Page 51 of Dangerous Illusions (Dangerous #1)

As the cavalcade rolled past the magnificent brick facade of Kensington Palace and turned into Knightsbridge, Daintry saw that the bare branches of the trees in the gardens and adjoining Hyde Park were shrouded with mist, and dripping, but on sunnier days she knew the spacious gravel roads would be crowded from two until five each afternoon with horsemen and carriages, and the fashionable walks would be so crowded with well-dressed people, passing to or returning from the gardens, that it would be difficult for one to proceed.

Only the Hyde Park turnpike remained to be passed, and then they would be in Mayfair.

Twenty minutes later, the carriages drew up on the west side of Berkeley Square before the tall, brick, stone-dressed house that William Kent had built the previous century for the second earl.

The scale of its architectural elements was impressive, for it was designed in a plain Palladian style with wide window spacing and pedimented, balustraded windows.

Though the facade was restrained, it had a decided sense of ceremony, and Daintry thought the house looked enormously self-assured.

They passed through the entrance hall, a modest, stone-flagged room that gave no hint of the magnificent staircase soaring up through the center of the house.

A breathtaking example of Kent’s best work, though its oak treads were no more than four feet wide, the curved flights swept upward, splitting and turning back on themselves, and bridging the landings as the upper flights disappeared behind screens of Ionic columns.

The domed ceiling above was like the interior of a jeweled casket, the panels between the heavily gilded ribs having been painted by Kent himself in grisaille on dark red and blue grounds.

And, as was frequently the case with Kent, the coffering and modeling of the ceiling was real and not an optical illusion.

Daintry loved the house and, as she always did when she first arrived, left the others to their own devices and went quickly upstairs to the great drawing room with its rich blue fabrics and curtains, and beyond to the twin saloons and smaller parlors, then up another flight to her own yellow and white bedchamber.

Seeing that all was in order, she returned to the drawing room level to be sure Lady St. Merryn was comfortably settled in her boudoir at the rear of the house.

She was looking forward to the new Season with greater joy than usual, and thought Davina, too, appeared to be in excellent spirits.

Davina had missed Charles during the weeks he had been in Leicestershire and had been delighted to welcome him home again, and Charles seemed to be more in charity with her as well.

London was still thin of company, but Parliament had opened, and once the knocker was on the St. Merryn House door again, its inhabitants did not lack for visitors.

Ladies Melbourne and Cowper called the day after their arrival and were soon followed by Lady Jersey and a number of others, including many of Lady Ophelia’s particular friends.

It was also necessary to find time for all the fittings required by their seamstresses before the Tarrant ladies could be rigged out in the latest fashions.

There were gentleman callers as well, and after an evening at Covent Garden, and another at a rout given by Lady Jersey, a steady stream of gentlemen began to leave cards and posies, all asking if Lady St. Merryn was at home to visitors when what they really wished to know was if her daughter was at home.

Daintry was accustomed to such attention in town, but though in previous years she had basked in it, wanting to see which of her many potential suitors would intrigue her most, this year, she found herself starting alertly each time Medrose entered the drawing room to announce a caller’s name.

Then, with an unusual sense of disappointment, she would exert herself to greet the new arrival, and to make pleasant small talk until they had gone.

She knew Jervaulx was in town and had taken his seat in the Lords, for she had heard his name mentioned more than once, but she heard nothing of Deverill and did not ask.

Nor did she hear from her sister until shortly before the first subscription ball at Almack’s Assembly Rooms, which auspicious occasion marked the true beginning of the London Season.

Since Lady St. Merryn had begun to fret about Susan’s continued absence, it was just as well, Daintry thought, that Susan sent a note at last to say she and Geoffrey had arrived at their house in Brook Street.

It would have been better had they called in person, however, and when yet another day passed without further word, Daintry took her courage firmly in hand and decided to visit her sister.

Susan greeted her warmly when she was shown into the drawing room of the elegant little house, and said apologetically, “I had meant to call at once, but there just has not been an hour to spare. We were so late arriving, and there is so much to do before we shall be fit to be seen. I wonder where Geoffrey can be. He will pop in to say hello before you go, I am sure.”

