Protocols
CORA LOOKED AT THE PLACEMENT ONCE MORE. THE red morocco leather blotter with slots for each place round the dining table had been a wedding present from Mrs Wyndham. It was the first time she had used it and she wished that Mrs Wyndham herself was here – she would know whether Lady Tavistock as the wife of a peer ranked higher than Sybil who was the daughter of a duke. Of course Sybil would not mind where she sat, as long as it was near Reggie, but any breach of etiquette on Cora’s part would be pounced upon by her detractors, the Double Duchess in particular.
The Prince of Wales was only staying for two nights and he came without the Princess, but he travelled with two equerries, a private secretary and eight servants. Cora had received minute and irritating instructions from her mother-in-law about how to entertain the royal visitor. Lobster thermidor was his favourite dish, he liked to drink brandy after dinner, not port, and he would not tolerate a delay between courses. He would want to play baccarat after dinner, so Cora must ensure that there were enough seasoned players who understood that the Prince should always think that he had won on account of his skill. There were the bath salts he preferred, the cold roast chicken he liked by his bed in case of night-time hunger and the royal standard that must fly from the roof as long as he was in residence.
Cora had been delighted when the letter had come from the Double Duchess saying that the Prince wanted to act as sponsor to her son. Such a sign of royal favour suggested that the Louvain affair had not permanently damaged her social worth. After nearly a year in the seclusion of Lulworth, she was longing to return to London. But Ivo had shrugged when he heard the news. ‘More trouble than it’s worth, but we can hardly refuse.’ As a result Cora tried to conceal her pleasure about the royal visit from her husband but her mother had no reason to. The Cashes, who had arrived a few days after Cora had given birth, had been due to go back to Newport for the end of the season, as Mrs Cash found staying in a house of which she was not the mistress trying; but the prospect of standing next to the Prince of Wales changed everything. Mrs Cash had cabled M. Worth in Paris for new gowns and she had sent her pearls to be restrung.
Cora picked up the card that read ‘Teddy Van Der Leyden’. He was to be a godfather to little Guy. When she had suggested this to Ivo he had, rather to her surprise, smiled and said, ‘Of course he needs an American godfather. What’s this one like? I hope he has a railway, at the very least.’ Cora had protested that Teddy came from an old Knickerbocker family that was not the railway-owning kind at all, not that there was anything wrong with railroads, and that he was actually an artist. Ivo had looked at her a touch more closely but then he laughed. ‘An American painter, my mother will be delighted.’ They had agreed that Sybil and Reggie should both be godparents; Cora hoped that it might precipitate a proposal and Ivo saw another opportunity to irritate the Double Duchess. But when Cora had suggested Charlotte Beauchamp, Ivo had hesitated. ‘Do you really think Charlotte is a suitable moral guardian? Wouldn’t you rather have someone more solid? And what about Odo?’ But Cora had insisted.
‘I like Charlotte, at least she’s not boring.’
Ivo had turned his head away and, looking out of the window, he had said, ‘If that’s what you want, Cora, I won’t stop you.’
Cora decided to put Teddy next to Charlotte tonight. She, of course, would have to sit next to the Prince but she thought that Teddy would find Charlotte intriguing; after all, she had been painted by his hero, Louvain. Her greatest difficulty was where to place her mother. Reggie Greatorex was safe enough but she knew that her mother would be mortified if she was not close to the Prince, but for protocol’s sake she would have to put Duchess Fanny next to His Royal Highness. She decided to put her mother opposite but one, so that the Prince would be able to see her good side. And she would place her father next to the Double Duchess, so she could see for herself if there was a flirtation there.
At last the seating plan was finished. She really ought to have a secretary to write out all the cards, some nice girl who would deal with her correspondence and remember the right way to address a baronet. Her mother and her mother-in-law had both suggested it, but Cora did not want to have an English girl with a long nose and droopy clothes pointing out all the things she didn’t know. She was tired of being made to feel like a hick by the people who worked for her. She was sick of Bugler’s little pauses, by which he indicated that she had crossed an unwritten Rubicon of correct behaviour. When she had asked for all the ladies staying at the house to be brought breakfast in their rooms, he had paused and then said, ‘At Lulworth, Your Grace, it is customary for the ladies to come down to breakfast.’
Cora had stared him down. ‘Well, it is time that Lulworth had some new customs. I have no intention of coming down to breakfast and I think it unfair to expect my guests to do so.’ She turned away in dismissal, but Bugler did not move. ‘Thank you, Bugler, that will be all.’
