Scandal At The Midsummer Ball

Chapter Three

Monday June 16th

Brockmore Manor House Party

Programme of Events

Masterclass in the Acrobatic Arts to be

held in the Ballroom

Expedition to a Mystery Beauty Spot

Musical Evening with Recitations and

Recitals from the guests

Alicia, the Duchess of Brockmore, settled into her lone seat, strategically placed on the balcony of the ballroom, with a keen sense of anticipation. The acrobatic masterclass about to be delivered by the Vengarovs promised to be highly entertaining, though not necessarily for those guests bold or perhaps foolish enough to participate.

Engaging the services of the two Russian acrobats had been a masterstroke. They lent enormous cachet to this year’s party. Alicia had no doubt they would be the talk of the ton for months to come. The session she was about to witness was pushing propriety to the very limits. Were it being held anywhere other than Brockmore Manor, under the auspices of anyone other than a duke and duchess, she doubted very much that any of her guests would dare turn up. As it was, she had guiltily high hopes that at least some of them would be quite literally tied in knots.

The doors to the terrace were open, the gauzy curtains tied back, filling the ballroom with sunlight, which shimmered over the huge chandeliers. The polished dance floor was piled high with thick rugs to provide a soft landing in the event of mishap. Goodness knew where Mrs Phydon had found so many. Her venerable housekeeper was a positive treasure. Several stacks of equipment had been placed in the centre of the room. Their guests were to be given the opportunity to try their hands at juggling, the art of spinning hoops or, for bolder gentlemen in rude physical health, tumbling.

Alexandr Vengarov was the first on the scene, rather disappointingly quite respectably dressed in a shirt and a pair of leather breeches. My, but the man had a fine pair of calves. And really, those cheekbones could sharpen knives. The gentlemen arrived in dribs and drabs, all attired in breeches and shirts. Admittedly there were some shapely legs and fine shoulders on display, but there were some, Alicia noted, eyeing them critically, who must surely resort to padding when more conventionally dressed—and not just of the calf. However, their unexpected and indeed uninvited guest, Kael Gage, stripped down very well indeed, as did Colonel Kennedy, which was to be expected of a military man.

There was no sign of that desiccated twig of a man Falkner, and surprisingly Timothy Farthingale had made the rare decision to pass up an opportunity to make an exhibition of himself. Perhaps the pair of them were closeted elsewhere talking business. Marcus would be pleased about that, it was a partnership he was most eager to promote. Lillias would likely brief him on any progress there. She seemed to be spending an unfathomable amount of time with Farthingale.

The little Russian acrobat, demurely dressed, led the posse of blushing and giggling ladies in. This event offered an excellent opportunity to take an inventory of the early progress of the various liaisons this year’s party had set in train. Alicia studied them as they filed into the room, shockingly corsetless, wearing divided skirts. It would be fair to say that not everything was going exactly to plan. The Kilmun twins, for example, seemed determined to resist the ardent advances of Addington and Brigstock, the duke’s personal protégés. As to the other business closest to her dear husband’s heart—now that, Alicia thought with a weary sigh, was going deuced badly.

It was a relief to see that Verity had decided to honour the company with her presence. The girl had made very little attempt to endear herself to the colonel, despite the fact that her duty had been made very clear to her. Last night, in the drawing room after dinner, had been positively embarrassing. While Colonel Kennedy had made a point of seeking Verity out, the girl sat there like a wooden effigy, forcing Alicia to intervene lest further damage was done. But the conversational seeds she so carefully planted had fallen on stony ground. There was no evidence of Verity’s normal sharp-mindedness, nor of her much-vaunted wit. The poor colonel! The duchess fanned her cheeks at the memory. He at least, had emerged from the encounter with distinction. The man had shown remarkable restraint, though his mouth grew tighter with each successive silence, and those remarkable blue eyes grew stormy. In the end, she had resorted to escorting him into the card room herself.