Reassured that her sister appeared to be in excellent if rather fidgety spirits and that Lady Catherine Chauncey appeared nowhere at all, Daintry was nonetheless glad that Geoffrey did not pop in during her visit.

She had no wish to see him and had not the least notion of how she would manage to speak two words to him without succumbing to strong hysterics.

Knowing she would have to face him sooner or later, and well aware that to create a scene when she did would be to call down remonstrations upon her own head rather than upon his, she tried to imagine a way to deal with the incident when it should arise.

The exercise was not particularly successful, for she was well aware that Geoffrey would not behave according to plan.

Thus, as she dressed for the opening of Almack’s the following Wednesday night, she found herself hoping that he, like her father, would elect to remain at home.

Her hopes were not high, although Susan had declined an invitation to dine that evening with the family before going on to Almack’s together.

Ready at last, she joined her great-aunt and Davina in the hall to wait for Lady St. Merryn, who had said there was no good reason for her to miss the opening of Almack’s, since she would be expected to do no more than sit and watch the dancing with the other mamas, or perhaps take a hand of whist in the card room.

The assembly rooms in King Street looked the same as they had every other year Daintry had visited them, neither grand nor elegant.

The refreshments, she knew, would be mediocre; however, to be denied entrance was to be shunned by the first circle of London society, a fate considered worse than death by any ambitious young lady or gentleman.

The balls were governed by a group of patronesses, who bestowed vouchers upon the few persons they considered eligible to purchase tickets.

Their word was law, and they had ordained that no one, not even a royal duke, might be admitted after eleven, and that gentlemen must wear knee breeches, white cravats, and carry chapeaux-bras.

Daintry and the others were welcomed at the door by Mr. Willis, who owned the assembly rooms, and soon afterward, the orchestra, directed by Mr. Colnet as it had been for many years, struck up for the grand march. The London Season had begun.

Daintry kept her eye on the entrance to the ballroom, telling herself it was in hopes of seeing her sister, but when the Seacourts arrived just as the opening set of country dances came to an end and her partner moved to return her to her mother’s side, she experienced a strong reluctance to go.

From across the room Geoffrey smiled at her as if nothing had ever happened, and she froze, certain that any words she might try to speak to him would choke her.

When Lord Alton stepped up to her, asking if he might have the next dance, she turned to him in relief, congratulating herself on thus deftly avoiding a sordid confrontation.

Therefore it came as a shock to her, when the dance was over, to find Geoffrey at her side.

“I will escort my sister-in-law back to her mama,” he said.

Alton bowed and turned on his heel.

“How dare you, Geoffrey!” she said in a low voice.

“I want to talk to you,” he said, smiling in a perfectly normal fashion. “Come with me to that anteroom yonder.”

“I won’t. You must be out of your wits.”

“I want to apologize, Daintry, and I’ll be damned if I’ll try to do it in a sea of people trying to make up new sets.”

Looking at him, she thought he looked sincere, and knowing that if good relations were ever to be restored, she must at least hear him out, she allowed him to escort her to the little room but insisted that he leave the door ajar.

“Anything you like,” he said. “I do want to apologize, for I was over the mark with brandy and I behaved like a pig.”

“If you are hoping for instant forgiveness,” she said, “you will not receive it. I shall do my best to forget what you did, Geoffrey, but that is the best you can hope for now.” Moving to pass him, she stiffened in alarm when he caught her arm and swung her back to face him. “Let me go, Geoffrey.”

“Wait, Daintry, you don’t understand what I’m—”

“Release her.”

Despite Seacourt’s grasp, Daintry turned at once, her eyes aglow with pleasure.

Deverill stood in the open doorway, looking grim.

Seacourt said, “Get out of here, damn you. This is a family affair and no business of yours.”

Stepping into the room, Deverill said curtly, “Release her now, or answer to me, Seacourt.”

“Gentlemen, please,” Daintry said. She did not want this.