He was looking at a spot somewhere around her knees. She could see a wiry tendril of hair snaking out of his nostril.
‘Excuse me, Your Grace, but I wondered if the Duchess of Buckingham was aware of the change?’ Bugler kept his gaze lowered and his voice neutral but there was no mistaking the meaning of his words.
‘I am not in the habit of consulting the Duchess about my domestic arrangements, Bugler, not that it is any business of yours. You may go.’
Bugler had withdrawn, leaving Cora feeling foolish for allowing herself to be provoked. She comforted herself with the thought that she would dismiss him after the christening. She had wanted to do this for ages but she had not dared to make such a move while Ivo was away. Now he was back she felt that it was time for her to take charge.
Cora looked up at the portrait of Eleanor Maltravers that hung on the wall opposite her desk. She was still getting used to having the picture in her room. It used to hang in the corridor leading to the north tower in a dark alcove. Cora had found her there one day during one of her long perambulations around the house during her pregnancy, and had been intrigued. From the orange satin of her dress and the deep décolleté this likeness had been made before the Grey Lady had earned her soubriquet. Cora thought that Eleanor must have been about her own age when the picture was painted. But it was hard to tell as it was submerged under layers of dust and dirt. After some hesitation she sent the portrait to Duveen’s in London to be cleaned, deciding that Ivo could hardly object to her restoring a picture that no one had noticed for centuries. She had forgotten about the picture in the excitement of the birth and Ivo’s return, and she had been surprised when the crate was delivered. Ivo had raised an eyebrow when he saw the Duveen stencil on the crate.
‘Have you been shopping again, Cora?’ he said.
Cora shook her head. She signalled to the footman to open the crate, biting her lip as he prised the nails out of the wood. Ivo lingered at the doorway scratching his dog’s head and whistling. Cora held her breath as the footman started to take off the wrappings; Ivo’s presence was making her nervous. Then the piece of canvas came off and Eleanor was revealed. Her skin was white now and her dress glowed, the cleaning had revealed the background to be full of details, there was even a lurcher curled up on a green tasselled cushion. Ivo stopped whistling and stepped forward to take a better look.
‘Is it really Eleanor?’ he said, peering at the picture. ‘She’s quite something.’ Cora listened for a note of disapproval, but then he turned to her and smiled.
‘You’re a clever girl, Cora. I’ve walked past that picture all my life but I don’t think I have ever really seen it before. Thank you for making me look.’ He put his hand on her shoulder and she felt her body sag with relief. She didn’t want him to know how nervous she had been, so she said as brightly as she could, ‘Mr Fox says he believes this is by Van Dyck. The face certainly, even if the rest of the picture was finished off in the studio.’ She took his hand. ‘I would like to hang it in my bedroom, you don’t mind do you?’
‘Of course I don’t mind. Lucky Eleanor, you’ve turned her from a ghost into a beauty. I think we should have all the pictures cleaned, it’s time we saw things differently here.’ He swung her hand. ‘My new broom, that’s what you are. I want you to sweep away all the shadows, all the dust. You’re the only one brave enough to do it.’
‘Brave?’ said Cora, ‘It’s not so very frightening to have a few pictures cleaned.’ She put her face close to his, basking in his approval. He touched her cheek.
‘Not for you darling, which is why I am so glad that you are my wife.’
She remembered this scene every time she saw a raised eyebrow, or heard a sharp intake of breath from the servants when she suggested changes to the way the house was run. They might not like her ideas but none of that mattered if Ivo approved. If he wanted to make a break with the past then nothing would stop her. She was not going to be a grey lady languishing in corners. She would be the mistress of Lulworth.
She rang the bell for Mrs Softley. She wanted to make an inspection of the guest bedrooms to ensure that they were all as they should be, and that those awful photographs of the Duke and Duchess had been put away. But at that moment Ivo walked in. He had been riding and he was pulling off his jacket as he came towards her. He kissed her lightly on the mouth.
‘Good morning, Duchess. How are the battle plans?’ He looked over her shoulder at the placement. ‘And who am I sitting next to?’
‘Between my mother and Lady Tavistock.’
‘Scylla and Charybdis, eh? Well, at least my ordeal will be swift. His Highness doesn’t like to linger over dinner. Just promise I don’t have to play cards with him. He is such a lamentable player, it can be quite tricky sometimes to let him win.’ He stroked the inch of Cora’s neck that was visible above the high collar of her blouse with his finger. She took his other hand and kissed it.