What the devil was wrong with the girl! Colonel Kennedy was not simply presentable, he was an extremely attractive man, and quite, quite charming. Verity could do a great deal worse. He had an air about him that made one wish to do his bidding, but also made one rather tremble at the thought of not doing so. Wellington had gone out of his way to recommend his protégé to Marcus, and though Kennedy was a second son of a mere Scottish peer, Wellington’s seal of approval more than made up for a somewhat watery pedigree. Kennedy would go far under his own steam, but he would go further with the appropriate help-meet. Just as Marcus had, Alicia thought, smiling fondly. Verity was simply being stubborn. In some ways, the girl was very like her uncle. She would remind her in the sternest of terms of her obligations.

Unless the damage was already done? Rather worryingly, despite Verity’s fetching appearance in the divided skirt, Kennedy was at this moment showing little interest in his prospective wife. The duchess leaned forward over the balcony, risking discovery. It was the little acrobat that he was leaning close to, bestowing a smile on her that brought a flush to Alicia’s artfully powdered cheeks. The Vengarov woman was smiling back. She touched his arm, lightly enough, though she withdrew hurriedly. Had Verity noticed the little exchange between the female acrobat and her intended? A pinch of jealousy might rouse her from her torpor. No, blast it, Verity was pointedly staring in the opposite direction.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, if you would be kind enough to gather around, please select your preferred activity and we will begin.’ Alexandr Vengarov clapped his hands imperiously and the duchess pushed her exasperation with her niece to one side and settled back to enjoy the spectacle.

* * *

‘Very good,’ Katerina said to Lady Verity Fairholme, ‘you have excellent co-ordination, if I may say so. You are the only one to have mastered juggling with three balls.’

This was a fact not lost on those male guests who had taken what they no doubt considered the easier option. One of them, Brigstock, who was the Earl of Jessop, was all fingers and thumbs, and could barely throw and cleanly catch a single ball. When she had noticed that his lack of dexterity was an enormous source of amusement to some of the spectating ladies, Katerina had quickly moved him to the hoop-spinning group. Unfortunately, he proved no more adept at this simple trick. His face a grim mask of fierce concentration, he gyrated violently as if being assailed by a swarm of hornets, but despite his determined efforts, the hoop refused to remain around his waist and clattered repeatedly on to the rugs. It was all Katerina could do not to burst out laughing herself.

Her star pupil turned out to be the Duke of Brockmore’s niece, the woman intended for Fergus. She was extremely beautiful, though rather haughty, her manner distant at first, but during the last hour as she immersed herself in the art of juggling, she had been quite transformed. Eyeing her flushed countenance and sparkling eyes, Katerina felt an unaccustomed twist of envy. Family, breeding, looks and charm, as well as that certain something, a supreme kind of confidence that came from the security of her position in the upper echelon of society, this woman had it all. Including Fergus, if she wished. And why would she not wish for that!

Somewhat annoyingly, Lady Verity was proving to be easy to like. Her smile was completely lacking in self-consciousness. The glee she took in mastering what none of the other guests could manage was infectious. ‘You have a natural talent,’ Katerina said, and meant it.

‘Thank you.’ Her pupil beamed. ‘You are an excellent teacher. Am I ready for the skittles, do you think?’

‘You wish to learn in a morning what it takes most people years to perfect! Why not, but start with just two. Here, hold them like this. Now watch me.’

Katerina demonstrated several times, then handed two skittles to Lady Verity to try for herself. Keeping one eye on her pupil, she allowed her attention to drift back to the group of intrepid gentlemen whom Alexei was coaching in the basics of tumbling. Unsurprisingly, Fergus was one of the most successful of his pupils. He had actually managed to string a handstand and a cartwheel together. Her brother, who was ridiculously competitive, was making a point of picking holes in his technique.

Instead of taking offence, Fergus listened intently, nodding, requesting a demonstration. His next attempt was a vast improvement. He had only a fraction of Alexei’s flexibility, but he was extremely strong, with an excellent sense of balance. And he was determined. His shirt came untucked from his leather breeches on his next attempt, revealing a tautly muscled belly, a smooth, tanned expanse of chest. His next combination of handstand and tumble was almost perfect, with momentum enough to take him into a second handstand. Alexei had no choice but to applaud. Fergus caught her eye and grinned.

Flushing, for she suspected she had been staring rather too openly, Katerina turned her attention back to her pupil. Fergus, his shirt clinging to his heaving torso, rested against a nearby pillar to watch. Lady Verity, intent on her skittles, did not seem to notice, but Katerina found him too distracting for her own liking. Every time she looked over, his eyes were on her.

