Page 24 of Waiting for Love (The Taverstons of Iversley #3)

F rom the depths to the pinnacle. It was maddening.

First, Benjamin thought there was no better example of aristocratic idiocy than the sight of Olivia in that birdcage of a dress.

Second, Jasper had spared no expense for his sister’s coming-out. Nor should he have. All day long, while the family was at Court, Benjamin stood ready to approve any last-minute expenditures as Peters—who had returned to London along with the bulk of the household staff—supervised the army of caterers, florists, and musicians’ assistants, coming and going with their wares, as well as extra servants hired for the occasion. He tried telling himself that every shilling Jasper spent was a shilling earned by someone who needed it. He tried reminding himself that this was all for Olivia.

All well and good until he watched a small cadre of artists chalking the floor. They were meticulous. It took hours. The result was mesmerizing: beauty with a touch of whimsy. Yet Benjamin knew that before the first dance was over, it would be nothing but colorful dust on the shoes and slippers of the guests. What must those artists be thinking?

Third, Benjamin could not be one of the guests. When Jasper handed him one of the engraved invitations, Benjamin had a hard time not throwing it back in his face. What did Jasper imagine he would do at a ball? He couldn’t dance. It would be an insult to any lady he might approach. He could slip into the cardroom, but he couldn’t afford the stakes the other players would casually win and lose. And, God help him, what did Jasper imagine he would wear? His very best clothes comprised a plain black jacket, grey pantaloons, and a pale blue waistcoat that might rival those of a mildly successful solicitor.

So when the hour approached, Benjamin took himself to the servants’ corridors, where he would hear the gossip but not be seen by any of the ton. He allowed himself only one chance to spy—when Olivia made her entrance, descending the main staircase. She shimmered like a goddess. An inaccessible goddess.

His ache of loss was so great he wished he had never met a Taverston. He’d have been better off following in his father’s footsteps. Drunkenness. Poverty. Petty thievery.

But no. He had Hannah. The pain abated, little by little, as he thought of his daughter. Every step he’d taken in his life, every misstep, had brought him to her.

Benjamin removed to the kitchens and partook of the general chaos and excitement. It was a testament to Iversley’s treatment of his servants that they were as thrilled by Olivia’s coming-out as the family was.

And so, the fourth act of the night. Supper had ended. Exhausted scullery maids scrubbed pots. Footmen carefully washed china, crystal, silver…and everyone paused frequently to gorge themselves on the leftover food. Benjamin was made welcome. Very welcome. Perhaps too welcome as two of the kitchen maids flirted with him openly, one so suggestively that Cook rapped her on the arm with a spoon and told her to mind herself. That one had the buxom figure he’d always thought he preferred, and he couldn’t deny a roll about in an empty room would relieve some of his frustration, but behavior like that would cause many more problems than it solved.

He contented himself with bites of lamb and pie, averting his eyes from two footmen who were sharing a pilfered bottle of wine. Chastising servants was Peters’s job, not his.

A hammering knock came upon the back door. An early morning delivery of some sort. Peters sent a girl to open it.

A young man, hardly older than a boy, dashed into the room. A laborer, by his worn coat and thin trousers, but despite his wild eyes, he didn’t appear disreputable. He touched his cap.

“I come from the printers. The editor says this can’t wait till morning. The nobs, begging your pardon, need to know. So he sends me out. Says to come here first coz this is where most of the nobs, begging your pardon, the gentlemen be.”

“What are you talking about, lad?” Peters demanded.

“A message for his lordship! Will you bring it?”

Peters looked thunderstruck. “Interrupt the earl during the ball? Are you mad?”

The youth’s face fell. “M’boss said to bring it.”

Benjamin intruded, asking gently, “Can you tell us what it is?”

“Why, yes, sir.” Now he focused on Benjamin, hopeful and indignant. “How else could you bring it?” Since he saw he had Benjamin’s attention, he said, “It’s Boney, sir. He quit.”

“Quit? You mean abdicated?” There had been hints of this in the newspapers. Hopeful rumors out in the streets. The Alliance had reached Paris. The war should be over. But with Bonaparte, the war would not be over until he said so. Perhaps not even then.

“That’s the word.” The youth gave a little hop. “We won, sir. We did!”

The room erupted. Peters led the messenger to the table and bid him help himself. He practically threw cake at the lad in his enthusiasm. Benjamin hied off to find Jasper.

And the next scene. Benjamin invaded the ballroom. Ill-dressed as he was. He tried pulling his naked hands into his sleeves. Heads turned, but no one stopped him. Music began and he had to dodge whirling dancers and retreat to the wall. His eyes sought Olivia. She was dancing with an older man, an obvious peer. She moved gracefully. She smiled. But there was a…a heaviness about her. Her glow was gone. He thought she must be exhausted. Or perhaps it was just his imagination.

And then, her partner said something, and she transformed. Whatever it was, it brought all the life flowing back into her. Oh, my love!

He should have been happy for her, but…

The music ended, recalling him to his task. He rushed to Jasper. Who kept saying, “Are you sure? Benjamin, are you sure?”

Iversley could not halt the proceedings for an announcement that might prove another false hope. How disastrous, how humiliating that would be. People would remember. They would sneer. His stature would slip. But if the exhausted cream of the ton stumbled home to their beds to be awakened in the afternoon by the sounds of riff-raff celebrating before them…and discovered Iversley knew but suppressed the news…

“Are you certain, Benjamin?”

“Yes. Yes, I am sure.”

The final act: The Earl of Iversley taking charge, the pandemonium following, the Taverstons gathering to experience the moment together in the midst of it all. And Benjamin was pulled tight into their circle. He held Olivia. Held her. For that moment, he belonged.

