Page 18 of The Devil’s Waltz

There were three directions she could go—back into the house with all those curious eyes, out into the main gardens where guests would doubtless be conducting their own little flirtations, or into the very alleyway itself.

She had little choice—she could easily circle around the servants’ entrance and escape up the back stairs to her room without having to run into anyone likely to question her.

The servants would gossip, but that was their right, and it was certainly the least of her worries.

She closed the iron gate quietly and stepped out into the darkened alleyway. Perhaps not her smartest move, but she was beyond thinking clearly. She was moving toward the stables when she thought she saw a male figure slipping into the shadows.

If she had any sense she should have run. But the shadow looked familiar, and she was clearly showing no caution at all tonight, because she called out. “Who’s there?”

The shadow froze, and then slowly, sheepishly, Mr. Dickinson emerged into the flickering light of the torches. “Good evening, Miss Kempton,” he stammered.

“Good evening, Mr. Dickinson. Why aren’t you inside enjoying yourself instead of skulking around out here like a criminal?”

He flushed. “I’m not welcome, Miss Kempton. I just wanted to see if I could catch a glimpse of Hetty through one of the windows. I’ve never seen her all decked out for a London party, and I wanted a picture in my head to carry with me as I live out my life alone.”

Ah, the drama of youth, Annelise thought, hiding her smile. At least it was jolting her away from her own melodramas. “You’re giving up so easily, Mr. Dickinson? I would have thought you’d be willing to fight for your true love.”

“What can I do? Mr. Chippie has refused to allow me to court Hetty. He may seem like a jolly old gentleman to you, but let me tell you in the country he’s not a man to cross. Bad things happen.”

“Pish!” Annelise waved away his forebodings with an airy hand, weary of William’s drama. “You’re dressed well enough in case someone sees you. Come with me.”

He didn’t even ask where, the poor boy. He just followed, as she turned back to the iron gate that led to the side garden.

For a moment she was afraid it was locked, but all it took was a fierce jiggle and it opened again. Will followed her inside, docile as a lamb, and then stopped short at the exposed marble breast thrust in his view, and he turned bright red.

At least one of Hetty’s suitors was properly abashed by the shameless statue. Unlike the dissolute Montcalm, who was probably causing trouble even now.

“I’ll go find Hetty, and you can steal a few moments together,” she said. “Stay right here and don’t move.”

“If Mr. Chippie were to find out?—”

“I believe Mr. Chippie has other things to worry about this evening,” Annelise replied. “And I have complete faith in your gentlemanly behavior, Mr. Dickinson.”

“Of course, Miss Kempton!” He seemed even more shocked at the thought that he might misbehave than he was at the undressed marble female.

“Very good. But don’t take too long. This party is in honor of Hetty, and she’ll be missed.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She left him staring fixedly at the ground, rather than the anatomical marvels of whatever Greek goddess Chippie had commissioned.

The party was in full swing when she slipped into the house—no one seemed to notice as she threaded her way through the chattering crowds.

People were so busy enjoying themselves she could only assume that Chippie and Montcalm hadn’t stabbed each other or fallen into a shouting match, but in any case, that was beyond her control.

She found Hetty in the green salon, surrounded by three adoring young men.

All three would have been suitable for marriage. “Excuse me,” Annelise said, taking Hetty’s hand and drawing her aside for a moment, totally ignoring her duty.

“What do you want?” Hetty demanded in a sulky voice. “I was enjoying myself. There’s nothing wrong with any of those gentlemen.”

“Are you considering any of them?”

“No!” she said.

“Then you might be interested in a breath of fresh air, so to speak. In the side garden off the reading room.”

“I know where the side garden is,” she said crossly. “Why would I want to go there?”

Annelise mentally counted to ten. Her charge was not being as astute as she usually was. “You might find something more appealing than that oversize statue.”

“Oh!” Dawning realization spread across Hetty’s face, followed by suspicion. “But why should you...”

“I’m feeling sentimental,” Annelise said. “And slightly ill. I’m retiring for the night, but I’m trusting you to behave yourself like a lady. Actually I’m not trusting you, but I expect Mr. Dickinson will make certain you comport yourself properly. Good night, Hetty.”

She started to turn away, when Hetty put her tiny little hand on her arm, leaned forward and deposited a totally unexpected kiss of gratitude on her cheek. “Bless you, Miss Kempton,” she breathed, and slid through the crowds so quickly that people scarcely noticed her passing.

People wouldn’t notice her own passing, either, Annelise thought grumpily, but not for the same reasons.

But in truth she was quite touched by Hetty’s gratitude—perhaps the chit wasn’t as shallow as she seemed.

She definitely had the good sense to prefer William Dickinson’s solid worth compared to the peacocks who surrounded her in London.

Except, perhaps for the grandest peacock of all.

Her momentary calm brought on by her ill-advised matchmaking vanished with the memory of Christian Montcalm.

He was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Mr. Chippie, which was either a good thing or a bad one.

But tonight it was no longer her concern, and if she didn’t get away from here in another minute she was going to burst into tears.

She closed her bedroom door behind her and leaned against it. Each time she was around the blasted man her reaction was worse. How dare he say such things to her? And how dare he lie about her precious pearls?

She went straight to the chest of drawers, shoved aside her undergarments and found the offending note.

It was crumpled from resting against her breast and from being open and reread far too many times, since she had to make certain he was as shocking as she thought.

She kept hoping that perhaps there’d be a clue to defeating him in the strong slant of his handwriting.

And tonight of all nights the fire had burned down in her grate and the room was cold. The servants were far too busy with the party, and they wouldn’t expect anyone to retire for hours.

She considered ripping the note into tiny pieces, but even then it would still exist, and she needed it to go up in flames, to vanish entirely. She’d been a fool to wait so long.

The handkerchief was still under her pillow and she pulled it out, trying to rip the damned thing in half. It wouldn’t tear—if was made of the finest linen weave, the Valenciennes lace was very strong, and she gave up, crumpling it into a little ball as she sat down on the bed.

A stomach complaint, she decided. That’s what she would tell them, necessitating her absence for the rest of the evening.

If Montcalm and Chippie decided to go at it then it was no longer her concern.

In truth, if Chippie made a scene then Hetty would most likely be free to marry young William, which to Annelise seemed like a very good thing.

Perhaps she’d overestimated Dickinson’s sense of honor and right now the two might be eloping to Gretna Green.

In which case all she could do was rejoice. Keeping elderly women company was fine but herding a strong-willed young beauty through society was not the way she envisioned her future. Particularly if it brought her into the presence of people like Christian Montcalm.

Not that there very many men like Montcalm, thank God.

But if tonight became a debacle her godmother would have a difficult time finding another welcoming household. It didn’t matter—if it came to that she could sell her priceless pearls and find some small cottage in the country, living out her days with cats and books and long walks and peace.

She slid the pearls off her neck and looked at them. They were the same as ever—luminous, beautiful, priceless. Montcalm made her doubt everything about herself, from her pearls to her very nature. And she wasn’t going to let him do it again.

She slid the pearls into their soft, embroidered bag and tucked them back into her drawer, hidden among the sensible undergarments.

Since there was no fire she had no choice but to shove the note back with the pearls, though it felt somehow traitorous to do so.

She undressed quickly and climbed into bed, blowing out the candles so that she lay in perfect darkness in the cool, still room.

She could hear the noise from the party downstairs. The music from the ballroom, the sound of laughter and voices drifted upward to her second-floor bedroom. Apparently the party was going off without a hitch.

Annelise curled up and willed herself to sleep, the offending handkerchief still clutched in her hand.