Irresistible (30 page)

"Claire, come on," Beth said impatiently. Glancing around, Claire saw that her sister was already at the door.

"I'm coming." Slipping the ribbon of her chicken-skin fan with its ivory ribs and exquisite painted scenes over her wrist, Claire joined Beth, and the two of them left the room and went down the vast, curving staircase together.

Below, though the clock had just struck ten, people were already starting to come up the stairs. Lord and Lady Olive were first, Claire saw, smiling at them. Lord Olive was a nice little man, thin as a wraith and unassuming. Equally short but about as big around as she was tall, Lady Olive was quite fearsome-looking tonight dressed in puce satin with three towering plumes in her mouse-brown hair. Newcomers to the title, the couple were drinking up the joys of Society as headily as if it were ale and they were thirsty sailors. They had not yet accustomed themselves to the idea that it was fashionable to be late. Looking past them, Claire saw Graham, the impassive, elderly butler who had been with the family for decades, open the door to admit more new arrivals. Beyond him she got just a glimpse of carriages, their lights flickering like stars, lined up as far as she could see along the dark street. The sound of wheels and hooves on the cobblestones reached her ears. So did the first strains of music, from the ballroom at the back of the house. The scents of beeswax, the masses of white roses decorating the hall and the staircase and the ballroom, and the finest of wax candles that were burning by the dozens in chandeliers and sconces all over the house wafted beneath her nose, forming one unforgettable scent: the smell of a ball that was just getting started. Beth's ball.

"Hurry, or you'll be late for the receiving line," she whispered to Beth. As Beth was the debutante in whose honor the ball was being held, that would never do. Ahead of her now as they reached the marble-floored hall, Beth nodded and turned toward the ballroom. Claire stepped forward to greet the Olives as they came toward her, and suddenly noticed several dusty trunks and battered portmanteaux being borne up the stairs amid two more small groups of newly arrived guests. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in this odd circumstance, but she finished her pleasantries to the Olives without commenting on it, all the while wondering: Had an overnight guest arrived? Who? They were expecting no one as far as she knew.

She spoke to the next group, then whisked herself out of the way of the increasing numbers of new arrivals into the dining room, which, as supper would not be served until midnight or thereabouts, was empty at the moment except for servants making ready. Even as she was about to send a footman to fetch Graham so that she might ask him about the luggage, that white-maned dignitary himself came up the stairs and she was able to beckon to him.

"Do we have an overnight guest?" she asked, knowing she had to hurry to the receiving line but also knowing that her mother-in-law, who was, hopefully, already in the ballroom greeting guests, would be upset with her if she discovered such a situation and did not bring it to her immediate notice. "Does Lady George know?"

That she did not wait for her first question to be answered before posing the second, more pertinent one betrayed her nervousness. As the wife of the late duke's younger brother, Lord George Lynes, her mother-in-law was known as Lady George. Although her name was Emma, Claire had certainly never presumed to call her by it, and had never been invited to do so. It was Lady George who was the undisputed mistress of the house, and Claire and Beth were merely her guests. Lady George ruled— or at least tried to rule— everyone within her orbit with a rod of iron. She would expect Claire to run to her immediately with news of an unexpected houseguest.

"Miss Claire, the duke's home." Graham sounded excited, an emotion she had never expected to detect in the always stately butler. "His Grace the Duke has come
home
."

"The duke?" Claire hoped she sounded no more than politely interested. In truth, she was dismayed. After all, they were holding Beth's come-out ball in the man's house. Although Lady George was the official hostess, and had been delighted at the idea of having the ball at Richmond House, Claire suddenly felt presumptuous in the extreme. When the duke was abroad, he was no more than an abstract figure, and the house had felt like it belonged to Lady George and, by extension, David. Now, suddenly, it felt like a stranger's house. They were using the duke's house without his permission.

"Does Lady George know?" she added hollowly.

"Yes, Lady Claire. I informed her myself."