*

Benjamin got an hour of sleep. Perhaps two. Which was more, probably, than half the citizenry of London. Had he wished, he could have gotten less: Sally, the scullery maid, volunteered to accompany him to his chamber to “celebrate.” She was very put out when he refused.

He could not fault her. In some circles, he would be considered a good catch. She saw a slender chance to marry up and tried to seize it. It was not that he found the thought of scullery maids distasteful. It was that tawdry phrase: marrying up.

The Taverstons were all still abed, but Benjamin rose and went to find Peters in case there was anything needing attention. Before the ball ended, Jasper had ordered all the champagne that could be found in the cellars to be brought up. A dozen bottles were given to the musicians. Another dozen dispensed to the servants. The rest watered the guests, the floral arrangements, the furniture, the floor. Peters would have to hire a crew to clean the place. Assuming he could find anyone willing to work. The whole city would be foxed before teatime.

He wandered into the morning room, hoping for coffee. He was not actually surprised to find the buffet held an assortment of breads, pastries, sliced fruits, coffee, and tea. He was surprised to find Georgiana, eating heartily. She was casually attired in a flowing yellow morning dress that wrapped across the front. Her hair was loose. When he entered the room, she covered her mouth with her napkin and gulped. She appeared more embarrassed by her table manners than by being caught in dishabille.

“You are up early!” she said.

“As are you.”

“Yes, but I went to bed before supper. Apparently, I missed everything . Reg grumbled this morning when I climbed out of bed and tried blocking the light by pulling the covers over his head. I’ve never seen him that…”

“Green about the gills?”

“Is that what it’s called?” She smiled. “At first, I thought he was ill. But he said the war was over. Please tell me it’s true.”

“It is true.”

Georgiana beamed at him. “Please, Benjamin.” She gestured to the buffet. “Will you join me?”

He poured himself coffee, took a few biscuits, and sat beside her.

“I am absolutely furious at myself for going to bed.” She sipped her tea. “I’m not entirely sure I’m not dreaming.”

“I imagine everyone in England is feeling the same.”

“I hope Crispin sells his commission and comes home.”

“Do you think he will?” Benjamin asked. The army suited him. But the Taverstons would pressure him to return to civilian life now.

“I don’t know.” Her expression darkened. “What would he do?” Then she changed the topic. “Olivia was quite a success, was she not?”

“So I hear.”

“Oh, it was marvelous. Reg had said not to worry, but one couldn’t help…well, some people are just awful. And every matron in town had hopes for their daughters with Jasper. His choosing Vanessa put their backs up.”

“Was anyone rude to her?”

“Not that I heard.” She set down her teacup and put a slice of pear in her mouth. She looked pensive as she chewed and swallowed. “It would be bad ton for someone to be pleasant to her at Olivia’s ball but then turn around and cut her at the next event. If they meant to do so, they should have refused our invitation. But some people have no manners. It takes a lot of courage for Vanessa to do what she’s doing.”

“She is nothing if not brave.”

Georgiana smiled again. “I positively adore her.”

“Vanessa? I do, too,” Olivia announced, entering the morning room, more put together than Georgiana. She wore a pale-blue-striped day dress. Her hair was pulled back in a simple knot. She looked like herself, especially when she scooped two pastries and a boiled egg onto her plate and dropped into a chair. “Have you seen the ballroom? It’s a shambles.” She grinned crazily. “I am so happy I could burst.”

He remembered the feel of her in his arms, just a few short hours ago. His fingertips had skimmed the back of her neck before drifting down her shoulders to pull her close. Close enough to mold her body to his. He felt the smooth thin fabric of her ballgown and the warmth of her beneath. Everything had happened so fast. All at once.

“Wait until you see the parlor,” Georgiana said, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

“The parlor?”

“The florists must have been working round the clock.”

“What do you mean?” Olivia asked.

“Go look. Peters has been taking deliveries all morning. Bouquets for Lady Olivia.”

Olivia flushed, then waved a hand dismissively. “I suppose I have Boney to thank.”

“That is not the reason.” Benjamin stood before he said more than he should. “I’d better go look at the ballroom. And then find Peters and see what he wishes to do about it.”

*

First, he peered into the parlor. Good Lord. Young men must have emptied the flower shops. The room smelled like a summer garden. He plucked up the card from one of the more extravagant baskets. Not only young men. The Duke of Lythe. That was who she had been dancing with—the man whose words had given her such pleasure. But the duke was old . He stuck back the card. The bouquet beside it, pink tea roses, was much more tasteful. He tilted the vase to see the card. The Marquess of Ebersom. Ah, the man who couldn’t come at Twelfth Night. A political colleague of Jasper’s.

Two more baskets caught his attention because they were identical, set side-by-side, and contained an eye-pleasing variety of white flowers. Even the leaves were painted white. He went to check those cards as well, to see who the unfortunate suitors were to have had the same thought or bought from the same harried florist. But they were both from Hazard, not a suitor. One for Olivia and one for Alice. Now that he was close, he could see a single pink rose tucked in among the white flowers in Alice’s basket.

How extraordinarily kind. Alice had had the misfortune of debuting while Georgiana was still unattached. And now, she would be overshadowed at every ton function by Olivia. Yet Hazard had made the effort to show Alice he thought she was special.

Well, if it was true she had written his speech for him, she was .

Enough. Snooping around Olivia’s bouquets was pathetic. In another minute, if he did not leave, he would do something childish like mixing up the cards or pinching the heads off the flowers.

There were better ways to spend the morning after Napoleon’s defeat. And once things settled here, in the afternoon perhaps, he would borrow a gig and take Hannah to Kensington Gardens. There would be celebrations to entertain her, he was sure.