Chapter Fourteen
Where the devil was her husband?
Lady Alwynne strolled slowly amidst her guests, smiling, nodding, chatting, saying all the appropriate things.
Yes, thank you, I am doing very well. Lovely to see you. Thank you so much for joining us. Yes, the decorations are splendid aren’t they? But nothing is good enough for our dear military… and so on.
She knew everyone observed her delicate cane, pure white with a gold touch here and there. The handle was shaped like a phoenix, winging its way from the rest of the cane.
She’d liked the cultural reference, believing it matched her own situation, since she too had risen, almost from the dead, to take her place once more as mistress of Harbury Hall.
Her gown was of the palest green silk, ornamented with fragile gold lace and bunches of lilies of the valley at the looped gathers of her skirt. They revealed the white silk beneath to great effect, and knots of darker green ribbon added to the overall image. It was exactly how she wanted to present herself; elegant, delicate and yet sophisticated.
Gerolf had been an admirable substitute for Randall, greeting guests with the perfect blend of formality, friendliness and shyness that guaranteed his success. She’d seen him doing the pretty with a clutch of old bitches; and he’d had them smiling and fawning over him in moments.
Alwynne wondered what he’d be like in bed.
In spite of her past experiences, she still occasionally yearned for the touch of a man’s hand; Gerolf looked like someone who would know how to bring her pleasure.
If she was to accomplish it, it would have to be soon. The vapors she depended on for so long to maintain her youthful appearance were diminishing. In fact, she wasn’t sure how much, if anything, was left in reserve.
It was a shame. Last year she would have moved heaven and earth to find a scientist who could carry on that line of experimentation and keep her supplied with her fountain of youth.
But now, after what she’d experienced, the urge to present herself as young and vibrant had lessened. Now she would infinitely prefer to be viewed as someone who was mature, confident. And dangerous to cross.
As her husband would find out this evening.
Perhaps knowing that this was to be his final day lent a touch of sparkle to her smile, since the compliments she received were effusive and—in her opinion—beyond those one might normally expect under the circumstances.
Fortunately, her face had not been scarred.
Her back was hidden under the silken gown and she had asked the dressmaker to add an unusual high-standing collar of white and gold lace, not unlike the ornate styles of the Tudors. It was eye-catching, which she’d intended, and it turned out to be very flattering as well.
Nobody could see the scars…the physical ones, anyway.
She limped, of course. She could do nothing else, since the shattered bones had healed, but not well enough to allow her a smooth and elegant stride. But the cane helped and she was comfortable enough to be able to enjoy the varied elements of her own ball.
Seeing many of the invitees eagerly taking to the dance floor, military and civilian alike, was both gratifying and entertaining.
The musicians were excellent, for this far away from town, and Alwynne knew the dinner offered some of the best food available. She could have done no better and it would certainly be remembered as a triumphant event.
Provided her damned husband didn’t ruin it all.
If he didn’t appear…then there would be no use for the tiny detonator sewn into a flower on her bodice. It was hidden beneath the twining vine of wax flowers that circled her neckline, mixed in among the seed pearls and diamonds that flashed and glinted whenever she took a breath.
Recalling the purpose of that miniature device, she strolled toward the anteroom where her airships awaited the touch of a flame. It was her intention to start them during the dinner interval, so that the guests would see them hovering over the ballroom as they returned. The servants had been instructed to douse the chandelier candles while the room was mostly empty.
Picking the right moment to carry out her plan would be the only difficult decision. There had been no way she could possibly steer them to any particular position, so she would have to wait and watch until everyone’s eyes turned upward.
Testing them out had shown her the height at which they would hover; this had been most helpful and Gerolf, bless him, had suggested placing a couple of servants up in the gallery with large fans. They would be able to generate enough of a breeze to keep the airships moving, without the risk of blowing out the flames inside, thus crashing onto the head of an unwary guest.
It would work.
She kept reassuring thoughts uppermost in her mind. It would work. It had to. This would be her revenge for what he’d done to her.
And if others were hurt…well, so be it. Life was unpredictable at best, untenable at worst.
And she had known both. It was time for her to take control again, be damned to this insane killer she’d married. He had to die. Tonight.
*~~*~~*
Charlotte was doing her best to enjoy herself.
The guests were a varied lot, as was to be expected for a grand ball held in country surroundings. The Military presence dominated, as was to be expected, but it was well seasoned with many of the local families coming out to visit Harbury Hall.