Thank goodness
. Claire thought it, but she just managed not to say it aloud. Leaving Graham, she slipped through the adjoining music room to a small corridor that led to a side door opening into the ballroom, thus avoiding the crowds of people already massed in the hall. A few people milled about the refreshment table, but the huge room with its red brocade walls and white moldings and floor-to-ceiling mirrors set between ornate pilasters was still very thin of company. The tall doors that led out onto the terrace were still closed, but they would be opened later, when the dancing started.

"Lady Barbara Mertz and the Honorable Mr. John Mertz."

The booming announcement was made at the main doorway to the ballroom, where the receiving line, which consisted at the moment of Lady George, David, Beth, and Aunt Augusta, stood. Claire moved a little faster. The musicians were playing, although a dance had not yet been struck up, and the three giant chandeliers overhead sparkled with hundreds of candles. Their brilliance was reflected in the tall mirrors. The heady aroma of the dozens of white flowers massed in the corners filled the room. Claire inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent, as she slipped into the receiving line between her husband and sister.

"You're late," David said in an accusatory tone out of the corner of his mouth. He seemed unusually tense, and she wondered at it. Since joining her in London the previous week— he had spent only a few days at Morningtide after her safe return before leaving to once again be about his own pursuits— he had been almost amiable, more amiable than he had been since the early days of their marriage. Of no more than average height and slender, he was looking very handsome with his blond hair combed back from his face and his pale complexion set off by the black of his evening clothes. His eyes were as blue as a summer sky, his features were finely molded and regular, and there was about him an elegant air that was one of the first things Claire had noticed. Giving him a single comprehensive look, Claire thought that she could still quite understand how she had ended up marrying him. The wrappings were extremely attractive. Who would know that the parcel actually had so little inside?

"Your cousin the duke has returned home," she offered by way of explanation.

"So my mother informs me." His voice was cold. "I fail to see how that accounts for your lateness, however."

Claire gave him a long look. His bullying tone was familiar: This was the David he had become in the months before her abduction. She had thought his recent amiability was too good to be true. He had been trying to turn her up sweet— but why? Before she could come up with an answer, or find a reply for him, more guests were announced.

"The Earl and Countess of Wickham, Lord and Lady Arthur Peale, the Honorable Charles Fawley and Mrs. Fawley."

Called to order by her sister's sharp elbow to the ribs, Claire turned to smile at her cousins. Lady George, who, with her birdlike build and once blond hair now turned stark white, looked very like David, was resplendent in palest blue crepe. She was the first to greet the guests, shaking hands with Cousin Thomas, who towered over her petite frame. Tall, thin, and balding, Cousin Thomas had taken on a new air of self-importance as he had become accustomed to wearing the title, Earl of Wickham, that had previously belonged to Claire's father and brother.

"I hear Gabby's been delivered of a girl," Cousin Thomas said in a jovial tone as he took her proffered hand.

"Yes, a beautiful little daughter," Claire agreed with a determinedly welcoming smile. The two families had never been friendly, although they were civil in public, and that didn't seem likely to change anytime soon.

"No doubt she'll produce a son next time," Cousin Maud, his wife, said as if commiserating with Gabby's misfortune while she pressed Claire's hand. "Dear Thisby has two boys now, you know."

She looked fondly in the direction of her daughter, Mrs. Fawley, who was behind her.

Cousin Maud was a wispy blond in the style of Lady George, and the two women, who were much of an age, disliked each other cordially. Of course, nearly everyone disliked Cousin Maud, so that wasn't much of a mark in Lady George's favor, in Claire's opinion. Thisby was fair like her mother, but had never been possessed of much beauty. Age— she was two years Claire's senior— had not improved either her looks or her disposition. She exchanged a few banal remarks with Claire, then eyed her husband angrily as that gentleman held Claire's hand for rather longer than was proper, the admiration in his eyes plain for everyone to see. Thankful to be released at last, Claire turned her attention to Desdemona, who was with her new husband as well, and was obviously proud as a peacock on his arm.

"Lord and Lady Jersey."

