Page 37 of A Counterfeit Engagement

Though the room was full of the cream of high society, the musicians acceptably pedigreed, and the refreshments showed evidence than no expense had been spared, Mary Collins had rarely enjoyed an evening less.

All the necessary elements for enjoyment ought to have been there.

A private concert given by Lady Dalrymple ought to have been the perfect occasion at which to recover her position after the Haverly disaster.

People would talk of the duke’s marriage, of course — the real question was whether they would talk of anything else.

She could accept a defeat with grace. She could express her good wishes for the happy couple, making sure her gritted teeth were not evident behind a charming smile, and perhaps even whisper to certain ladies known for their loose tongues her fears, which of course they must not share with anyone, that poor dear Sophie was not really up to the task of being a duchess, and would likely be sadly embarrassed.

That ought to have given her some satisfaction, even without the more important business of seeing and being seen.

If the duke wished to throw himself away on her scheming cousin, it was more important than ever to find his replacement.

Miss Collins was keenly aware that while she was only twenty-two, hardly grown too old for an advantageous match, the days of being considered on the shelf were rapidly growing nearer.

And to lose her place in society, to be looked at with pity, was utterly unacceptable.

Perhaps that was what made the concert so intolerable. In each interval of the music, she was sure to hear some comment on the Duchess of Belford’s new gown, how charmingly rapt she had been at the theatre, how delightful it was that the duchess and Lady Sarah were already fast friends.

Yet nothing was remarked on half so often as the Haverly ball — still weeks away, and already considered to be the event of the Season.

Haverly this, Haverly that. Haverly House had not been opened for such an event since the late duchess was alive.

Jonathan Haverly, Duke of Belford, had moved Heaven and Earth to hire the finest musicians for the event.

Sophia Haverly, Duchess of Belford, had ordered a new gown of untold magnificence from Madame Duval, and likely would set a new fashion in the ton. Everyone who was anyone would be there.

Haverly, Haverly, Haverly. If she heard the name one more time, she might scream.

At the intermission, Miss Collins scanned the room until she saw her friend Miss Williams, who had been seated at some remove with her party.

The two friends rapidly crossed the room towards each other, meeting near the refreshments, and greeted each other with great enthusiasm.

Indeed, Miss Collins believed she truly was glad to see Miss Williams.

“You are looking well tonight, Miss Williams,” she said, with some surprise that she meant the compliment.

Though she had complimented her friend on her taste and appearance on nearly every occasion of their meeting, it was not typically sincere.

“Is this not rather simpler than the gowns you typically favour? And I like this woven pattern prodigiously. It is quite subtle.”

“Oh, yes, it is all the rage now, and one must be au courant , you know,” Miss Williams answered enthusiastically. “The Duchess of Belford favours such fabrics. Madame Duvall tells me she can scarcely keep them in stock!”

Miss Collins stiffened. “Not you, too, Miss Williams,” she said, her voice carefully low.

“Oh, do not give me that. For goodness’ sake! Your plan was clever, I am sure, but it did not work, and what am I to do about it? I cannot give the cut direct to a duchess. I would not have received an invitation to the Haverly ball if I did, and I would not miss it for anything.”

“ You have received an invitation to the ball?” Miss Collins asked, scarcely remembering to keep her voice down.

“Oh, yes. It will be the event of the Season, you know. Everyone in the ton will be there! I hardly know anyone who was not invited. It would be most uncomfortable to be left out!” She stopped abruptly, no doubt belatedly noticing Miss Collins’s expression. “You did not receive an invitation?”

“I did not,” Miss Collins said flatly.

“Oh dear, it will be terribly embarrassing if you are not there! That is a snub indeed!”

“Indeed,” Miss Collins replied. “I am surprised dear Sophie was capable of it. But I suppose she must have some claws, or she could not have out-manoeuvred me. Tell me, Miss Williams, what are the details of the invitation?”

“It is most exciting,” Miss Williams said eagerly.

“It will be frightfully exclusive, for one must show the invitation at the door. I do not think I have seen that done since the Countess’s ball two Seasons ago!

Perhaps you have heard there will be an Italian theme.

I am having a dress made specially — in fact, I believe most ladies are.