‘I promise to spare you the cards. I am going to take the ladies to the long gallery.’
She could feel his finger tracing the knobs of her spine under the thin silk. He was always touching her now when he was with her. These last few weeks at Lulworth with Ivo and the baby had been the happiest in her marriage since their honeymoon. When she remembered how worried she had been before his return, she almost laughed. Ever since he had come back he had been everything she had hoped for. Even the presence of her parents and the Double Duchess had not spoilt things. The Double Duchess had shown unusual tact in inviting Mr and Mrs Cash to Conyers before the christening. Cora could not have been more surprised by the invitation, but Ivo had said, ‘The Double Duchess has clearly got over her aversion to Americans, or American men, I should say. I almost feel sorry for your mother.’
It had taken Cora a moment to catch his meaning, and then she had shaken her head in disbelief.
Ivo had laughed at her. ‘I’m sorry, Cora, have I offended your Puritan sensibilities?’ And then more seriously, ‘It’s the way she operates, I’m afraid.’
‘Do you think I should tell Mother?’
‘Lord, no. Let the situation develop. Besides, I want to be here alone with you.’
Cora could not refuse.
Now Ivo was pulling a strand of her hair out of its chignon. She put up her hand to stop him.
There was so much still to be done. She turned to him and said, ‘Come with me to the nursery. I want to show you something.’
He put his hands down in a show of mock surrender. ‘As you wish, my dear, as you wish.’
He followed her down the corridor to the nursery. This was not the room where he had stayed as a child, that was on the north side of the house on a higher floor. Cora had chosen to put little Guy and his attendants in the rooms adjacent to hers; she could not bear to think of him being so far away. The nanny had grumbled at first about losing her sanctum which had its own staircase down to the servants’ hall, but Cora had raised her wages by ten pounds a year and her objections had vanished.
The baby was lying in the great gilded bassinet that Mrs Cash had bought from Venice. Ivo had laughed when he saw it and said it must have been made from pieces of the True Cross at the very least. Ignoring the flusterings of the nurse, Cora went straight to the cradle and picked up her baby. His body was heavy against her shoulder and his fingers went straight to her hair, just as his father’s had done a few minutes before.
‘He smiled me this morning, Ivo! Open your eyes wide and see if he’ll smile at you too.’
Ivo put out his arms to take his son.
‘Were you smiling at your beautiful mother, young man? I see you have taste.’ Cora felt herself beaming with pride and happiness. When Ivo was with the baby, she could see that his eyes, usually so dark, were in fact tawny, flecked through with gold. She knew that Ivo had wanted an heir but she had not imagined that he would be so delighted to be a father. Nanny Snowden had said to her, with disapproval in her voice, that she had never known a man to spend so much time in the nursery.
She stood beside him and smiled at the baby lying in his arms. She was rewarded with a flash of gums and sparkling eyes. ‘There it is, Ivo, he smiled at us.’ And she looked up at her husband’s face and saw that it was taut with emotion, his mouth set in a code she could not decipher.
Cora said, ‘I think he is going to be a happy boy.’
‘Happiness is a talent,’ Ivo said slowly and then he kissed the top of the baby’s head and gave him to Nanny Snowden who was hovering in the doorway, only just concealing her irritation at their presence.
‘Thank you, Nanny,’ said Ivo. ‘Guy must have his rest for tomorrow.’
‘Don’t worry, Your Grace, His Lordship will be quite prepared.’ Cora felt the same wriggle of surprise every time she heard her baby called ‘His Lordship’. Ivo might laugh at her mother’s idea of a cradle but surely there was something equally absurd about giving a tiny scrap of a baby a title? She stopped to look at the christening gown which was laid out on a table. The gown had been in the family for generations, Ivo and his father before him had worn it. The silk was yellowed with age and the lace was covered with brown spots, like an old lady’s hands. But Cora knew better now than to suggest a replacement.
Ivo was waiting for her in the passage. He took her hand and pulled her into his bedroom. This room had remained untouched during Cora’s renovations of Lulworth. The magnificent blue brocade on the tester was dusty and tattered and the curtains hung in limp folds, faded where the sun had touched them.