Why was he not looking at Lady Verity! The woman was perfect for him, for goodness’ sake. Making eyes at the hired entertainment would not assist his matrimonial cause, and it most certainly would not get him anywhere with the hired entertainment, who had no interest in him whatsoever. None!

Torn between anger and a creeping awareness engendered by his blatant staring that would not desist, she decided to give Fergus something else to look at. When Lady Verity dropped the skittles, Katerina picked them both up, setting them off using one hand, bending down to snatch another skittle with the other. She sent them in an arc high above her head. She threw them behind her back. She launched them higher, leapt after them, and caught them before her feet touched the ground. She knew Fergus was watching her. She would not look at him. She scooped up another skittle and threw it to Lady Verity who, catching on quickly, and with impressive timing, began to send and return the skittle on Katerina’s nod. She forgot about Fergus, caught up in the sheer childish pleasure of it now, until her assistant finally threw up her hands in surrender, doubling over, panting with effort and laughter, to make a bow.

Katerina, rising from her own theatrical bow, saw Fergus walking towards them. Intrigued, she glanced at Lady Verity to gauge her reaction. The smile disappeared abruptly from her face. Katerina watched in astonishment as her body seemed to freeze, her expression ice over.

‘That was most impressive, Miss Vengarov. And Lady Verity.’

Her response was as frosty as her demeanour. ‘It was a private performance, Colonel Kennedy, for our own amusement.’

‘You really were very good, my lady,’ Katerina said, now utterly bewildered. ‘I am sure the colonel merely intended—’

‘I find I am not particularly interested in the colonel’s intentions,’ Lady Verity interrupted. She gave Katerina a forced smile. ‘Thank you for your patience, but I fear I am fatigued now, and I have taken up enough of your time. You have other pupils to teach.’

Fascinated and appalled in equal measures, Katerina turned to Fergus as Lady Verity stalked off. ‘What on earth have you done to provoke such enmity?’

His eyes were stormy and dark, his mouth a grim line. ‘As you can see, my mere presence offends her. Not interested in my intentions! That, at least, has the merit of being the truth.’ He shook his head, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

‘I don’t understand.’

Fergus thumped his fist into his palm, staring off into the distance. ‘No more do I, but I intend to demand some answers. You will excuse me, if you please,’ he said, and with a curt nod, strode swiftly from the ballroom.

* * *

Fergus finally tracked Lady Verity down in the music room an hour later, where she was supervising the repositioning of a pianoforte from its normal place in the corner, into the centre of the room. She was wearing one of her pastel-coloured gowns. Her hair was freshly pinned. Her countenance was no longer flushed and her expression was, as ever when she deigned to meet his eye, quite blank.

‘I am rather busy, Colonel Kennedy,’ she said. ‘I would like to complete preparations for the musical evening before setting out on today’s mystery tour, so if you will excuse me...’

She turned her back on him. Fergus held the door wide open. ‘Leave us, if you please,’ he said firmly to the butler.

She waited until the last of the footmen had closed the door in the butler’s wake, before she turned to Fergus with raised brows.

Fergus leaned back against the closed door, eyeing her appraisingly. ‘I wish us to speak plainly.’

‘I suspect that is more of a command than a wish,’ she replied with a shadow of a smile. ‘May I assume, Colonel Kennedy, that this plain speaking does not involve a proposal?’

Her expression remained aloof, but in those china-blue eyes, there was a tiny hint of fear. There could no longer be any doubt that her snubs had been deliberate. Oddly, Fergus found this reassuring. ‘You may indeed,’ he said, crossing the room towards her and pulling out a chair from the stack waiting to be set around the pianoforte, waiting until she sat daintily down upon it before sitting astride another, facing her. ‘What I want to know, Lady Verity, is not whether or not you’ll accept my hand, but why you agreed to consider a proposal from me in the first place.’

He watched her closely, the struggle between prevarication and truth well disguised but there, none the less, in the tightening of her clasped hands, the way her eyes roamed restlessly around the room. Finally, to his relief, she seemed to reach a decision, straightening her shoulders and meeting his eyes unwaveringly.

