Danse de la Folie (30 page)

“What is Amelia doing that she expected to be horrid?”

“Nothing less than reading Shakespeare.”

“What?”

“Lady Kitty is helping her to it. What’s more, she seems to
be taking some of it in. Which is more than I ever got her to do with that
succession of governesses.”

“Hey day,” Lord Chadwick exclaimed in wonderment, as he
picked up his hat. Then he bethought himself of another extraordinary
circumstance, and said, “Would this be owing to that young parson she was
making eyes at in church the other day?”

“Mr. DuLac? I believe so.”

“My daughter, chasing a parson?” He shook his head. “If she
did not look like the rest of ’em…”

Lady Chadwick caught his meaning, and gave a scandalized
laugh; though she dearly loved a flirtation, she had never ventured beyond, a
fact of which he was well aware, and so his joke remained just that.

She sent a quick glance at the door to make certain the
younger girls had not been by, and said, “Mr. DuLac comes of an excellent
family, and as Clarissa said to me just now, anyone who can get Amelia to look
inside a book cannot be discounted as a possible husband.”

Lord Chadwick grabbed his gloves, shaking his head as he
descended the steps.

Before long the ladies were on their way to the bazaar in
order to get ideas for their masquerade costumes. “Only the dull will wear
dominos,” Amelia stated, not knowing that Lord Wilburfolde had faithfully
relayed his mother’s preferences for setting an example of taste and breeding with
the wearing of dominos in a subdued color. “I think I will be beautiful and
tragic as Mary Stuart, in white lace, with a red ribbon round my neck.”

“You will be taken for Marie Antoinette,” Clarissa said. “The
poor thing having been guillotined scarce years ago, people are bound to think
of her first.”

“I do not want to be Marie Antoinette, for that requires a
great wig, and one of those hideous gowns like in the pictures at your Grandmother
Norcaster’s, with the skirt wider than a door. And that horrid white powder,
like the old people wear.”

“What would you like to be?” Kitty asked Clarissa.

“I have not thought about it,” Clarissa said untruthfully.
She knew that she ought to do what Lord Wilburfolde asked. But she wanted to order
an extravagant costume. Something beautiful and romantic... so that someone
would see it.

She would not permit herself to name the Someone.

She was still trying not to think of Someone when the family
departed for Lady Castlereagh’s rout, and found Lord Wilburfolde awaiting them,
full of anxious little worries for protecting Clarissa’s health.

The Castlereaghs’ gardens were lit by quantities of
decorated lamps, and pretty fairy lights floating in the ponds. Guests drifted
in and out of the large, golden-lit house, the soft air of late spring carrying
the sounds of laughter, and of violins scraping.

Everyone of the first rank was there, and a great many who
weren’t.

Lady Bouldeston was not in Lady Castlereagh’s circles, but
Lucretia had foreseen that, begging and flattering her friend Sophia Fordham,
who was connected to the hostess, for an invitation. Miss Fordham was
sufficiently intrigued by the prospect of Lucretia’s intentions to comply.

From the very first it appeared her expectations would be
met, for Lucretia sought her out, then said, “Oh my dear Miss Fordham, I am in
your debt forever. But to be in this company, it makes me so very shy, I must
look out the quietest and most out-of-the-way corner.”

Having said this, she proceeded to tiptoe through the entire
house, scanning thoroughly. Miss Fordham had a silent wager going with herself
that Mr. Devereaux was the target. Sure enough, she spotted him seated with the
Earl of Chatham, Pitt’s brother, and Lords Delamere, Apsley, and Malvers. The
latter’s brother, the elegant Mr. Pierrepont, was in the middle of retailing
the latest anecdote of Mr. Brummel.

“Here is a good place, away from the hideous press,”
Lucretia declared, sitting down as near to them as she could get.

Miss Fordham hid her amusement. “Are you not afraid of
drawing attention from that party of gentlemen?”

“I pay no heed to them. It is giving them too much notice,”
Lucretia declared with a toss of her head.

Miss Fordham wondered how Lucretia was going to gain the
attention of the gentlemen. Even if she didn’t capture that of Mr. Devereaux,
there were several rich and single lords here. And she had no objection to
Lucretia Bouldeston making a fool of herself. Would she not appear the better
by comparison?