‘Now I have something to show you, darling.’ He made her sit down in one of the heavily carved wooden chairs. Ivo walked over to the bureau and unlocked a drawer from which he took a velvet pouch. He came over to her and, kneeling in front of her, he emptied it on to her lap. The sun falling in through the window hit the gems as they lay across her skirt, dazzling them both. It took her a moment to realise that she was looking at a necklace that had at its centre an emerald the size of a quail’s egg.
‘I bought it in Hyderabad. I think it might just be magnificent enough for you.’ Cora put her hands to her neck, she was as usual wearing her pearls. ‘Take them off and try this on.’
Obediently Cora unclasped the pearls and he put the necklace round her neck. It felt heavy and spiky after the smooth weight of the pearls. He took her hand and stood her in front of the cheval glass. The mirror was foxed with age and her reflection rippled slightly but there was no disguising the splendour of the necklace. The emerald fell just above her breasts; the teardrop facets allowed it to glow like a mossy pool with limitless depths, and the diamond sprays above it looked like a waterfall. It was quite the most spectacular thing she had ever seen, nothing even in her mother’s glittering collection could match this.
‘It is quite unbelievable, Ivo.’ She turned her head from side to side admiring the green rays from the gem. He stood behind her and put his arms on her shoulders. ‘Even the Nizam was impressed. He offered to buy it from me for twice what I paid for it. But I said that it could only belong to you, as you were the only woman in the world who wouldn’t be outshone by it.’
‘I think my mother will be jealous,’ said Cora.
‘And mine,’ said Ivo with a smile. ‘It’s the perfect present.’
That evening Cora wore a dress of gold brocade overlaid with silver lace. The glowing material brought out the bronze lights in her hair and the emerald hanging round her neck nudged her eyes from grey to green. She was standing by the window in the long gallery talking to her father, and every so often she would move so that the low rays of the setting sun would catch the gems round her neck and scatter their reflections over the vaulted roof. She was standing under this, her own constellation, when Teddy walked into the room. He stood still for a moment, dazzled. The restless girl he remembered had turned into a magnificent force. She seemed taller than he had pictured her. There was a definiteness about her that was new. He sensed that she had taken on her final shape. He was relieved that she had changed so much. This new, grand personage would finally shake the memory of the girl asking him to kiss her that night in Newport.
The footman announced his name and Cora swept up to him, her arms outstretched.
‘Dearest Teddy, I can’t believe you’re actually here.’ She leant forward to kiss his cheek and he smelt the foxy scent of her hair that he remembered from the terrace at Sans Souci. He knew then that nothing had changed – Cora could be as grand and as duchessy as she liked but she was still the woman he wanted to hold in his arms.
Still clasping his hands, she smiled at him conspiratorially. ‘I guess we are kissing cousins now, us both being Americans abroad.’
‘Indeed, Duchess.’ Teddy gave her title its full weight.
‘Oh please, you of all people have to call me Cora. I am still the same girl.’ She was laughing but Teddy thought he heard a shard of anxiety in her voice.
‘If you’re sure that’s allowed.’
He was smiling as he said this but it was a real question. He was not sure what he wanted the answer to be. He noticed the small scar on the underside of her wrist that he had once kissed and wondered, not by any means for the first time, what she had done with the letter he had written her before her wedding. Had she kept it as a memento – folded carefully in the secret compartment of a jewellery box or tucked away into a volume of poetry? Or had she torn it up, or thrown it into the fire? She had not replied, of course, he had not really expected her to, but he wondered about the expression on her face as she had read his letter. Cora met his eyes for a moment and Teddy wanted to kiss her so much that he had to clasp his hands behind his back so that he would not reach out and take hold of her. Perhaps Cora sensed this because she pulled back a fraction and said firmly, ‘Come and meet my husband before the Prince comes down.’
Teddy followed her to the fireplace where the Duke was talking to another man and the red-haired girl he remembered from the boat. He wondered for a moment if the Duke would remember his face, but as he came closer he thought that dukes were probably not in the habit of noticing strangers.
Cora fluttered between them, making the introduction. Teddy could see that she was nervous, which pleased him. He wanted some acknowledgement of their past, to see a hairline crack in her aristocratic composure.
‘Welcome to Lulworth, Mr Van Der Leyden. Is this your first visit to England?’ The Duke’s face was politely curious, Teddy saw no flicker of recognition. The Duke looked somehow different to the man he had seen pacing the deck of the SS Berengaria. He looked looser now, as the French said: he looked happy in his skin.
‘No, I was here about eighteen months ago, on my way back to America. I believe we may have travelled on the same boat. I remember your name from the manifest.’
