Nine Buck's Row (21 page)

“Oh, there's Sir Charles,” Lady Cordelia said, waving at him. “Gracious, what a frown! But then he hasn't had much to smile about lately, has he? I invited him out of sympathy, poor thing. So many people are avoiding him these days.”

The ballroom was immense, running the whole length of the house. Five dazzling chandeliers with sparkling crystal pendants spilled light over the gold and brown parquet floor filled with dancers. An orchestra played in an alcove, and along one wall there were sofas and chairs and tall plants in white porcelain pots. The other wall was composed entirely of high French windows that opened onto a moonlit veranda. Long yellow silk curtains billowed as couples strolled out to view the gardens.

Three husky young men in tight suits and colorful stocks stood together just inside the ballroom, exchanging jokes. They had dark blond hair and healthy, ruddy complexions: robust, muscular fellows who looked out of place among all this gracious elegance. Lady Cordelia waved her fan at them, and they came stomping over in their highly polished knee-boots, each with a sheepish expression.

“Boys!” she scolded, making a face. “Why aren't you
danc
ing? There's poor little Millicent Danvers standing all by herself, looking depressed. Shame on you! This is Susannah Hunt. Don't
crowd
me, you oafs! Susannah, these are my sister Anne's boys, Steve, Fred and George. They've just come from Cornwall—Steve, stop fidgeting! What a vulgar stock, Fred, bright maroon with that brown suit? George, get that look off your face.”

“You're a caution, Aunt Corkie,” Fred said.

“None of your impudence! Where are your cousins? John and Roderick are my brother Rodd's sons, Susannah. They're from Sussex, and Ted, Lucille's son, lives in Surrey. They've all come to spend a few weeks with me, and my hair is already turning gray. So many boys, and so unruly! Reggie locks himself up in the library and ignores them, but I have to contend with them twenty-four hours a day.”

“You love it,” Steve teased.

“Where on earth did you get that idea? I'm a nervous wreck.”

“Like to dance, Susannah?” George asked huskily. His dark blue eyes leered at me, a smile of anticipation on his wide pink mouth.

“Of course she does!” Lady Cordelia snapped. “Fred, go rescue Millicent. I'll have no wallflowers at one of my balls. She
is
a plain little thing, isn't she? Just like her mother. Oh well—Steve, find yourself a partner and
move
. These boys, such ill-mannered louts—”

George led me onto the dance floor, wrapping his arm tightly around my waist and holding my hand in a bonecrushing grip. The music rose and fell in melodic waves, and we whirled around the floor at a breathless pace. He might have been playing soccer instead of dancing, making up with energy what he lacked in grace. Crushed against him, I could only pray the music would soon stop. My head was dizzy. The lights overhead seemed to spin with a thousand different colors. I felt certain my ribcage was broken.

“Hadn't seen anything like you in Cornwall,” George exclaimed when the dance finally ended. People applauded, waiting for the next piece to begin, and George retained his hold on my hand, grinning a wide grin. He had a rugged charm that would have enchanted Millie.

“You're a dream, you are,” he continued. “Didn't know there'd be anyone like you here or I wouldn't a dreaded it so much. We've spent the past hour pushin' Aunt Corkie's friends around the floor. Not much uva treat, I promise you.”

“You're—uh—quite a dancer,” I replied, trying to find something to say.

“Yeah, we cut quite a caper in Cornwall. Dances there aren't nothing like this, though. I love a good lively polka or a country jig. I say, d'you like to take a turn through the gardens? They're smashin', with a lotta little nooks and corners where a bloke can—where it's private, you know what I mean?”

“I'm afraid so,” I replied, smiling in spite of myself. “Thank you just the same.”

“Don't know what you're missin',” he teased. “I like you. These other girls—sticks, all of 'em. A chap can't talk to 'em.”

“My turn, George,” Steve said, pounding his brother on the shoulder. “Share 'n share alike.”

“Shove off, matey,” George said menacingly.

Steve shook his head in disgust, seized his brother's arm and yanked him aside just as the music began again. He whirled me away, leaving George with a furious expression on his face. Steve was a better dancer, though a little wooden, but he lacked George's robust appeal. Fred claimed me next, and George cut in, then Steve, and after thirty minutes I felt like a rag doll pulled apart by greedy children. It was exhilarating, though, and I enjoyed every minute of it.

