Page 76 of Henrietta

‘There you are, Isabelle!’ she declared, just as Captain Edgewood was asking her to dance. ‘We are all waiting for you in the card room!’

The Captain gave a little bow. ‘Miss Allerton, good evening. It is very good to see you.’

Trixie gave him her sweetest smile. ‘I do so wish I could agree,’ she said apologetically. ‘Isabelle, I do not wish to hurry you, but …’

A curious expression upon her face, Mademoiselle de Nicolet accepted Trixie’s summons.

‘Do you not care for the fellow?’ she asked. ‘I found him very sympathetic.’

‘I find that singularly unsurprising,’ Trixie said. ‘He’s a snake, you know.’

Trixie did not need much prompting to divulge the full story. She had been discreet for such a long time – days! – that she could hardly keep it to herself any longer.

‘Shall I cut him for you?’ Mademoiselle de Nicolet asked, once the tale had concluded. ‘I will, you know.’

Trixie was rather gratified. ‘That is kind. If you could do so with many observers I should appreciate it greatly.’

Mademoiselle de Nicolet promised she would do so. ‘Although I am perhaps not in a position to be rejecting suitors any more. I suppose you saw what happened.’

‘Everyone did,’ Trixie said apologetically. ‘What on earth occurred to have him so cross?’

‘I did not think he would take it quite so badly – all I did was wear someone else’s flowers …’ She looked down to the delicate posy she was wearing. ‘I do not care for roses, and they clashed so horribly with my gown – and these are quite the most beautiful things I have ever seen. What else could I do?’

‘Perhaps you might have told him before he hauled all those roses up from Kent,’ Trixie reasoned practically.

Mademoiselle de Nicolet bit her lip. ‘Is it very bad? My aunt warned me that such scenes are the ruination of a lady’s reputation.’

‘Oh pish,’ Trixie said. ‘If he wants to make a fool of himself then that is his prerogative – as long as everyone sees you dancing and enjoying yourself, they will think him at fault, not you. Quick, who is your partner for the next set?

‘I had saved this dance for the Duke, but now he’s left in a cloud of rage …’

‘You must dance,’ Trixie insisted. ‘Here – Corky! You do not have a partner.’

Corky, who had been trying to skulk past Mademoiselle de Nicolet without being noticed – Timothy’s warning made ever more prescient by the public casting aside of the Duke – gulped. However, never one to shy away from a duty, he swept Mademoiselle de Nicolet off to the dance floor.

It was first of several unfortunate pieces of timing that night that Mr Timothy Allerton should enter the ballroom at just that moment – and one of the first sights to meet him was Corky dancing with Mademoiselle de Nicolet, a spray of unmistakeable blooms upon her person. He had known, at once, that Corky had betrayed their agreement, and though he knew he should have expected treachery, it still winded him. Unable to bear the sight before his eyes, he disappeared in search of a refreshment which would soothe this fresh sting of betrayal.

Arthur, meanwhile, was just as blue-devilled as his brother.

‘Arthur, why on earth are you not dancing?’ Lady Allerton chastised him, appearing at his right shoulder. ‘To be on the sidelines when I dare say there must be a dozen young ladies in need of a …’

She followed his gaze to where Hetty and Colonel Davenport were taking to the floor – Hetty no longer needed to watch her feet, it seemed – and trailed off.

‘I vow I have never seen her in such bloom,’ her ladyship observed – her planned scold of Arthur apparently forgotten. ‘Is it not wonderful?’

‘Yes,’ Arthur said shortly.

‘And it is all down to the Marquis! Encouraging her out of her shell.’

Arthur was tempted to explain exactly who it was who had been helping Hetty – not that popinjay in his tight trousers – but bit it back. ‘I need a drink.’

He stalked off to the card room where, he hoped, there would be something stronger than the punch Lady Cavendish was serving at the refreshment table – an instinct that proved true, if one judged by the wobbly way Timothy greeted him. Having imbibed several glasses of brandy in quick succession, his mood had not improved, but his balance had taken the greater hit.

‘Arthur,’ he said, reaching out to grasp his shoulder. ‘Arthur, you would not believe—’

‘Not now, Timothy,’ Arthur dismissed him, making an about-turn – abruptly deciding that he could not even linger here, but needed to leave the entire assembly. This increased Timothy’s sense of ill usage, which had, alas, only been magnified by the brandy he had drunk whilst stewing on Corky’s perfidy.

‘Dash it, I’ll just consign myself to the devil, shall I?’ he snapped at Arthur’s departing back.