Whether they attended out of a desire to dance with an Airship Commander, or to get a peek inside the estate that was rapidly gaining a reputation for dire and terrible things, Charlotte wasn’t quite sure.
Then there was the added lure of the lord of the manor…Lord Harbury appeared less and less these days, which sparked more and more rumours concerning his health, appearance and mental condition.
The attraction of something fearful seemed universal; since there was also a healthy smattering of local businessmen and their wives.
And daughters, of course. Always daughters.
For the business of marriage was every bit as serious and important to a butcher from the village as it was to Lord Albertson from Oakfield Manor.
Charlotte had to hide a chuckle as she chatted with several hopeful Mamas, at the rim of the dance floor. They were quite talented in their ability to hold a coherent conversation while eyeing their progeny whirling about the parquet in the arms of various gentlemen, many of whom wore uniforms.
“I don’t know, dear,” said one mother. “A military man would be a nice addition, but they come with so many risks, don’t they?”
“Indeed,” nodded another, her feather trembling with her movements. “I don’t want my Elsie to be a widow before she’s had chance to be a wife and mother.”
“Or married to someone a bit…odd, if you know what I mean.” A third woman leaned in and lowered her voice. “This is Harbury Hall, isn’t it? And we all know what is said about this place…”
“We do?” questioned Charlotte.
“Why yes, dear. I suppose you’re not from around here.” She leaned in even further and heads nearly bumped as they listened to her. “They say there are madmen incarcerated here in those laboratory places underground. Mad, they say.” She widened her eyes. “That nasty business with the poor half-witted lad. You must recall that…not long ago? Decapitated, they said. Covered with red snow.” She shivered.
“Yes,” agreed the first lady. “And then there’s those horrid whispers about what happened to Lady Harbury.”
All eyes swiveled to the pale and elegant beauty drifting through the throng. “Right terrible, it was. They say she’s not really herself anymore. You know, up here…” A finger tapped a forehead covered in greying curls.
“I heard that too,” agreed another. “And have any of us seen his Lordship lately? Somebody said he was too horrible to look at.”
“Oh dear,” said Charlotte. “That’s awful, isn’t it? Poor man.”
“Yes, well, good looks is as good looks does,” answered the woman vaguely.
“Er, quite.”
A slight stir from the end of the room distracted her and she gracefully took her leave of the feather-bedecked maternal guests, sparing a brief moment of pity for their offspring.
It looked as if some servants were wheeling in some sort of chair, but from where she stood she couldn’t quite make it out.
Glancing around for James, she sighed when she couldn’t see him anywhere, so she decided to move a little closer to the light buzz of conversation starting up around the servants.
She neared the spot to see a very large, almost throne-like, chair which was bedecked with white silk, gold embellishments and many small flowers over the edge of the back and twined around the arms.
It was gorgeous to the point of being quite overwhelming, and Charlotte had never seen it before.
Baron Gerolf stepped forward, smiling at the curious faces.
“It’s quite entrancing, isn’t it?” He turned and gestured at the chair. “It is indeed a throne fit for a queen, and it is for that purpose that our host, Lord Harbury, commissioned its design.”
That statement brought a decided rise in the conversation level.
The Baron held up his hand. “Lord Harbury will be joining us shortly; as you know he’s not been well. However, he is determined to make an appearance, and hopes to be able to welcome you all toward the end of the evening.”
“But the chair, sir, is it for Lord Harbury?” A question rang out from one of the Airshipmen.
“No, my friend, not this chair. This is for the lady who has created such fantastical magic here tonight. Her husband believed she would appreciate a place to rest for a few moments, later on, since she has worked non-stop on this evening’s arrangements. And done it all being barely recovered from her recent…indisposition.”
He paused dramatically. “All you see around you, the colors, the silks, the amazing flowers…all from her hand and mind.” He smiled at the now-silent crowd hanging on his every word.
“In fact, there is one more magnificent surprise from her Ladyship, and she has asked me to alert you to the fact it will be…er…flying in at any moment.”
He looked up to the small gallery balcony that ringed three sides of the ballroom. Everyone’s head followed him, and the sound of so many necks turning at the same moment was quite distinctive.
Charlotte held back a laugh as she realized how well the Baron had controlled their attention. She admitted she’d been every bit as interested as her neighbors.
Above them, they could see several arms holding large fans, and within seconds there was a gasp, and another gasp…and a bigger gasp that was almost a word…and that was followed by the beginnings of cheering and applause.
The airships had arrived in the ballroom of Harbury Hall, and to say they were a roaring success would have been an understatement.