John and Roderick Mann were twins, both twenty, both with dark green eyes and unruly black hair. Tall and slender, they wore tight black suits and emerald stocks. Roderick had a smoldering intensity. John stuttered. Both despised their Cornish cousins, and when they started cutting in I feared there might be a brawl. Cordelia whisked George away to dance with the unfortunate Millicent, and Steve and Fred were stuck with plump matrons who seemed overcome by their energetic maneuvers on the dance floor. I began to wonder when I'd meet the other nephew and what
he
would be like.

I pleaded fatigue after a while, and Steve led me into the drawing room to rest. Nicholas Craig and Sir Charles Warren were standing in one corner, having an intense conversation. Nicholas' jaw was thrust out, his eyes dark, and Sir Charles fingered his monocle with haughty arrogance. I wondered if they could be talking about the bracelet. Lady Cordelia claimed me, taking me around to meet several of her friends, richly dressed, bejeweled women who chattered politely.

“You're getting quite a rush,” Lady Cordelia said, leading me across the room. “Aren't the boys divine? Rowdy, of course, but they add zest to things. I haven't seen Ted yet. I hope the scoundrel hasn't skipped! I want you to meet Lady Thruston. Terrible disposition, but she's a lady-in-waiting. Those rubies are paste, incidently. Poor dear, lost everything. Handsome swindler took her in—no fool like an old fool!”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Nicholas walking across the room to join Sir Reginald beside the door leading into the first drawing room. They spoke for a moment and then left, probably going to the study. I hadn't exchanged a single word with my guardian since we arrived, and I wondered if he intended to neglect me all evening. The nephews were all very well and good, but I longed to dance with Nicholas Craig.

“Here, Susannah,” Steve said, approaching as Lady Thruston peered at me through her lorgnette. “The music's about to begin. Excuse us, Aunt Corkie.”

“Young people,” Lady Cordelia said, beaming. “Aren't they enchanting? So much vitality. Tell me, Cynthia, how's your lumbago? The palace is terribly
drafty
, isn't it?”

I danced with Steve, and with George, with Fred and John and Roderick. My new slippers pinched my feet. The hoopskirt banged against my legs. My hair was coming undone. After an hour the orchestra stopped for a rest, and people wandered about the ballroom talking merrily. John asked me if I would like something to eat and said he'd fetch a plate of food. Roderick led me over to stand by a cluster of tall potted plants. He was breathing deeply and telling me all about his ambition in life when the Cornish cousins discovered us, pushing over to join us. The four of them clustered around me and when John returned I found that I couldn't eat a bite of the lovely food. George had me by the elbow and was insisting that I take a walk in the gardens when the sixth nephew made his belated appearance.

“All right, mates,” he said. “You've had your share for the evening. I'll take over now.”

The others protested violently, making threatening faces, but he stood his ground, one eyebrow arched, patiently waiting for them to disperse. He was very tall, with a powerful, magnificently proportioned body. His hair was red-bronze, clipped short, his face evenly tanned, his features ruggedly handsome. He might have posed for an ancient Roman coin, I thought, staring into deep brown eyes that were both gentle and forceful. His dark suit was elegantly tailored to fit broad shoulders and slender waist, his dark purple vest heavily embroidered with black silk. Although he was only one or two years older than the others, he made them seem like mere boys, and they knew it. Grumbling unpleasantly, they moved away, disappearing into the crowd.

“Have my cousins been bothering you?” he asked. His voice was rich and full, beautifully modulated.

“Not at all. They've been very attentive.”

“Bumpkins, the lot of them. They don't know how to appreciate a lovely young woman.”

“You must be the nephew from Surrey.”

“Ted Elliot, at your service. And you're Susannah. Aunt Cordelia told me to look for the most beautiful girl in the room, and that's you. Where have you been all my life?”

“Really, Mr. Elliot, that line was old a hundred years ago.”

“I've no doubt Paris said it to Helen of Troy, but I'm serious. I've been coming to Aunt Cordelia's do's for the past four years, and I've never seen you before. That's most unusual.”

