that he must need to visit his estates fairly regularly. Then she remembered her coming-out ball. The sky seemed to darken. The face she turned to him was decidedly pensive as she wondered how to phrase her question.
Hazelmere, watching her thoughts pass across her face, solved her dilemma for her. ‘I’ll be returning on Tuesday evening, so I’ll see you next on Wednesday night.’
As he watched the sunshine return to her face he felt he should need no further proof of her feelings for him. Her actions and responses in the orangery had been so very revealing. He was tempted to ask her then and there to marry him, but his real dislike of trying to converse with a lady while holding a highly dangerous pair of horses made him repress the impulse. There would be plenty of time later, in more appropriate surroundings.
They continued around the Park, stopping to exchange greetings with a number of acquaintances. Hazelmere, not wanting to keep his horses standing, kept these interludes to a minimum. As they completed their circuit he headed the greys for the gates. ‘The weather is turning, Miss Darent, so I hope you’ll not mind if I return you to Cavendish Square forthwith?’
‘Not at all,’ she replied, ‘I know how honoured I’ve been to be driven behind your greys.’
Looking up, she found herself basking in that warm hazel gaze. ‘Quite right, my child,’ he murmured. ‘And do remember to behave yourself while I’m away.’
Incensed by the proprietorial tone, she turned to utter some withering remark, but, quizzically regarded by those strangely glinting eyes, remembered just how often he had extricated her from difficult situations. She was saved from having to reply by their emergence into the traffic, his attention once more claimed by his horses. By the time they reached Cavendish Square she had convinced herself of the wisdom of ignoring his last remark.
Pulling up outside Merion House, Hazelmere jumped from the curricle and lifted her down. He escorted her up the steps and, as Mellow opened the door, raised her hand to his lips, saying with a smile, ‘
Sunday and Monday saw the Darent sisters attend a number of smaller functions in the lead-up to their own coming-out ball. While Cecily flirted outrageously with her young suitors, most as innocent as herself, Dorothea wisely refrained from giving any of the callow youths worshipping at her feet the slightest encouragement. However, no amount of icy hauteur seemed to deter Edward Buchanan. Unfortunately even Lady Merion was of the opinion that time was the only cure for that particular pest.
So, to her deep irritation, Dorothea found herself too often for comfort in Mr Buchanan’s company. His conversational style drove her to distraction, while his continual and gradually more pressing attempts at gallantry awoke a quite different response. Her sanity was saved by the attentions of Lords Peterborough, Alvanley, Desborough and company, who, much to her delight, seemed almost as accomplished as Hazelmere in the subtle art of deflating pretensions.
Lady Merion sat staring bemusedly at the list in her hand. Was this really the best of all possible arrangements? She had been engaged in the arduous task of deciding the seating at her dinner table for Wednesday night since first thing on this dismal Tuesday morning. The house was a shambles, with caterers and florists coming in to set up their trestles and stands ready for the presentation of their wares the next night. The servants were everywhere-cleaning and polishing every bit of brass, silver and copper in the house, lovingly shining every lustre of every chandelier. Tomorrow night was the highlight of the Season as far as they were concerned and not one of Lady Merion’s glittering guests was going to find the least little thing wrong.
Glancing at the ormolu clock on her mantel, she saw that it was nearly time for luncheon. In a last effort to detect any flaw in her design, she returned her attention to her list. Finally satisfied, she laid it aside and went downstairs to the morning-room, where all their meals this week had been served while the dining-room and drawing-room were redecorated. With the aid of that expert in all things fashionable, Mr Ferdie Acheson-Smythe, she had decided that her main rooms would look well in a clear pale blue, touched with white and silver, so much more striking than the common white and gold. This colour scheme was repeated throughout the main areas of the house and continued into the ballroom. The flowers for the ballroom were to be blue and white hyacinths, white wood anemones and trailing white jasmine.
