Page 7

Chapter 7

Rory stared at his reflection in the tall, freestanding mirror and adjusted his white cravat with some consternation. He just couldn’t seem to get it right this evening. With a grunt, he whipped it off and started again.

In the mirror, he observed Emily approaching behind him. They were in the bedchamber allocated to them for the duration of their stay at Rutland Square and Jennie had already left, having fulfilled her role with stunning success – Emily was a vision in some sort of soft pink material that Rory couldn’t name but very much wanted to run his hands all over. Perhaps there would be time to indulge before they went downstairs, if only he could tie this bloody cravat correctly.

‘I think you almost had it two attempts ago,’ she said tentatively. ‘May I help?’

Wordlessly, he held out the long strip of cloth to her and she shook it out to remove the creases he had created in his previous unsuccessful efforts. Then she reached up to loop it around his neck; he bent his knees but she still had to stand on her tiptoes. Her knuckles grazed his recently shaven chin as she knotted the cravat with agile fingers, making it sit securely at his throat. When she dropped back to the balls of her feet, he examined himself in the mirror and saw that she had achieved the desired look at last. Relief swept over him – he had enough to be worrying about this evening without fretting over his attire too.

‘There you go,’ Emily murmured next to him. ‘You look dashing, your Grace.’

He mustered a weak smile. The concept of bluffing his way through tonight and tomorrow night had seemed doable a few months ago, but now the occasion was upon them and he feared that the Duke of Desmond would not be enough to save him from making a fool of himself.

He didn’t voice his apprehension as he busied himself donning his gloves, but Emily must have sensed it.

‘Don’t let your confidence fail you now,’ she said bracingly. ‘Just keep reminding yourself that it’s for an important cause—the proceeds raised across these two nights will help so many people still suffering on account of the blight. You can do this. And I’ll be right beside you.’

He took a deep breath and nodded. Casting one final glance at the mirror, he noted with regret that his shortened hair exposed his big ears more and he felt a greater degree of self-consciousness about them than he had in a long time. Seizing his top hat like it was a piece of armour that would shield them from ridicule, he jammed it on and then he and Emily left the bedchamber to go downstairs.

The rest of the family had already gathered in the entrance hall, a tall footman lingering unobtrusively in the background. Mr McGovern and Lady Bridget stood close together, the former carrying Lord Bewley’s cane and the latter rubbing nervously at the scar on her cheek. Jack hovered with his back to the wall, while Gus wandered about restlessly; still too young to be out in society, neither of them would be going to the theatre. Rory wished he could stay behind with them.

And there, leaning nonchalantly against the newel post at the bottom of the stairs, was Patrick. He had only arrived in Dublin earlier that day, and his reception had been mixed. Emily had greeted him coolly, but her parents had been quite cordial, while her brothers had welcomed their cousin with enthusiasm – his cavalier air made him immensely appealing to two impressionable young boys. As for Rory, he had followed Emily’s cue and done nothing more than civilly shake Patrick’s hand. Patrick couldn’t be reproached for his unavoidable connection to Garrett, but he had ample reason not to be particularly proud of his own character.

He seemed unconscious of any need for humility, however, as he grinned at Rory and Emily coming down the stairs.

‘You look dazzling, cousin,’ he said to Emily. ‘Part of me wonders why my father did not suggest a marital union between us as a solution to his quandary back when he lured you to London. And another part of me wonders whether I might not have been unwilling.’

Rory gritted his teeth. Mr McGovern, too, looked unimpressed.

‘There’ll be no talk like that under this roof or any other, Patrick,’ he said in a pointed tone.

‘I only meant to pay a compliment,’ Patrick said innocently. He bowed to Rory and Emily as they reached the ground level. ‘And to offer my felicitations on your nuptials, which I neglected to do earlier. Congratulations to you both.’

Emily curtseyed stiffly and Rory inclined his head, wishing he could throw a punch instead.

‘You seem happy in your choice of husband, cousin,’ Patrick added with a wicked glint in his eye. ‘I’m pleased for you. I imagine he’s a very good listener.’

Rory felt himself go red all the way to the tips of the unfortunate recipients of that taunt.

Emily smoothed the pink skirts of her gown. ‘Thank you. While I yearn to return your compliments in kind, I’m afraid I do not have such skill in callous words.’

Patrick went white. He opened his mouth but she turned away, not allowing him the chance to respond.

