“Wherein ordeals are faced all round.”

 

“Miss Holbrook.”

Belle looked up and found with relief that Lady Russell was bearing down on them once more. They had already suffered the mortifying experience of seeing their aunt trying to insinuate herself into a conversation between the Duchess of Sindalton and the Countess Falmouth. They could only count themselves blessed that the women were good-natured enough not to give her a sharp set down, but they had certainly moved away as fast as they were able.

“Lady Russell,” Belle replied with a smile.

“Well, now,” the old lady looked them over with a critical air, but as the woman was so elegantly attired herself, Belle could only hope she wasn’t found wanting. “Perfectly charming,” she said at length, with a satisfied nod. “You should always wear blue, Miss Holbrook, it brings out the colour of your eyes.” She turned to Crecy and smiled. “Well, I can say no more about this one. She’ll have all the young bucks making cakes of themselves before any of us get very much older, I’m sure.” She tilted her head, regarding Crecy, who glanced at Belle with a slight blush at her cheeks. “Grey eyes, too. Most unusual, never seen a beauty with grey eyes before. Though there is a touch of violet there, as well, I think. Most unusual indeed. My eyes are grey, of course, but I was never a diamond of the first water, though I wasn’t short of admirers, I can tell you,” she said with a smirk. She looked back at Crecy, though, obviously intrigued. “Quite out of the ordinary aren’t you, gel?” she said with an approving nod.

Belle elbowed Crecy before she could utter whatever remark she had opened her mouth to vent. Her sister cast her a guilty look and clamped her mouth shut once more.

“Come along, then,” Lady Russell said, waving her walking stick at then. “Not you,” she said to their aunt, who gaped at them in speechless horror and turned an alarming shade of red. The colour clashed violently with her purple gown, and Belle and Crecy had to hurry away, stifling murmurs of shock that threatened to become hysterical laughter. Instead, they contented themselves with sharing wide eyed glances of delight.

Lady Russell caught their amusement and chuckled. “Well, there’s something to be said for being old and crotchety,” she said, with a thin smile. “I can say what I like and upset whomsoever I please, it’s all the same to me. Now, then ... let me introduce you to some of the people you should know.” With that, she walked off, using her stick to cut a vicious swathe through the guests, and sparing no heed for the safety of anyone’s ankles. “Falmouth!” she called to a tall, severe-looking man with a cruel mouth and cool grey eyes much like Lady Russell’s.

“Oh, now he’s handsome,” Crecy whispered in her ear as Belle looked at her in astonishment. Handsome he may be, but he also looked wicked as sin and vastly intimidating. Like a highwayman, or ... or a pirate. Scolding herself for letting her imagination run riot, she took a breath and curtsied as Lady Russell introduced them.

“Falmouth, Celeste, here is Miss Holbrook, as promised, and her sister, Miss Lucretia.” She turned back to them and smiled, her pride perfectly obvious. “This is my nephew and his wife, the Earl and Countess of Falmouth.”

The earl and his wife were perfectly charming and they stood talking to them for a full ten minutes before Lady Russell swept them on once again. The darkly handsome Duke of Sindalton and his duchess were similarly introduced and Belle was flattered and delighted by the duchess, who was far easier to speak with than Belle would have ever imagined.

Once more they were taken up, and spoke only briefly to the Duke of Ware and his wife.

Belle could do little more than stammer in this golden Adonis’ presence, as she thought she had never in her life seen such a handsome man. His diminutive wife, however, was pretty and sweet, rather than beautiful, and made her hold out some hope that her own plight was not so impossible. The way the duke looked upon his duchess left no one in any doubt that it was a love match. The poor duchess was rather pale, though, and they made their excuses as the duke guided her out of the room, the concern on his face only too clear.

“She’s breeding,” Lady Russell whispered to Belle, who blushed a little at her forthright manner of speaking. “Twins, by all accounts. In fine fettle, for the most part, but I think the journey here has worn her out, poor dear. You’ll like her, though. Lovely gel, no side to her at all. No airs and graces, not like some.”

Belle moved closer as Lady Russell beckoned her and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Watch those ones,” she said, nodding towards a plain-looking girl and an ice blonde of perhaps twenty years. The blonde had a pert, turned up nose and a bored expression that suggested this event was perfectly normal and she rubbed shoulders with dukes and duchesses as a matter of course. “The blonde with a bad smell under her pretty nose is Lady Isabella Scranford. A spiteful cat full of gossip and claws, and her mousy friend is Miss Alice Cranton. She’s harmless enough on her own, but watch what you say in front of her, she’ll tattle everything to Isabella.”