The pale blue, white and silver theme would provide the perfect backdrop for her granddaughters’ ball-dresses. The culmination of a prodigious effort, they were considered by Celestine among the best pieces her genius had ever created. Dorothea’s dress had been both difficult and immensely satisfying. Celestine herself had scoured the warehouses to find precisely the right weight of silk in a green that perfectly matched Dorothea’s eyes. The dress was shocking in its simplicity. Cut so low as to be ineligible for a younger debutante, the neckline was essentially parallel with the tiny puff sleeves, kept off the shoulder, leaving the shoulders quite bare. The bodice was shockingly snug. From the raised waistline the skirts smoothly flared over the hips, then fell heavily to the floor.
Cecily’s dress, though far less stunning, was still a perfection of simplicity. Of a clear and pristine aquamarine silk, the creation, with rounded neckline and raised waist, trimmed with seed-pearls, set off her youthful figure to best advantage.
In spite of the lowering skies, the sisters had ridden in the Park as usual that morning and had been occupied since with their mail. Joining their grandmother at the luncheon table, they continued to chatter in their artless way, telling her whom they had seen and who had sent greetings. Gazing at their happy faces, she felt a pang of dismay. Soon, too soon, these young things would be gone and her house would return to its previous existence. She was not looking forward to such a quiet future at all.
Lady Merion had decreed that there would be no riding on the day of their ball. Both young ladies were to remain in bed until ten o’clock, when they could join her in the morning-room for breakfast and open the coming-out presents sent by their numerous wellwishers. They could walk around the park in the square if they wished, but after luncheon were to rest until it was time to dress. She had a horror of Cecily becoming feverish from excitement or, worse, of Dorothea succumbing to a migraine.
On hearing this plan for her day, Dorothea declared that she was more likely to become comatose from boredom. However, grateful to her grandmama for all her efforts on their part, she agreed to abide by her strictures.
By the time the sisters appeared at the breakfast table it was covered with bouquets and boxes and trifles of every imaginable type. Trimmer, Betsy and Witchett were called in to assist, and both girls, disclaiming any interest in food, settled down to sort through the welter of presents.
Entering upon this scene, Lady Merion stopped, thunderstruck. ‘Good lord! I don’t think I’ve seen anything to equal it!’ She added two boxes to the piles, one in front of each of her granddaughters. ‘There, my loves! I don’t think any grandmama has had two granddaughters who’ve given her so much pleasure.’
Both girls impulsively rose and hugged and kissed her before opening her presents. To Cecily went a tiny pearl brooch made to adorn the neckline of her ballgown. Dorothea, opening the red leather case she found under the wrapping, gasped as her eyes fell on the single strand of perfect emeralds within. ‘Oh! Grandmama! They’re beautiful!’
After these gifts were tried on and duly admired Lady Merion urged them to continue opening their presents while she joined in the game of exclaiming and laughing over who had sent what.
While the presents today showed a greater degree of extravagance than the more common tributes, both girls had received their share of bouquets and poems and suchlike throughout the Season. However, while she frequently received bouquets from Lord Alvanley and the other members of Hazelmere’s set, all of whom had, each in their own way, worshipped at her feet, from the Marquis himself Dorothea had not received so much as a primrose. She did not know that Hazelmere, expert in such matters and knowing the opposition’s ways too well, had omitted to send her such tributes as a deliberate tactic. Consequently, when she came to a small package amid the jumble and, unwrapping it, found a box from Astley’s she did not connect it with him.
It was not common to send debutantes jewellery. Intrigued, she pushed aside the surrounding wrappings and cleared an area so that she could examine this gift more closely. ‘I wonder who sent this,’ she murmured to herself.
Lady Merion heard her and came to her side. ‘How very odd! Open it, my dear, and let’s see. There’s sure to be a card inside.’
However, on her opening the box no card was found. Inside lay the most exquisitely delicate brooch, composed of emeralds and rubies in gold, in the shape of a blackberry. A slow smile appeared on Dorothea’s face. What audacity!
Lady Merion, seeing the smile, was at a loss. It was Cecily who, looking up from her own concerns, saw the