Those who can afford the expense, of course.

Oh! But I am afraid of making you unhappy, as you cannot be there.

You need not regret it, really, Miss Collins.

The rest shall proceed in the general way, with dancing and a late supper. Nothing terribly unexpected, really.”

“Italian dress? How interesting,” Miss Collins remarked. “Do you think many ladies will wear masks? I would think Venetian masks could be quite enchanting.”

“Yes, quite mysterious,” Miss Williams agreed. “That might be an ideal way to distinguish oneself from the crowd. Of course, I should not wish to look as though I had mistaken it for a costume ball! Perhaps a domino mask.”

“Exactly right,” Miss Collins said. She was accustomed to considering Miss Williams as usefully dull, but it seemed that even she could have flashes of brilliance.

“Yes, a domino mask will strike exactly the right note. Then there remains only one question, and that, my dear friend, is the price that you will put upon selling me your invitation.”

Miss Williams gaped at her. “Oh! You mean — you meant it for yourself, not for me? But my dear! You cannot barge into the duchess’s ball without an invitation.

That would be a social crime indeed. And if your cousin has deliberately denied you an invitation, she will likely have told the footmen not to admit you. ”

“Hence the mask, and the need for your invitation, Miss Williams.”

Miss Williams shook her head at this. “I am sorry, but I will not give it to you, nor sell it to you. It is not only that I wish to go myself, you know. If you enter the ball using my invitation, that is a serious breach of propriety as well. And whatever you may think, I do not wish to anger the Haverly family.”

“I must ask you to reconsider. Come what may, I will go to that ball.”

“Then it must be without my help,” Miss Williams said firmly. “I hate to refuse you anything, Miss Collins, but so it must be.”

Miss Williams must have expected her bosom friend to look disappointed, perhaps even grieved, but this was not the case. There was a small, rather disquieting smile on Miss Collins’s face.

“I hoped it would not come to this,” she said, though the satisfied tone of her voice badly contradicted the words. “You will sell me the invitation for a hundred pounds —”

“A generous offer,” Miss William interrupted, “but no, I shall not, not at any price.”

“I had not finished. You will sell me the invitation for a hundred pounds, and for one thing more — because I will give you back the letter in which you confessed to allowing Mr Elton certain liberties under the willows in Hyde Park last summer. Otherwise, of course, I am afraid that any number of people shall see the letter, for I shall suffer a fit of conscience, and feel that it is too shocking to keep to myself.”

For a moment, Miss Williams only stared at her, as though the words were too shocking to admit their meaning. At last she said, sputtering in disbelief and anger, “You — you kept my letter, when I asked you to burn it? I cannot believe you. This is blackmail!”

Miss Collins languidly held up one of her hands, examining each perfectly cut and filed nail as though it required her entire attention. “I suppose it is,” she said at last. “You ought not to have pushed me to it.”

“If you show anyone that letter, I will be ruined,” Miss Williams exclaimed.

“Keep your voice down,” Miss Collins warned her smilingly, “for if anyone overhears you saying that there exists a letter that could ruin you, you will also be ruined. It is not so bad, you know, Miss Williams. Simply give me your invitation, and all shall be well. You will have the letter back, and two hundred pounds into the bargain. There will be other balls.”

“I suppose I have no choice,” Miss Williams said at last. “Very well. We will do as you have said.”

“Excellent,” Miss Collins returned. “Thank you. Now that we have concluded our business, I believe the intermission is nearly over. What a delightful concert this has been!”

Miss Williams looked at her in disbelief. “I do not understand,” she said at last, sounding wounded and rather small. “I never thought you would treat me in such a way, Miss Collins. Are we not friends?”

“Certainly we are friends, and that is why I shall thank you not to stand in my way.”

“If I really am your friend, I think I ought to,” Miss Williams persisted, with better spirit than Miss Collins had expected of her.

“You cannot mean to marry the duke now. All you can do is anger the duchess. She is not your poor cousin any longer, not with the Haverly name behind her. Think, Miss Collins, think. What can you possibly achieve by this?”

But Miss Collins was quite done with being questioned. “What I will achieve, my dear Miss Williams,” she hissed, “is teaching Sophia that I am not to be trifled with.”