Ivo tilted his head to observe Teddy properly. ‘What a pity we were not introduced, you could have told me all Cora’s secrets. I know remarkably little about her American life.’ His gaze met Teddy’s and Teddy forced himself not to blink. The Duke was looking at him closely as if he knew just how Teddy felt about his wife. Teddy found himself squaring off against his rival; the Duke was perhaps an inch taller but Teddy felt that he was the stronger.
Cora, who had been following this exchange closely, broke in, her hand closing round Teddy’s wrist.
‘If I had any secrets, I know that Teddy would never have told! We Americans are the soul of discretion.’
‘I don’t know about every American, Cora, but this one certainly is,’ said Teddy.
Cora’s grip on his arm tightened. ‘Now, Teddy, you must come and talk to Mother. You can’t put it off any longer.’
Teddy nodded to the Duke and said, ‘It’s no secret that American girls must be obeyed, I think.’
The Duke showed his teeth in amusement. ‘In my experience all women expect obedience.’
Teddy allowed himself to be shepherded in front of Mrs Cash, who looked at him without enthusiasm. She hated to be reminded of her accident. She had told Cora that she thought Teddy’s presence at Lulworth was in very poor taste.
‘And how is your mother, Mr Van Der Leyden, and your sister?’ She shifted slightly so that Teddy was facing her good side.
‘Both well, thank you, ma’am, though I suspect you may have seen them more recently than I. I have been in Europe for over a year now.’
‘Oh yes, I believe I heard you were in Paris – painting.’ Mrs Cash let her voice fall on the last word. But Teddy did not waver.
‘That’s correct. I was studying with Menasche.’
‘And do you ever intend to return to New York, Mr Van Der Leyden? It must be hard for your mother to have her only son so far away.’
‘Well, I have received a commission from the New York Public Library for a mural, so I am coming home in the fall.’
Cora clapped her hands at this. ‘Oh Teddy, that’s splendid. I am so pleased. I know you will do something wonderful. What is your subject?’
Teddy saw that she was genuinely pleased and that her mother disliked this.
‘I haven’t decided yet. There was a thought of doing the Persephone myth. I only wish I could use you as a model, Cora, you would be exactly right.’
Teddy had meant this as a compliment so he was surprised to see the alarm on Cora’s face.
‘What a pity that I am here then. To be immortalised in a public library, that would be quite something.’
Teddy was about to say that he could work from sketches when there was an intake of breath and a rustling of skirts as the footman announced, ‘His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales.’
Teddy took a step back. He did not want to appear eager to meet the Prince. He hoped that he was immune to the lure of royalty although he could not help looking at the Prince closely. He was smaller than Teddy had imagined and much rounder. Even the dinner jacket which the Prince wore in preference to the more revealing tails could not disguise his girth. His mouth and chin were covered by a pointed Vandyke beard and he surveyed the room through a pair of chilly blue eyes under heavy lids.
The first person he spoke to was a blonde lady, whose curtsy was so abject that her forehead practically touched the ground at the Prince’s feet. The Prince smiled at this and kissed the woman’s hand when she surfaced. ‘Duchess Fanny, such a pleasure to see you here in your old setting.’ Teddy noticed that Cora’s smile was losing its warmth, her curtsy was stiff, almost jerky – an italic comma in contrast to the other woman’s flowing cursive signature. But the Prince appeared not to notice and said, ‘Yes, I am verrry pleased to be back here, and in such charming company.’ Now Cora was guiding the Prince through the guests to where her mother stood. Mrs Cash’s curtsy was a model of dignity, she did not bow her head but kept her back erect throughout and her eyes fixed on the Prince’s face. Despite the depth of her curtsy, there was no mistaking, in the regal tilt of Mrs Cash’s head, the sense that she was meeting someone of her own rank at last. The Prince was complimenting her on her daughter. ‘I don’t know where we would be without you Amerrricans.’ Mrs Cash half closed her eyes as if to agree.
Cora looked at Teddy and he stepped forward reluctantly.
‘Sir, may I present Mr Van Der Leyden, who is one of my childhood friends and is also a godfather to my son.’
Teddy thought for a moment that he might stand his ground but as the Prince stood in front of him, he felt himself bowing as if pulled forward by the inexorable force of royal gravity.
‘Whereabouts in Amerrrica are you from, Mr Van Der Leyden?’
‘New York…sir.’ Teddy could not bring himself to say Your Highness.