But before either of them could execute these amiable plans,
Lady Castlereagh appeared from the other direction, and confronted the
gentlemen. “It is too bad of you to hide here,” she scolded, “when we are
entirely in want of partners in the other room. Come! Do your duty, or I shall
bring the dancers out here.”

The gentlemen complied with a laugh and a compliment. Miss
Fordham counted to herself, and had scarcely reached thirty before Miss
Bouldeston began to quarrel with her place. It was too cold—too dark—there
might be insects. She could not hear the music, and no one was more partial to
excellent music than she.

They reached the ballroom as a dance was ending. Across the
room, the Chadwick party had arrived, and Mr. Devereaux and his neighbor Lord
Arden paused to talk to them. Miss Fordham was too busy watching Lucretia to
notice Mr. Devereaux’s manner as he greeted the newcomers. But Lucretia watched
as the gentleman performed his bows. Was there a significant pause, a significant
smile, for Catherine?

It couldn’t be—and yet there was Catherine grinning up at
him in the most vulgar manner, and dressed so ostentatiously in silver gauze
with green trim. She probably thought it brought out the color of her eyes.

Lucretia was thoroughly disgusted. She could tell others
that he laughed at Catherine—she could tell herself that—but she could not be
certain it was true, and she
had
to
be certain.

She walked in that direction, catching their voices as
Amelia Harlowe was saying, “... already promised this dance.”

“Then in that case, I will turn to your sister or her guest,
whoever is not promised,” Mr. Devereaux said.

“Come, Clarissa,” Kitty said, holding out her hand to Lord
Arden. “You know I promised my cousin. Come be in our set.”

The four walked off, Lucretia staring after in astonishment.

That emotion was swiftly followed by rage. How selfish
people were! And what hypocrites! The worst of all was Catherine Decourcey, thanking
Lucretia so humbly for her truly excellent and selfless advice about not
putting herself forward. What could be more brazen?

Lucretia looked around. Something had to be done, and this
summer, as well, thanks to Lucretia’s equally selfish parents. Lucretia
remembered her promise to Catherine on their first meeting in town. If
Catherine was that determined to catch a husband, then Lucretia must help her
before she made the entire family into a laughing-stock.

“Let us take a turn about the room, Miss Fordham,” she
suggested. “The motion is so refreshing.”

Now, which of the single gentlemen would be suitable for
Catherine? Not anyone with tastes that would be called
nice.
Not for a country mouse with no dowry. Oh, here came Papa’s
friend Mr. Redding, who was on the lookout for a new wife. While Lucretia found
him revolting in every sense—
she
could certainly do better—he was quite good enough for the likes of Catherine...

Kitty had not sat down once for three hours, but never had
time passed so swiftly.

The best dance thus far was the first. She, Lord Arden,
Clarissa, and Mr. Devereaux made up a square, which occasioned conversation as
they waited to go down the dance. Lord Arden began by mocking a character from
a play, begging them to guess which was meant. Clarissa knew the character, and
responded in kind.

They began with comical plays, but when Mr. Devereaux quoted
a line from the translation of
Sorrows of
Young Werther
, and Clarissa promptly guessed it, somehow the moment devolved
into a game of ladies against gentlemen. Kitty, put on her mettle, forgot her
promise to hide her extensive knowledge of novels and plays. Consequently she
came off best, but not by a large margin, for Mr. Devereaux and Clarissa were
nearly as fast. Only Lord Arden was left out, castigating them good-naturedly
as a parcel of blue-stockings.

When the dance ended, Kitty found her brothers there. Ned
exclaimed, “Arden! I looked you out all over. We need a fourth for a hand,” and
bore him off.

Kitty turned to her elder brother, who was just bowing to
Clarissa, a hand out. “My dance?”

Clarissa curtseyed, and Kitty sighed. So much for leaving
Clarissa with Mr. Devereaux. At whom Kitty should not be looking, or
throwing herself
at as people said. What
a very vulgar image, and she would never do that to anyone!

But if people said it, then her conduct must be amiss. She
had already made one hideous mistake when she first went into society and did
not know the hidden rules.

