Chapter Six
Despite Charity’s advice that she enjoy herself, Hope did not expect the evening’s party to be much better than tedious. As the weeks of the Season crawled by without the arrival of her cousin, she’d come to view the events she attended with a kind of distant dread. She had to be on guard at all times, not wanting to have too much fun or enjoy herself so completely that she forgot her raison d’être. She must not lose her heart or her head, or cause a similar reaction from any of the gentlemen present.
If it seemed to be happening with Mr Drake, it was simply a sign that she had not been cautious enough. This was a reminder to be ever vigilant.
It was exactly the opposite of the advice she received from her grandmother, who sat opposite her in the family coach. ‘Above all things, make merry, my dear. You are only young once. Now that Mr Leggett is providing for us, it is finally possible for me to give you the Season you deserve.’ Her grandmother was wearing the faintly worried look she got sometimes when the matter of money came up.
‘There was nothing wrong with the opportunities you provided for me in Berkshire,’ Hope said to reassure her. ‘The house party at Christmas was delightful.’
‘That was for Faith’s engagement,’ the Dowager replied. ‘If Mr Leggett had not invited himself to it, there would have been not one eligible man in attendance. And if not for him, Faith might have married that dreary Mr Fosberry.’
‘He was not so bad,’ Hope lied. Then added, ‘But I am glad she married Mr Leggett instead.’
‘Without a proper come out, with new gowns and a ball, Cyril was the only offer she got, and she had to trap him into it,’ her grandmother added. ‘Perhaps, when she and Mr Leggett return from Italy, we might persuade him to throw a ball for you.’
‘I am quite content to wait until we can celebrate the arrival of our American cousin,’ Hope claimed, smiling to hide any bitterness she felt. A year ago, she had wanted nothing more than a party swarming with eligible bachelors. Then there was no money for it. Now, there was no need. Either the Earl would marry her, or they would all have to settle for spinsterhood and rustication.
‘Do not wait for anyone,’ her grandmother insisted, patting her hand. ‘Dance every dance. Find a balcony or a terrace, or at least the shade of a potted palm, and be alone with someone, just as all the other couples do. And if you break some young fellow’s heart, be sure it is not before giving him a reason to remember you fondly.’
‘You are not supposed to suggest such things,’ Hope reminded her. ‘You are to tell me to guard my virtue like a precious jewel.’
Her grandmother made a puffing noise in response and then grinned. ‘Jewels are of no value if they are never put to their intended use.’
‘Your metaphor is weak. Jewels are just as valuable if they remain in the lockbox,’ Hope remarked. ‘At least when they are there, one can be sure that they have not been lost.’ She had resisted the temptation to substitute the word sold. If Grandmama had understood that, they would not be in the trouble they were in now.
The Dowager finally seemed to sense her thoughts. When she turned to look again, the older woman’s expression was still loving, but faintly wounded. ‘I know you do not approve of me, my darling. Perhaps I am a trifle too rackety to raise young ladies. But I was quite good at raising sons. They are easier, you see.’ As they drove moonlight and shadow flickered over her face and her expression seemed to change the happy and rather foolish woman Hope expected into someone else who was much older, wiser and sadder.
Hope turned her hand to close it over her grandmother’s. ‘You have done well with us, Grandmama. It is I who am not as grateful as I should be. I promise, I shall dance every dance and have as much fun as I am able, without breaking any hearts at all.’
One broken heart a day was more than enough.
* * *
Hope had been looking forward to the Ellinghams’ ball for reasons that both Charity and their grandmother would have considered sorely misguided. If it went in the manner of all the other balls she had attended this Season it was likely to be an entire evening where nothing of interest happened at all. Tonight, that suited her well.
She stood in the doorway to the ballroom revelling in the utter predictability that awaited her. There was no need to make polite introductions for there was no one here she had not seen a dozen times before. She could perform even the most complicated of dances without missing a step. Even the conversations would not vary from those she had had several times this year. She would not have to think about the entail, the Earl or Mr Drake for four long hours.
It would be heaven.