‘Such an enerrrgetic city. I would like very much to go back but it is impossible these days for me to go so far away, I have too many responsibilities. Duty before pleasure, eh.’
Teddy looked at the Prince’s rounded form and heavy-lidded eyes and wondered how much pleasure exactly the Prince had sacrificed for duty. It was not, he thought, a face that he wanted to paint.
As the Prince moved sedately on, Teddy looked up and saw that the Duke was looking at him, and to Teddy’s surprise he gave him an imperceptible nod as if to say that he had read his thoughts and was in agreement.
The Prince was being offered a glass of champagne but he waved it away and turned to Cora. ‘But my dear Amerrrican Duchess, may we not have a cocktail? I met a charming gentleman from Louisiana who showed me how to make a most splendid drink with whisky, marrraschino and champagne. I would so like to taste it again.’ The Prince looked wistful although fully aware that his every whim would of course be indulged. Cora signalled to Bugler. A few moments later two footmen entered carrying a tray with bottles, decanters and a large silver punchbowl.
The Prince busied himself mixing the drink. ‘One part whisky to a measure of marrraschino and two parts of champagne. Now, Duchess Fanny, I want you to try this, and you too, Mrs Cash. You can tell me whether it tastes the way it should.’ Both women approached, the Double Duchess eagerly, Mrs Cash with due republican reticence. The Prince poured a bottle of Pol Roger into the mixture and then he dipped two glasses into the bowl and offered one to each lady. Duchess Fanny sipped hers and pronounced it, ‘Quite delicious, sir, although of course a little stronger than I am used to.’
‘Splendid,’ cried the Prince, his pendulous lower lip glistening. ‘And what do you think, Mrs Cash?’
‘I think it would benefit from the addition of some fresh mint.’ The Prince looked at her for a moment in surprise; he frequently asked for honest opinions but he was not in the habit of receiving them. There was a tiny pause while he wondered whether there had been any affront to his dignity and then he laughed and said, ‘Well now, I know why Amerrrican women make such good hostesses, Mrs Cash. Attention to detail. By all means, let us add mint.’
Teddy tried not to smile. He was used to seeing Mrs Cash prevailing but the assembled company were not. He noticed the blonde woman, whom he now knew to be Duchess Fanny, looking at Mrs Cash warily, as if re-evaluating an opponent.
The Prince was offering a glass to Cora when the footman announced, ‘Sir Odo and Lady Beauchamp.’ Teddy saw the Prince stiffen; and he remembered Cora’s instructions in her letter to him:
‘The Prince of Wales breaks all the rules, but he expects perfect behaviour from everyone else. He hates it if people are late, even though the Princess is notorious for her tardiness. So please hurry down to dinner the moment you are dressed. We Americans have to have the best manners of all, of course, as we can get away with nothing.’
The couple that came in, however, did not look at all abashed. The man was flushed, his protruding blue eyes glittering, his lips slightly parted, showing his small white teeth. He bowed gracefully before the Prince, displaying his extravagant profusion of yellow curls.
‘You must forgive me, sir, but my wife could not decide between the chartreuse and the mauve. She would not budge until I had advised her, and do you know I just could not make a decision. She looked simply ravishing in both, so in the end she had to wear red, as you see.’ He gestured towards his wife who sank into a curtsy that did much to display her décolletage.
‘Highness,’ she murmured and she raised her shining blond head to look at the Prince with a smile that was quite unrepentant.
‘It is your hostess who must forgive you, of course, though I am inclined to agree with you, Sir Odo, that the result was worth the wait.’ The Prince gestured towards Lady Beauchamp. Her dress was crimson satin embroidered in black in a repeating motif of bees, ants and scorpions. The neckline and hem were edged with jet beads that shook slightly as she moved. It was a theatrical dress, preposterous even, but Lady Beauchamp was equal to it, Teddy thought. She held her head high, and Teddy could see the strong lines of her neck as it met the collarbone below. She looked beautiful and terrible in equal measure. Teddy thought of Salome holding up the head of John the Baptist. But it wasn’t just her perfect, implacable profile that made him stare at her, transfixed. He had seen this woman before, a year ago, standing on the platform of Euston Station with the Duke. He had never forgotten the way she had pulled the Duke’s hand into her muff – such ferocious intimacy in that public place. He could still remember the gorgeous curve of her cheek, and the way her eyes were fixed on the Duke’s face. It was an image that had never left him, because he knew he had seen the face of a woman saying farewell to the man she loved.