carving. The area was rapidly filling with guests of splendour and importance; the candlelight and brilliance an exhilarating backdrop to the scene.
It had begun. He took a deep breath and turned to the distinguished gentleman in the plum-coloured frock coat to whom he had just been introduced. Soon there was movement, a general drift inside. 'The Velvet Drawing Room,' drawled his acquaintance. 'Have you been here before?'
'Not to Saltram,' Kydd replied languidly. 'I hail from Surrey originally,' he added, inspecting his cuffs in a lordly way.
'Oh, really?' the man said, interested. 'Then you'd know Clandon?'
The room was impressive: red-velvet-hung walls decorated in the Italian way with giltwood and stucco, and an ornately carved marble fireplace. The babble of conversations rose and fell, the rich foetor of candlesmoke, perfume and warm humanity an intoxicating assault on his senses. He accepted a tall glass from a gold-frogged footman. Furtively he glanced about for familiar faces in the crowded room. 'Ah, yes, Clandon. Splendid place, a credit to the Onslows,' he said casually, and sipped his champagne.
Suddenly the arched double doors at the far end were opened ceremoniously to reveal an even bigger room beyond; a hush descended as a well-built major-domo took position. 'His Grace the Landgraf Karl Zahringen of Baden-Durlach.'
There was a surge forward but Kydd held back while the more lofty dignitaries went in, and made polite conversation while he waited and observed. It quickly became apparent that an equerry was discreetly approaching individuals to be introduced and conducting them forward when the time came.
Then Kydd spied her. Nearly hidden in the throng he saw Admiral Lockwood and his lady before he caught sight of Persephone on her father's arm—a vision in lemon silk and a tracery of cream lace, talking gaily as though it were quite the most ordinary evening. Of course she would be here, he admonished himself. Was this not her world by right?
They were led forward and Kydd saw Lady Lockwood held at a fawning curtsy by a genial gentleman in a splendid hussar's uniform.
Others made their way in, and then the time came for Kydd. He strode into the great room, holding himself proud and ignoring the magnificent pale blue silk-damask walls, the perfection of the Italianate painted ceiling and the blaze of light from the tortoise-shell and ormolu candelabra.
The equerry brought him to a discreet distance but the previous couple had not yet concluded, the man holding forth in florid German.
Eventually they retired backwards, the man giving three short bows, and the equerry murmured, 'Sir, Commander Kydd, His Britannic Majesty's Navy. Commander, the Landgraf Zahringen.'
Kydd swept down in a leg of extreme elegance, practised in his cabin until his muscles ached. 'Your Grace—or, since the happy elevation of your father the Margrave to Elector, should this not be
He straightened to meet raised eyebrows. ''Your Grace'' vill do,
'Thank you, Your Grace. And might I desire you a happy stay in England, the weather being uncommon pleasant this time of the year,' he dared.
'Vy, thank you. May the fortunes of war be kind to you,
Kydd backed from his presence, remembering to bow three times before he turned away in relief and growing exultation.
He was succeeding—and on his own merits! With earnest attention but wandering thoughts he held himself quietly while he heard of the grave consequences of the fluctuations in corn prices in the north country and their probable effect on 'Change.
He looked about him discreetly, and saw Persephone listening politely to a voluble colonel with forbidding whiskers. Then her head turned—and she gazed directly at him. Before he could look away there was a sudden wide smile and a nod of acknowledgement.
Covered with confusion, he bowed his head stiffly and forced his eyes away from her, but his thoughts raced: if he had had any doubt before that he was merely a name to her, it was gone now. In another existence he would have boldly gone across and taken things further, but now he was unaccountably hesitant.
The evening proceeded. A light supper was brought in and everyone found a seat; Kydd practised his small-talk on a ponderous gentleman and simpering middle-aged lady, adorned with ostrich feathers, and covertly noted that Persephone had resumed dutiful attendance on her parents.
'Your Grace, my lords!' Lord Boringdon clapped his hands for attention. 'Pray do indulge me for a moment. The good Landgraf has expressed a keen desire to hear our English entertainments and what better, I thought, than to beg Miss Sophie Manners to oblige?'
The good-natured applause was redoubled when a shy young lady rose and made her way to the pianoforte. There was a scraping of chairs as all manoeuvred to face her. 'A little piece by Mr Purcell,' she announced nervously.
Her voice was pure and sweet but the prolonged tinkling of the melody was not altogether to Kydd's taste. He brightened when a tall soldier in scarlet regimentals joined her to sing a duet, which, in its pleasant intertwining of voices, proved most charming. After rapturous acclaim they sang another. The soldier grinned broadly. 'Most kind in you,' he acknowledged, when the clapping died, and bowed to both sides, then looked directly at Kydd. 'Could I persuade the navy to stand up for us?' he called jovially.
Kydd froze, but a storm of encouragement broke—the Royal Navy was popular in these parts. He cringed, but there was no escape.
He stood, to be greeted with thunderous applause, but was rooted to the spot, speechless at the sight of so many lords and ladies staring at him with expressions ranging from boredom to avidity.
Then he felt a light touch on his arm. It was Persephone. 'Don't be anxious, Mr Kydd—we're all your friends here, you'll see,' she said softly, and then more loudly, 'Mr Kydd will now perform— and I will accompany on the pianoforte.'