In the past week, she’d had far too much to think about and too many strange new feelings. With each new day, her life seemed to get more complicated, not less. Perhaps, now that she had driven Mr Drake away, things could go back to the way she had planned. Why could she not find comfort in the thought?
‘Hello, Ellingham. Lovely evening.’
‘Hello, Drake. As always, it is a pleasure.’
Hope clutched the door frame, afraid to turn towards the men talking in the entryway just behind her. There was no need. One was her host. Though the other had been a stranger a week ago, she knew the sound of his voice as well as she knew her own.
Why was he here? Had he followed her? It seemed unlikely since he’d wanted nothing to do with her just a few hours ago. Perhaps he had more than one employer. If so, she had no right to enquire as to his presence here. It was possible that he would not even want to acknowledge her should they meet.
She definitely did not want to see him. At least, not until she could manage to compose herself. She could feel the colour rising in her cheeks already. It would not matter whether they spoke or not. The whole room had but to look at her face to know that there was something between them.
Run!
She was not sure where she meant to go, but she could not stay where she was. In a moment, he could step forward and be at her side. She looked frantically around, spied a corridor to her left, darted down it, grabbed the first door handle she saw and slipped into the unlocked room, shutting the door behind her again with a soft click.
The music and chatter of the ballroom faded to a distant murmur. She was safe, isolated from the crowd and the one man she could not bear to see. But where was she hiding?
She turned slowly to examine the room. Apparently, she had chosen Lord Ellingham’s study as her bolt hole. It was unoccupied and likely to remain so, for the only light came from the embers of the banked fire.
If she stayed here for just a few minutes, Mr Drake would disappear into the crowd. While she waited, she could prepare a proper response in case they met. She could practise it in the mirror, just as she did for the Earl.
The thought made her smile. It was a shame she did not have Mr Drake’s composure. Other than those few moments in the salon, he had been unflappable. He had threatened to quit the job, but she doubted he would. There were still three items left on the list the Dowager had given her. She could not imagine that he would give up before he thought the job had been completed, no matter how awkward the interaction between them had been.
Or perhaps there were only two items.
She stared at the desk in front of her and the inkwell sitting on top of it. She had seen it hundreds of times in the same spot on her grandfather’s desk in his study at the manor.
Hope’s palms itched with the urge to grab it and run. Why should she not? It belonged in her family home, not in the house of some bargain hunter who graced his desk with castoffs from the Lombard merchants. Even better, she would be able to show Mr Drake that she was not totally reliant on his help. The quicker she could reclaim the items on the list, the sooner they could be truly free of each other.
As it had this afternoon, the idea of his departure raised a strange mix of feelings in her, both anticipation and dread. It was another sign that he should go. She had never been so confused by the presence of a man in her life. Who knew one kiss could cause such disruption?
If she hoped to leave the room at all this evening, she must not think of the kiss. There were more important things, right in front of her. She moved closer to the desk to get a better look at her prize. It was exactly as she remembered it: a graceful well of rock crystal, set upon a gold filigree base.
She held her reticule against the side, pleased to see that it was just big enough. She uttered a brief prayer for forgiveness for the theft and swept the thing off the desk and into her purse. She hurried back to the door, opened it slowly and glanced both ways up and down the hall to make sure she would not be seen escaping. Then she stepped out of the room and walked briskly back towards the ballroom.
‘Miss Strickland.’
She froze in her tracks. ‘Mr Drake?’ How had she not noticed him in her brief search of the corridor? She turned slowly to the sound of his voice, with a smile that she was sure was nowhere near as convincing as the one she had while practising in her own home.
He was standing in an alcove, outside in the hall, and just out of sight of the study door. No. He was not standing. He was lounging, his posture as casual as that of any other young buck at this party. His dress rivalled theirs as well: immaculate blue coat, buff breeches, snowy linen and a cravat that was not just white, but blanc d’innocence virginale. It crossed at the front, not even tied, the creases and folds at his throat in perfect and crisp alignment as if he held them there by dint of his own considerable will.
‘I did not expect to see you here this evening,’ she said. Her voice was embarrassingly breathless.