“I just met your aunt two weeks ago. I—I haven't been to many balls. This is my first, in fact. I live in the East End, Mr. Elliot. I don't move in your circles.”

Ted Elliot looked extremely uncomfortable, a frown creasing his brow. “I remember—of course, you're Nicholas Craig's ward. I didn't make the connection at first.”

“So now you know,” I said in a cool voice.

“I say, don't be so defensive. I don't care a fig about social circles. People are what count, not where they come from or where they live. Do you believe in love at first sight.”

“Of course not.”

“I didn't either, not until a few minutes ago. And to think I almost missed this ball. I slipped out of the house to go on the town with some of my old college chums—I hate balls, incidentally—and then I started thinking about how upset Aunt Cordelia would be if I didn't put in an appearance tonight. I came back and changed and—and here I am. Fate, I guess.”

“You're terribly brash, Mr. Elliot.”

“I know. Isn't it awful?”

He smiled, and my opinion of him altered completely. On first impression he had seemed arrogant and entirely too sure of himself, a handsome, well-educated young man fully aware of his superiority over his rowdy cousins, his clothes too well cut, his manner too studied. The smile changed everything. It was boyish and engaging, his full mouth turning up at both corners, the deep brown eyes beaming with gentle mirth. He thrust his hands into his pockets and tilted his head slightly to one side, the smile lingering on his lips.

“You'll have to forgive me. I'm overcome. These things don't happen every day. Once in a lifetime, if we're to believe the poets.”

“Do you always jest like this?”

“You think I'm jesting? Yes, I suppose so, but surely a young lady with your charms is accustomed to such brash behavior? You don't receive a dozen proposals each day? Men don't sit at your feet in rapt adoration? I can't believe it.”

“I haven't met many men.”

“No? That's wonderful. I'll have no immediate competition. This calls for champagne. Would you care for a glass?”

“I—I think I need one.”

“You're overwhelmed, too? Marvelous. I'll go get us some. You promise not to run away? You'll stay right here? If my cousins come back—well, they won't. They know I'll box their ears if they do. I was a champion pugilist at Oxford, and it's already been demonstrated to them in the past four weeks. I'll be right back.”

He left, moving easily through the crowd, his shoulders rolling under the black broadcloth jacket. The back of his head was beautifully shaped, short, flat locks of red-bronze hair fitted closely over his skull. What a remarkable young man, I thought, flattered by his remarks and more than a little impressed. One couldn't take him seriously, of course, but it was an exhilarating sensation just the same. I brushed a lock of hair away from my temple, feeling more than ever like a modern-day Cinderella.

The feeling was short lived. The crowd in the ballroom had thinned a bit, and I saw Nicholas stroll through the doors, relaxed, his white satin vest gleaming against dark lapels. He has come to look for me at last, I thought, forgetting all about Ted Elliot, experiencing another kind of exhilaration. Nicholas peered about the room and saw me standing beside the tall green plants, but he made no effort to join me. He looked away, moving to stand near the alcove where the musicians were relaxing and drinking champagne. I felt a bitter disappointment and tried to tell myself that his indifference didn't matter.

As I watched, a sleekly handsome blond man in his thirties walked into the room, escorting the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Nicholas saw them, too. He grew rigid, his back like a ramrod, then controlled himself, assuming an impassive expression. The woman noticed him. She whispered something to her companion and left him, walking over to join Nicholas.

Her features were exquisite, her eyes dark and sultry, her mouth small and very pink. Jet black hair was worn in an elaborate coiffure on the back of her head, lustrous coils entwined with strands of pearls, and she was wearing a deep red velvet dress cut extremely low, tight about the waist, the skirt a series of flounces puffed like rose petals. She spoke to Nicholas. He nodded stiffly and, after a moment, smiled, taking her hand in his. They were soon immersed in a long conversation.

Valerie. I had seen her at last.

“Did you miss me that much?” Ted Elliot inquired.

“I beg your par—oh, I didn't see you come up.”

“You were miles away, looked like you had just lost your last friend. No need to fret. I'm back, safe, sound, and with two glasses of inebriating beverage. Here. Careful you don't spill any on your gown.”