Page 21 of The Rake
“Indeed, this is my first time in London.”
“Where do you hail from?”
“Close to Scotland, in a place called Berwick-upon-Tweed.”
“Oh, how romantic,” Lady Briers suddenly said. There was an almost dancing quality to her face now. “I simply love to read about Scotland, I am surprised we could lure you down south, when all I can imagine about the Scots…” She stopped and giggled in the manner of a schoolgirl. “Lud, never mind that. You must come to my brother’s party this Saturday.”
“If it is not an inconvenience to you or your brother,” Margot replied, glancing across at Mrs. Bowley. It had not been their intention to collect invites, and suddenly she did wonder if Lady Briers’s brother’s home would be listed on the map. It seemed unlikely, but still, if she were to glide through society, she had better make a start.
“Not in the slightest,” Lady Briers said. “Verne barely pays attention to whatever I do, and since I am a widow, I am quite in charge. Mrs. Bowley and you are most welcome.”
With that, Lady Briers waved to the shopkeeper, gathered a small blonde girl who Margot suspected was the widow’s daughter to her side, and the two of them departed.
“She is a charming woman,” Margot murmured as Mrs. Bowley pulled her across to examine the most suitable of bonnets.
“Oh indeed. Lady Briers is quite society’s darling, and widowed so young. Her brother is a well-connected memberof the Oxford Set. Baron Edward Verne.” She leant closer to Margot and whispered, “They even say he is a spy, but I cannot vouch for the veracity of that.”
“Is he married?” Margot asked.
Mrs. Bowley shook her head. “No indeed, the baron is quite a confirmed bachelor, I’m afraid. A handsome man, although with a lineage of a French parent I believe…” She sighed as if this prejudice of hers was an understandable one, and then continued, “But he is an able dancer, and the party should be quite the suitable introduction for you to theton. Lady Briers is an excellent hostess and there will be a fine array of guests. What good fortune we had in running into Lady Briers. Now, my dear, this straw one is a must, and I think the soft blue velvet would do very well.”
“And to the ball?” Margot asked, for the first time feeling nervous. It was strange how that could be the case. After all, she had gone to Limehouse, and nerves had not entered her mind until she was firmly in the East End. She had interrupted an orgy, and not felt a moment’s real hesitation. But to stand up amongst the quality and pretend to be a fine well born woman, when the truth was far more questionable than that, caused a rolling swell of nerves to gather in her belly. There were things that Margot was capable of doing, and then there were things far, far outside her abilities.
“Why, ribbons, of course,” Mrs. Bowley said with the assurance of a woman who knew precisely what to do. “Once we get home, your maid and I will get started on your coiffure, you need not fear on that score.”
Mrs. Bowley was as good as her word. Once the other shops had been visited, the two of them returned to Ashmore’s townhouse, their treasures carried by a footman. All the while, Mrs. Bowley discussed polite society’s rules. Her advice varied from snippets to pieces of gossip. At first Margot feltoverwhelmed, but soon Mrs. Bowley reassured Margot that whilst thetonwere sticklers for rules, it seemed entirely possible that if you knew enough of them, occasionally one or two might be broken.
“Your Lord Langley for instance.” Mrs. Bowley gave a sad shake of her head. “Quite the reprobate, but he is excellent company. Admittedly he does not choose to attend many of the events I go to, since my focus is chiefly on the marriage mart, but Lord Langley and his ilk are always seen at the best parties and balls.”
“I hardly think of him as mine,” Margot said. They had paused briefly in the hallway, as Mrs. Bowley directed the staff to locate Jessop, the newly hired lady’s maid.
“Of course not. I tease, but mind you don’t get any silly ideas. A good few years ago, one of my charges, a Miss… Miss Chandler, that was it, decided she was quite in love with him. Wrote the most dreadful poems and insisted they be printed. Placed them out amongst a private ball. Anonymously, thankfully, but still her poor parents knew… It was quite a stir, and we had to take Miss Chandler away to Harrogate for the rest of the Season.”