‘Is the carriage waiting for us?’ she asked her parents.

‘It is,’ her mother replied, looking uncomfortable at the prickly exchange and eager to move on from it. ‘If everyone is ready, we shall go.’

The footman hurried to open the front door, admitting the balmy July evening air as well as the sound of hooves clopping along the street below.

‘Thank you, Simon,’ Lady Bridget said. She gave Jack and Gus tight hugs and a warning to behave while the family were out, and then she and Mr McGovern led the way down the steps to the carriage outside, which bore the Walcott family crest on its door panels.

Five would have been a tight squeeze, so Mr McGovern elected to sit up front with the coachman while Lady Bridget, Emily, Rory and Patrick climbed into the carriage. In a blatant effort to keep their distance from Patrick, Rory and Emily occupied one bench, her voluminous skirts taking up much of the space. As they settled themselves, he took the opportunity to brush his knuckles along the pink material amassed next to his thigh – even through his gloves, he could perceive its extraordinary delicacy. Opposite them, Patrick sank back against the seat next to Lady Bridget, his face still pale. He fixed his gaze out the window as the carriage began to move.

They rode to the theatre in silence. It was not a very auspicious start to the evening.

When the carriage rolled to a stop before the pillared facade of the Theatre Royal, Rory swallowed hard. Numerous carriages thronged the street in front of the theatre and well-dressed gentlemen and ladies were flocking towards its entrance. His palms began to sweat inside his gloves. Bracing himself, he alighted from the carriage and offered his hand first to Lady Bridget and then to Emily. Patrick emerged last, looking annoyed.

‘I would have helped Lady Courcey,’ he muttered to Rory.

Rory just shrugged in response as Mr McGovern jumped down from the coachman’s seat and joined them. He offered his arm to Lady Bridget to escort her into the building, and Rory did the same to Emily. Patrick followed them, emanating a mien of indifference that was rather overdone.

The crowd milled around them, and some gazes swung in their direction, but neither Mr McGovern nor Lady Bridget attempted to avoid notice. Before travelling to Ireland, they had declared their resolve not to conceal themselves for these events, citing both a cautious optimism that Dublin society would not be quite as judgemental as the London ton and a desire to stand openly in solidarity with their suffering countrymen. Rory hoped that their faith wasn’t misplaced, or else he would not be the only one in for a difficult evening ahead.

On the face of it, it appeared that their connection to the events had not significantly harmed sales, for the throng only became thicker when they presented their tickets to the doorman and entered the lobby of the theatre. The place teemed with patrons conversing animatedly and fluttering their fans. The aromas of multiple perfumes mingled with the smoky scent of the gas lamps. On the walls hung large, gilded mirrors and great bills showcasing the main performers playing at the venue – considerable prominence was given to illustrations of an angelic being alongside imposing lettering which proclaimed the figure to be ‘Angelica: the girl with the voice of an angel!’ From beyond the closed set of ornate doors at the far end of the lobby came the faint strains of the orchestra tuning their instruments. In the midst of such glamour and gaiety, Rory felt utterly out of place. What on earth was he doing here? A dart of panic began to climb his throat.

Then he sensed a small pressure on his arm and glanced down. Emily wasn’t looking at him but her gloved fingers discreetly stroked the inside of his elbow in a soothing gesture. Although his panicky feeling didn’t vanish, it did lessen to a certain extent, and he experienced a rush of gratitude for his discerning, compassionate wife.

They moved further into the lobby, losing sight of Mr McGovern and Lady Bridget as the press of bodies tugged them in opposite directions, though Patrick managed to remain close to them. Caught between several clusters of people, they lingered where they were, unsure what to do next.

‘Maybe we could go take our seats for the performance?’ Rory suggested. It would be a way to truncate the most excruciating part of the evening. He tried not to dwell on the fact that he would have to go through it all again the following evening.

‘I think it’s too soon yet,’ Emily said apologetically.

Patrick beckoned to a passing theatre attendant who was carrying a stack of handbills. He took three and gave one each to Rory and Emily.

‘It’s easier if your hands are occupied,’ he advised.

Rory shot him a wary look but there was nothing malicious in Patrick’s manner as he opened his own handbill and perused its contents.

‘It seems we are being treated to a variety of acts tonight,’ he remarked. ‘A solo singer, a ballet presentation, a woodwind trio, a number of Shakespeare monologues. They should be useful conversation topics if you find yourself stumped at any point.’