Belle watched, fascinated as Lady Scranford caught sight of Crecy and almost choked on the drink she was sipping. Oh dear, there was one nose put firmly out of joint. Belle glanced back at Lady Russell, who gave her a tight smile. “Oh, she’s not going to be pleased by Miss Lucretia stealing her thunder, I can tell you. You watch yourselves. Poor Violette didn’t want to ask them, but the Scranfords are an old and distinguished family in the area, and it would have been a dreadful slight.”

“You’ve been so very kind, Lady Russell,” Belle said with real sincerity. “I don’t know how we will ever thank you for guiding us and ... and introducing us to so many grand people. I’m ... I’m truly speechless.”

“Nonsense,” the old lady said with a snort. “Now my grandson is well established, I can please myself by helping those few who deserve it. I think you and your sister do, and with that dreadful aunt of yours, frankly my dear, you need all the help you can get. You don’t mind me saying so, I hope?”

“Oh no,” Belle replied, feeling dreadfully wicked and enjoying herself enormously. “Though it’s horrid of me, I know, but I don’t mind in the slightest.”

***

Dinner was a lavish affair. Belle and Crecy stared at each other from across the table that was positively aflame with the blinding glitter of silverware and crystal. The meal itself was sumptuous and rather bewildering. Belle felt so overwhelmed that she ate little of the vast array of dishes presented her, though every one of them made her mouth water.

“Rather daunting, isn’t it?” said a soft voice from beside her.

Belle turned to see a rather gaunt, bespectacled, serious-looking young man at her side. Lady Russell had pointed him out as Lord Percy Nibley and informed her in an undertone that he was very wealthy, on the look-out for a wife, and a rather kindly and shy young man. She also informed her to, under no circumstances, get onto the subject of geology if she didn’t want to be talked into a stupor.

“It is rather,” Belle admitted, giving the man a warm smile. She thought perhaps he was in his early thirties, with brown hair and eyes that were indeed kind and a little anxious behind his spectacles. “I’m afraid this is the grandest dinner I have ever attended,” she said wondering if she admitted to her own discomfort she would put him at ease.

“Oh, well,” his lordship said, and Belle was gratified to see that he did seem a little more sure of himself. “There’s no one too terrifying here,” he said, though he cast a doubtful glance at Lady Scranford. “Well, at least Sindalton and Ware are great fellows, nothing high in the instep about either of them.”

“You know both the dukes?” she replied, impressed.

“Oh yes,” he said, with quiet pride. “I was at Eton with them both. They’re still the best of friends and really very good fellows.”

Belle nodded, intrigued that someone so obviously shy and academic should keep such glamorous company. “What about our host?” she asked, glancing up the huge table at the silent and glowering figure of the marquess. She hadn’t seen him utter a word all night and wondered how his lovely, vivacious sister could have such a taciturn man for a brother.

“Ah,” Nibley said, his eyes becoming rather sorrowful. “Man had a bad war,” he said, his voice quiet. “Never been the same.” He shook his head and followed her glance back to the marquess. “Such a shame. You’d never believe it was the same chap. He was always such a jolly fellow, full of fun and grig. Don’t think he remembers how to smile nowadays.”

“How dreadful. The poor man,” Belle said, looking at the towering and devastatingly handsome figure at the head of the table, and feeling her heart squeeze with compassion.

Lord Nibley nodded. “At least he came home,” he said, his face so sad that she knew he must have lost someone. “My cousin,” he replied to her unspoken question. “Wonderful chap, one of my closest friends, too.”

“I’m so terribly sorry.” Instinctively Belle laid her hand on his arm and Lord Nibley flushed, though she wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or pleasure at her touch.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice quiet, but he looked awkward now. “Forgive me, I ought not to discuss such things at the dinner table. I hope I haven’t upset you.”

“Of course not!” Belle exclaimed and removed her hand and blushed herself as she caught an approving expression on her aunt’s face. Oh goodness! The last thing she needed was for everyone to think she was setting her cap at the man on their first evening! How mortifying.

Though when she turned back to continue the conversation she noticed that his lordship was gazing with obvious admiration at the lovely Duchess of Sindalton. Not that she could blame him. Dressed in a gown of deep amber, the woman’s red hair glimmered in the candlelight and she looked as though she’d been dipped in copper.

Belle sighed inwardly. If she couldn’t even hold Nibley’s attention, she had little hope of snaring any of the other handsome young men here over the next few days.