So she walked randomly away, wondering if
throwing herself at
meant others could
somehow see her interest on her face, like some sort of invisible sign. If only
he weren’t so handsome—if he weren’t so
funny
at such unexpected times, and always uttered in a serious tone, which somehow
made his wit the more humorous.

“Oh, there you are, Catherine.” It was Lucretia. “Looking about
for a partner? Look no farther. I am delighted to introduce you to Mr. Redding,”
Lucretia declared, and performed this office.

She stayed long enough to assure Mr. Redding that Lady
Catherine would be vastly entertained by so nimble a dancer, and then excused
herself, saying her sister must be looking for her.

This gentleman was very tall and thin, probably closer to
fifty than forty. Kitty made her curtsey, looking in surprise as he smirked
down at her and said, “And so, will you honor me with a dance?”

Kitty politely assented, and they joined the next set.

He was a fine enough dancer, but when they were together,
his questions were put in an odd tone that she could not define. “And so you
adore dancing? Ah, you young ladies are naughty little pusses! Perhaps
afterward you would adore a cool walk in the garden even more?”

Kitty had no idea how to answer that. In truth, the ballroom
was very warm, but she had no desire to be walking about with a strange man,
however friendly; there was something about the pressing of his hands on her
arm, the fact that he stood so closely, that made her uneasy.

“I am comfortable here,” Kitty began.

Mr. Redding stroked her hand. “It is so perfect an evening,
and I was promised that you are a friendly young lady.”

“I beg pardon, sir, but I—”

“Evening, Redding.”

Kitty flushed at the sound of Mr. Devereaux’s familiar
voice. Her heartbeat quickened, but she was not altogether glad to see the
gentleman. There was that uncomfortable sense that she was missing something—or
that something was amiss—that she had somehow done wrong. Though she could not
have said what, or how. She was both embarrassed and relieved, though neither
emotion she could quite account for.

“Devereaux,” Mr. Redding replied, with as good a grace as he
could muster.

“My lady, I believe the next dance was mine?” Mr. Devereaux
asked, and his reward for breaking his strict rule was the unmistakable relief
in Kitty’s countenance.

He had been intending to leave. Now the price for this
impulse would be to spend the rest of the evening dancing, so that those who
minded such things would not be able to remember one of his partners from
another.

And yet he could not be sorry, he decided as they began to
thread through the crowd in the ballroom. His partner’s countenance brightened.
Mr. Devereaux glanced up. Who could revive the young lady like a garden of
flowers? Here were her two brothers advancing.

“Did you need me?” she asked. “Is everything—that is, are
you enjoying yourselves?”

“Not in here,” Edward began, rolling his eyes. “Card room’s
full as it can hold.”

“It’s a fine evening,” St. Tarval said, bowing to the
gentleman at Kitty’s side. “I believe we’ve met at Lord Arden’s?”

“Oh, hey, you haven’t met?” Ned exclaimed, and he hastily
performed the introductions. Then he indicated the crowd, and gave a crack of
laughter. “Good luck getting out there on the floor. Why anyone would want to
in this heat—well, Kit, I hope you can wedge in, is all I am saying.”

Kitty stood on tiptoe, dismayed to see that Ned had not
exaggerated. From the number of nodding feathers extending upward from ladies’
headdresses, it looked as if the entire ballroom was filled.

“We can take a turn outside, if you like,” Mr. Devereaux
offered.

“It would be much cooler,” Kitty said thankfully, so relieved
that it did not occur to her to wonder why the prospect of a walk in the garden
now did not discommode her. She was only aware that it didn’t.

“I believe I saw your hostess outside,” Mr. Devereaux said. “We
will walk in her direction, and I will restore you to her.”

“Thank you, sir,” Kitty said. She was aware of a small
feeling of constraint, and decided to apply her brother’s advice about jumping
fences: best to get over as quick as one could. “I understand that your sister,
Miss Elizabeth, is to visit the Chadwicks.”

“I believe, from the missives I have been honored to
receive, that she is counting the hours. I trust the Harlowes are prepared to
endure the household being turned upside down.”

“With four lively girls,” Kitty said, “they are surely ready
for anything.”

“They have not yet spent time with my sister,” Mr. Devereaux
said with a wry smile.