Again, Rory looked for the insult behind the words, but they appeared to have been delivered without spite. Frowning at Patrick’s capricious behaviour, he unfolded the handbill to study it himself and, in the process, somehow managed to elbow the back of a gentleman standing nearby.

‘Oh, bloody h—I beg your pardon,’ he blurted as the gentleman turned towards him.

‘No harm done,’ the gentleman said genially. ‘It’s quite the crush in here, isn’t it?’

‘I-indeed,’ Rory stammered. ‘I wasn’t expecting such a gathering.’

The gentleman chuckled. ‘You ought to have—Angelica always draws a crowd. Or are you not aware of her reputation?’

‘Uh,’ said Rory, glancing down desperately at the handbill. What smooth response would the Duke of Desmond come up with?

‘We’ve not yet had the pleasure of hearing her perform,’ Emily chimed in serenely. ‘We’ve only recently arrived in the city.’

‘Ah, newcomers,’ said the gentleman. ‘And what has brought you to Dublin?’

At least that was a question Rory could answer, but Patrick interjected before he could speak.

‘Oh, Mr Carey here is a man of the land,’ he said. ‘He’s been holed up on the estate for so long that it was high time he experienced the diversions of city life.’

The gentleman raised an eyebrow with interest. ‘Indeed. Where is your estate?’ he asked Rory directly.

Rory’s mind went blank. He couldn’t very well claim Bewley Hall as his own, and neither was he prepared to lie to a stranger about the fictitious Desmond Hall. Hot anger rose in him at Patrick for dropping him into this awkward position.

‘Well, I—’ he began, but once again Patrick cut him off.

‘He’s due to come into a fine property in Carlow, and in the meantime he’s the deputy land agent on an enormous estate in Bedfordshire. Been working tirelessly to improve the place. Isn’t that right, Mr Carey?’

Rory clenched his jaw. He refused to feel grateful to Patrick for extracting him from the predicament into which he’d tossed him in the first place. ‘Yes, I’m learning the ropes, so to speak. It’s been quite an undertaking.’

The gentleman nodded. ‘I can imagine. Estate management is no small feat. What sort of challenges have you faced?’

Rory’s thoughts raced as he tried to come up with something that sounded impressive. ‘Well, there’s the matter of modernising the agricultural practices, for one. And dealing with tenant concerns, of course.’

Patrick stepped in. ‘Mr Carey’s being modest,’ he said with consummate self-possession. ‘The estate owner is exceedingly pleased with the progress he’s made.’

Emily beamed at Rory, her pride evident. ‘He’s worked so hard, and it shows.’

The gentleman looked impressed. ‘It sounds like you have a bright future ahead of you in estate management, Mr Carey. And for now, you get to enjoy the fruits of your labour with a spell of well-deserved leisure in the city.’

Rory fidgeted with the edges of the handbill. ‘I’m looking forward to experiencing all that Dublin has to offer.’

‘There’s no better place to start than at one of Angelica’s performances,’ the gentleman said with a wink. ‘You’re in for a treat.’

With a friendly bow, he excused himself and melted back into the crowd. Rory let out a breath, his shoulders sagging.

‘You did very well,’ Emily murmured, squeezing his arm. Grudgingly, she added to Patrick, ‘And I suppose we ought to thank you for your assistance, although you nearly did more harm than good.’

‘I didn’t speak one word of a lie,’ Patrick said defensively.

‘What about that bit about coming into a fine property in Carlow?’ Rory retorted.

Patrick regarded him as though he might be a little dim-witted. ‘Aren’t you married to the heiress of Oakleigh? When she inherits it, it’ll become yours.’

Pursing his lips in a manner that conveyed he felt he had been unjustly maligned, he stalked away into the surrounding throng, leaving Rory to gape at Emily.

‘I, uh, never realised that before,’ he said weakly. Maybe he was dim-witted after all.

‘Which is another reason why I love you so very much,’ she said. ‘You most certainly did not marry me for wealth if it never even occurred to you what you would legally gain in the future.’

He was at a loss for words.

She glanced into the crowd where her cousin had disappeared. ‘For all his faults, Patrick seems to know exactly what to say to navigate the fraught waters of polite society. I do believe that was his unorthodox way of apologising for the offence he caused back at the house.’

Rory gave a grunt of reluctant agreement. ‘Maybe someday he’ll behave in a way that doesn’t require him to apologise.’