"Silence" Jersey, so called because she talked so much, was both a leader of the
ton
and a great friend of Aunt Augusta's, and she stood talking to their aunt for rather longer than was proper, holding up the line. Lady Jersey was dressed in deep green satin with ropes of pearls around her neck. Her face was square and rather plain, and her figure, if it had belonged to a less important personage, might have been described as short and dumpy. But there was a twinkle in her eye and a kindness to her smile that made up for these deficiencies. Beside her, Aunt Augusta, who was nearly six feet tall and mannish in build, looked most imposing. As blunt featured as she ordinarily was blunt spoken, she was dressed tonight in a gown of pearl gray satin that almost exactly matched the silver of the braids wound in queenly fashion atop her head. The sparkle of enormous diamonds affixed to her ears and hung around her neck completed a magnificent ensemble. Having feared her at their first meeting, Claire had grown fond of her over the ensuing years. With no children of her own, she'd been very kind to the three nieces she had taken under her wing.

"So you're Lady Elizabeth, are you?" Lady Jersey said to Beth, having wound up her conversation with Aunt Augusta at last. "Well, you're very pretty too, but why is it none of you gels look the least bit alike?" After scrutinizing her from head to toe, she stared pointedly at Beth's bright hair for a moment before glancing from Beth to Claire with a perplexed expression. Then her face cleared, and she answered herself before Beth could reply, which was probably a good thing, because Beth the fiery was starting to frown at her. "Oh yes, different mothers, weren't there? Well, that explains it all right. My lamentable memory. You must forgive me. And your sister Lady Gabriella is not here tonight?" A quick glance around, as if Gabby might pop out from behind one of the crimson velvet curtains tied back on each side of the ballroom's arched entrance, accompanied this, and then she again chattered on without waiting for an answer. "Oh, that's right, I remember you told me, Augusta, that she would stay at home this year. Well, now, Augusta, this is the last of them, isn't it? She'll do, she'll do. I shall send vouchers for Almack's just as I did for the other two. If I forget, remind me."

"I certainly will, Sally," Aunt Augusta said. Then, to Beth in a lowered tone after Lady Jersey was gone, "Well. We accomplished that handily enough. Promised vouchers already! Even though you frowned at her, which was really too bad of you. Sally Jersey may chatter, but she is the dearest thing."

"She was staring at my
hair
," Beth muttered. Claire heard that with alarm. Before she turned to greet the next person in line, she nudged Beth.

"Your hair is beautiful. It makes you stand out. It makes you unique," she whispered. "Of course people are going to stare at it."

She and Beth had been over that before. Beth hated having red hair with a passion, and had been known to thoroughly lose her temper just from having its bright hue pointed out to her, something that unfortunately tended to happen a lot.

"You've said that so much I'm sick of hearing it," Beth whispered back with a deepening scowl. "Unique or not, it's still rude to stare."

Only the fact that Claire feared Beth had not enough countenance to keep from howling kept her from giving her little sister a sharp kick on the ankle. Frowning at Lady Jersey was not something a debutante did. Not if said debutante wanted to be a success. Frowning at other people was probably not a good idea, either.

And Claire did so want for Beth to be a success. The greater her choice of men, the more likely she was to choose well. An unhappy marriage was more of a burden than any unwed girl could even begin to imagine.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Aunt Augusta muttered. "Don't be so quick to take a pet, child, and
smile
."

A quick glance told Claire that Beth, having apparently recollected her surroundings, was recovering from her snit in the usual quick-to-anger, quick-to-forgive way of hers. Following Aunt Augusta's advice, she smiled quite brilliantly, and now seemed determined to enjoy her debut, come what may.

By the time she was able to leave the receiving line, Claire's fingers ached. She had shaken hands with roughly five hundred guests, nearly all of whom were now squeezed into the ballroom that no longer seemed enormous at all. Others, including David and his cronies, had already disappeared into one of the small rooms set aside for cards. Still others were in the ladies' retiring room, or outside on the terrace enjoying the unseasonably warm night. Indeed, the ballroom was already growing overwarm with too many bodies too closely packed into it, and many ladies were making vigorous use of their fans. Claire had already heard several people describe the evening as a sad crush, which was a sure sign of success.