‘I assumed as much, from the way you ran into a private room to avoid me.’ So this was no chance meeting. He had been waiting in the hall to catch her doing something she should not.
Or perhaps he had been waiting for his chance to do exactly what she had just done. He had come to retrieve the inkwell. Her smile relaxed as she imagined his surprise to find her one step ahead of him. She opened her fan and gave it a coy flutter. ‘My dear Mr Drake, you are mistaken. I was not avoiding you. I was doing what you have obviously come to do for yourself. Now that it has been taken care of, there is no reason for you to remain.’
He gave a surprised laugh. ‘You are dismissing me?’
Thank God, he understood. And she should thank God as well that their relationship had returned to being dull and professional instead of dangerously exciting. ‘Yes,’ she said, pointing towards the front door with her fan. ‘You may go.’
He raised a hand to his face, cupping his chin and drawing a single finger across his lips as if to seal in the laughter that seemed to be happening somewhere deep inside him, for his shoulders shook and his eyes sparkled like sunlight dancing on choppy water. When he had regained control of himself sufficiently to speak, the hand fell away. ‘Or, I could stay.’
‘I do not think that will be wise,’ she whispered. ‘What if someone sees us speaking?’
‘I do not know,’ he whispered back. ‘Perhaps they will think you are flirting with me.’ Then he raised his voice to a normal tone. ‘It will be much less intimate if we do not whisper. Even less so if we return to the ballroom, where the rest of the guests are gathered.’
‘The rest of the guests?’ Perhaps he misspoke, for that almost seemed to imply that he belonged there.
‘I am sorry,’ he said with mock surprise. ‘I assumed you were invited as well. I must compliment Ellingham for the novelty of hiring a young lady to guard his door. Was I expected to bring the card he sent? I left it at home for my valet said it quite spoiled the line of my suit.’
‘You have a valet?’ It had been an exceptionally stupid question, but it was too late to call it back.
‘Since my skills do not extend to pressing coats and starching linen, I thought it sensible to hire one.’ His eyes hardened, ever so slightly and his smile chilled. ‘I also have a butler, a housekeeper, a cook and as many footmen and maids as they deem necessary to effectively run my house.’
‘Oh,’ she said, softly. She had not given any thought at all to Mr Drake’s living arrangements. Nor had it occurred to her that he had friends who might welcome his company. She had certainly not expected to find that they had any in common. She was as bad as Charity claimed if she assumed he appeared like a djinni, then disappeared again, existing only to serve her.
Before she could frame the apology that he so richly deserved, he was speaking again. ‘But you must forgive me, Miss Strickland. Since we have met tonight, I have talked of nothing but myself. How are you, Miss Strickland? And how did you come to be sneaking out of Lord Ellingham’s study? Most importantly, why is your reticule leaking ink?’
‘Oh, dear Lord.’ In her rush to reclaim the family property, she had ignored the purpose of the item she took. ‘I forgot to empty it.’
He was staring at her. It was clear the explanation was not sufficient. ‘It’s the inkwell. The Comstock inkwell,’ she added, for clarity. ‘Grandmama sold it. Lord Ellingham must have found it in the shop and bought it. I was retrieving it from the study.’
‘With Lord Ellingham’s permission, of course.’
That would have been the sensible thing to do. She could have written him a letter tomorrow, requesting the chance to purchase it back. Instead, she had decided, on a moment, to take it now. ‘No,’ she admitted.
‘You stole Lord Ellingham’s inkwell.’ He was staring at her now as if he could not quite believe the words he’d just spoken.
‘I did,’ she said, horrified.
He held out his hand, resigned. ‘Give me your reticule.’
He had been here to enjoy an evening with friends and she had embroiled him in a burglary. ‘You should not have to...’
‘Give it to me,’ he said firmly.
She held it out and he took it from her, pinching the strings between two fingers of one white gloved hand. ‘Now go to the retiring room and get yourself cleaned up. You have ink on your hands.’
‘Oh, dear.’ Her own gloves were likely ruined, just as the reticule was.
‘We will speak later,’ he said.
Actually, she rather hoped they would not.