you I meant no harm in my idle comments. I simply was not thinking before I spoke.” Lady Carbrooke held out a hand and Bess accepted it. “You must allow me to heal the breach! You will come to a dinner I am giving Monday next, you and Mr Beamish both.”

Oakley noticed that Bess stiffened at that and dropped the marchioness’s hand. “F-forgive me but Mr Beamish will be away from town on business.”

“My nephew will escort you,” said Lady Carbrooke, blithely sailing from one étourderie into the next. “I shall send over a note with all the particulars. Oakley, you must call for her at about half past five, for drinks in the drawing room will commence at six. Lenora, I see Lady Shelton and I have not greeted her as yet. Are you acquainted with her, Lady Leighton? Come along, I shall introduce you to her.”

Oakley watched the three ladies walk far enough away to be out of earshot before turning back to Bess with a rueful smile. “She means well,” he said.

“I am sure she does.” Bess studied him, a faint smile playing about her lips. “You are looking well, Oakley. How have you been?”

He inclined his head. “It has been a tumultuous time of late, but I daresay we have come through it now. And you, madam?”

“I am well,” she replied, one hand reaching up to again alight on the necklace. “I have lately been introduced to your new sister, the duchess. She is very charming.”

“Ah yes, Frederica.” Oakley smiled. “She and Penrith both are delightful additions to the family. I confess I never imagined myself amid so much family, being raised as I was, but I find it very agreeable.”

“I was excessively sorry to hear about your uncle and all that nonsense that came before it.”

Oakley shrugged. “Yes, well…all has worked out for the best, I hope. It is a comfort to know that whatever weaknesses I might have, once I am the earl, I shall still do better with it than Damian could have.”

She laughed. “That is true. I only met him once, but it seems he was an absolute scoundrel.”

“You met him?” Oakley furrowed his brow. “When was that?”

“I believe it was my wedding breakfast, positively ages ago,” she replied, her attention momentarily drawn away by the nod of a passing acquaintance.

“Your wedding breakfast?” Oakley drew back. Even Scarlett had not been to her dear girlhood friend’s wedding. And Damian had?

“Oh!” Bess’s attention snapped back to him and she tittered, sounding nervous. “Did I say my wedding breakfast? I mean a wedding breakfast. Someone else’s joyful day, though I cannot immediately recollect whose it was.”

“I see.” Oakley studied her. She seemed uncommonly agitated for such a commonplace conversation. Her eyes never remained on his very long, and they skipped and danced about the room erratically, landing in every place but his face. Was it him? Did he make her uncomfortable?

He cleared his throat. It was not the gentleman-like thing to make her miserable, no matter how much pleasure her presence brought him, and so he would leave her. “I believe I am engaged for the next,” he began, waiting to see whether she would utter any syllable to delay him. She did not. “Um, about Lady Carbrooke’s dinner?—”

“I should be delighted to attend,” said Bess quickly.

“And Beamish will not despise me for escorting you?”

With a wry tilt of her head and a brief quirk of her brow, she said, “I do not feel obliged to tell Beamish everything. Pray come to collect me at five and we will have a little visit first.”

With that, she turned to leave him.

“A moment!” he called after her, and she turned back. “I have no notion where you stay.”

“Silly me.” She shook her head and gave him her direction. It was a fashionable address, Dover Street, very near Prince Lieven. He wondered if Beamish owned it or had let it.

“Until Monday, then,” he said with a bow.