A small flush crept up and over Margot’s cheeks. She was recalling all too clearly that moment in Limehouse, when Langley had held Margot in his arms, when her mask had slipped from her face and landed between them, and then he had looked at her with such intensity she thought he might kiss her. Worse, she had hoped he would. The tension had been exquisite and entirely new to Margot, a blend of heavy beating heart palpitations, a wild tightening in the air around them, and a pull that Margot had never experienced before. Yes, she had been tempted. If it had lasted longer, would she have dared to ask Langley to please kiss her? Would she be that desperate?Presumably poor Miss Chandler had not done anything that shocking, no matter how bad her poetry was.
On Jessop’s sudden arrival to the hallway, all three departed for Margot’s chamber. There were fashion catalogues and drawings spread out, and Margot, who had always assumed her thick brown hair was only that, came to realise that under someone with Jessop’s skill, her appearance could be transformed. Sat at the table, Margot saw her face was lifted and changed when there was a wave introduced, or a ribbon woven through it. She was touched to see that she was quite handsome when Jessop finally stepped back.
Mrs. Bowley squeezed Margot’s shoulder, and said the final chignon with a few white flowers sewn into her hair would be the perfect look for the ball on Saturday. With that agreed, both Mrs. Bowley and Jessop departed, leaving Margot with a strange feeling of excitement buzzing through her stomach.
When Saturday night arrived, Jessop helped Margot into her freshly delivered evening gown, her hair dressed and her only piece of jewellery a pearl cross hung between the slight curve of her breasts. She clutched the white fan between her gloved fingers and knew she wanted to enjoy this evening.
One glance at the map had told Margot that the Verne household was not pinpointed. Ashmore had not hidden anything in the baron’s townhouse. But there was a hiding spot just three doors down. Margot doubted she would have an opportunity to sneak away, but hopefully Lady Briers had invited their neighbours, so Margot might gain an introduction and then from there a chance to reach the neighbour’s home.
With that plan in place, Margot left her bedroom and she and Mrs. Bowley departed the Ashmore residence, stepping into the carriage, to be driven the ten minutes across to the Verne abode. It did strike Margot as a little silly to use a carriage for such a short journey—certainly, never in Berwick-upon-Tweed wouldthat be ordered or hired. But things were different here. This was an entirely singular world, and the sooner Margot grasped that the better.
On entering the Verne household, decked out in all its finery, Margot sucked in her breath. It was beautiful. The magnificent ballroom was festooned with flowers whose scent filled the room, rich and heavy. Clearly the white blooms and delicate roses showed how romantic Lady Briers was. There were long, tall cream candles whose yellow light caused the room to glitter. Guests in the most stunning dresses and black evening wear presented such an image to Margot’s eyes, she knew that no matter what she wrote to either her parents or Elsie, it would never quite convey the magic of the scene before her.
When Margot turned around, eager to see more of the handsome room, the guests were lining up to make their greetings to Lady Briers and her brother, so hastily Margot followed suit. As she did so, there was a loud start of surprise from her, which Margot hoped no one else heard. Across the ballroom, engaged in what seemed to be an intense and flirtatious conversation, was Lord Langley.
CHAPTER 10
Normally Langley would never have been seen at such a modishtonevent but now there was Miss Keating and their search through Town, his excuses for staying away were gone. In the last few days after Miss Keating and he had been shot at had rapidly devolved into a drunken mess on his part—it was not something Langley was proud of, but almost dying meant he had to make some decisions, and as someone not prone to wise choices, he had gone to his men’s club. After all, it had been one of the sites on Miss Keating’s map, so he thought he would also manage to check for some sight of the clock. But of course, he had to cover his tracks. In order to pass the time, he had drunk. Well, that explained some of his actions.
Langley racked his mind as he talked to the eminently pleasant if rather dull Lady Meadows and her cousin. They were clearly new to Town, or else someone would have warned them away from him.
As he was thinking that, Baron Verne approached. The debonair gentleman always unnerved Langley with his disconcerting dark looks and quizzical brow. “Langley.” Verne made a quick bow, with a half tilt of his head, which reluctantly Langley returned. Turning, Verne looked towardsLady Meadows and whatever her cousin was called. “I believe, ladies, my sister desires your presence. She wishes to give you a book you requested on your last visit.” Raising his hand to Lady Briers, Verne signalled to his sister, who gave a wave to the ladies.
To Langley’s relief, Lady Meadows and her niece left, leaving him alone with the ever-calm Verne. His very patience made Langley wish desperately to ruffle his hair and stick out his tongue—anything to draw a reaction from the younger man.