She glanced across the table at her sister to find poor Crecy looking like a lamb cutlet surrounded by a pack of ravening dogs. Well, at least being ignored was a problem her sister would never suffer from, she thought with chagrin. Though she didn’t doubt for a moment that Crecy would trade places with her in a heartbeat.

***

Violette watched the men file back into the drawing room after their port with relief and reached for Aubrey’s hand as she made room for him to sit.

“Oh, Aubrey, I’m beginning to think I never ought to have suggested this,” she said in an undertone. “Eddie has barely spoken to a soul, I can’t imagine what people must think of him, and that dreadful Lady Scranford has been foul to poor Lord Nibley, let alone the nasty comments she’s made about the Misses Holbrook.”

She gave Aubrey a pleading look and felt herself relax a little as he just returned a comfortable smile and squeezed her fingers.

“There, there, love,” he said, his voice soothing. “Lady Scranford is simply jealous of Miss Lucretia. Anyone with half a brain can see through her shallow façade. I’m sure Nibley can, at any rate, fellow has a brain the size of England, after all. Can’t imagine he’d give a hoot, frankly. As for your brother ...” He fell silent for a moment, looking over at the big, intimidating figure standing by the fireplace. His expression was dark and tense and obviously being used for the express purpose of scaring off any who dared contemplate speaking with him. “I think this will do him good,” Aubrey continued at length. “He’s a wretched devil, isn’t he? I have to confess I’ve been angry at him ever since we met for what he put you through, but ...”

“But?” Violette prompted as he fell silent again. She leaned forward and pushed a stubborn lock of auburn hair from her husband’s forehead, and felt a surge of contentment at having made such a wise choice in marrying him.

“But now I can only pity him,” Aubrey said with a sad smile. “He’s obviously miserable and angry, though I don’t think even he knows why or at what exactly.”

Violette nodded, feeling Aubrey was right, but it wouldn’t help them get through the next days of the house party.

“Yes, I’m sure you are right that it will do him good,” she said with an uncertain smile. “But what on earth will it do to our guests?” she demanded.

Aubrey shrugged and raised her hand to his lips to kiss the fingers. “I’ve no idea, love, but if he puts Lady Scranford in her place, I doubt anyone will be too concerned.”

Violette smothered a laugh and felt an unchristian desire to see her dreadful brother do just that.

“I do like the Misses Holbrook,” she said, watching the two sisters trying to evade their aunt’s attempt to throw them in the path of one of Aubrey’s best friends. Tommy was the Earl of Stanthorpe, as Mrs Grimble had no doubt discovered. To be fair, his lordship looked perfectly content to engage in conversation with Miss Lucretia. It was clear, however, that the young woman was not the fortune hunter her aunt was, as, with her sister’s help, she managed to evade her aunt’s efforts, and struck up conversation with the Bridgeford twins instead.

That was a good connection for them, Violette thought with satisfaction. The twins were lovely young women from a good local family, and their mother a sensible woman. They should get along famously.

“I’d say Tommy is rather struck with Miss Lucretia,” Aubrey whispered, his tone dry. “Though from the looks of it, I could say the same of Ben, Owen, and the Viscount Debdon.”

They watched in amusement as the four men cornered the four young ladies, and though all the gentlemen took courteous pains to speak to all of them, it was perfectly obvious that Miss Lucretia was their chosen prey. From the rather irritated flash of annoyance in the girl’s eyes, Violette realised that she did not like being the centre of attention one bit. From the look of pure vitriol that was cast at the poor girl from Lady Scranford, who was standing alone with her friend Alice, it was also rather obvious that she didn’t like Crecy being the centre of attention one bit either.

There was a look of determined fury on the girl’s face, and Violette held her breath as Lady Scranford seemed to come to a decision.

“Oh, good Lord, no,” Violette said in an undertone. She grasped Aubrey’s hand so hard he gave a muffled yelp, and took back her previous desire to see her brother give the girl a set down.

“This should be interesting,” Aubrey said with a grin, as he followed Violette’s gaze to where Lady Scranford was attempting to engage the marquess in conversation.

They watched with horrified fascination as whatever conversational gambit the young woman had dared approach him with faltered and died. The marquess looked down from his towering position and seemed to stare right through the girl, his expression one of haughty disdain and cold enough to freeze the depths of hell. Without uttering a word, he simply walked away, leaving Lady Scranford red faced with mortification.

“I say he’s terribly good at that, isn’t he?” Aubrey said with obvious admiration. “I dare say Prinny couldn’t have done it better.”

“Oh, good heavens, Aubrey, it isn’t funny,” Violette protested as she scrambled to her feet and went to try and smooth over the young woman’s ruffled feathers.