‘It is not that I find you in any way objectionable, Colonel. On the contrary, you have borne my appalling behaviour with admirable restraint.’

She smiled then, a reserved smile, but a genuine one, allowing him a glimpse of the attractive woman behind the ice-maiden façade she routinely presented to him. He could, finally, understand why her admirers were legion, but knew too that he would never be one of them. There was still an element of calculation in the way she teased, something in her manner, a sense of entitlement that made his hackles rise. Lady Verity was lovely, and she was charming, and she knew it.

‘It is not I, but your uncle who will mete out any punishment when he discovers we are not willing to make the match he has engineered between us.’

Lady Verity blanched. ‘I fear my uncle will be furious with me.’

Fergus cursed under his breath. What a selfish oaf he had been, so caught up in his own dilemma that it hadn’t occurred to him that his were not the only strings being pulled by the twin puppet masters. ‘I apologise. I have been so concerned with the implications for my own fate that I had not thought of yours.’

‘What implications, Colonel?’

‘My posting to Egypt will be cancelled. My career as a tallyman of numbers will be extended indefinitely.’

‘How ironic. It is the posting you desire so very much which is precisely the stumbling block for me, you see. I confess that I have, to my surprise, found you to be honourable, and intelligent, and—yes—extremely attractive,’ Lady Verity said, blushing faintly. ‘Colonel Kennedy, under different circumstances, I am sure we would suit very well, for you are clearly a man whose star is on the rise, and without false modesty, I believe I would make an excellent diplomatic helpmeet, were you to be posted somewhere civilised like Paris or Rome. But Egypt! Heaven forfend, that does not suit me at all. I simply won’t be despatched to some fly-blown outpost. There, is that plain enough speaking for you?’

Completely taken aback, Fergus laughed. ‘Plain, and very unexpected. It is ironic indeed, that my idea of heaven is your idea of purgatory.’

‘No doubt you think me shallow. Perhaps I am. I prefer to think that I recognise that this particular English rose would not flourish in the desert, would rather wither and die. I know my limitations, Colonel.’

‘One of which is an inability to speak as frankly to your uncle, or even your aunt.’

Lady Verity sighed. ‘You don’t understand. I owe the duke and duchess a great deal. Since my mother died, I have been treated as the child they could not have. I have already turned down several advantageous proposals. I am testing their patience to the limit.’

‘And so this time, rather than incur your uncle’s wrath once more, you thought to shift the blame on to me.’

‘I am sorry. I had no way of knowing how much it meant to you. It is easier to think only of oneself when one is not actually acquainted with the other party.’

It was a very uncomfortable truth. ‘You are quite right,’ Fergus said, ‘it is a chastening thought.’ He got to his feet and began to pace the room. He ran his fingers across the strings of a harp, producing an appropriately discordant, jarring sound. There was no getting around the facts. He could not marry Lady Verity. The loss of his precious posting made his heart sink, but almost at once, his mood felt lighter. The uneasy feeling he’d been carrying about with him since he arrived at Brockmore Manor was quite gone. After all, a posting was hardly a lifetime’s commitment, while a wife—lord, but he’d had a narrow escape.

‘I do wish you would stop pacing, Colonel. I feel as if I am up on some sort of charge.’

‘I fear that will be my fate, when Wellington hears—but that is none of your concern.’ Fergus resumed his seat. ‘I wish I had not agreed to come here, but now that I have, and the eyes of your uncle and his guests are upon us, I think the worst possible course of action would be for me to leave, and leave you exposed to the inevitable gossip and ensuing scandal.’

Lady Verity shuddered. ‘No. Good grief, no.’

‘Aye. Well, in that case I suggest we pay lip service to our allotted roles. We’ll be polite to one another—you’ll stop publicly snubbing me—but there’s an end to it. And at the end of the week, I’ll speak to your uncle and tell him that I don’t think we’ll suit. I’ll make sure he understands that the failure to do his bidding lies at my door and not yours.’

Lady Verity flushed. ‘That is very good of you. I wish—I do sincerely wish, Colonel, that I was brave enough to shoulder the blame myself, but...’

‘There is no need for you to feel guilty.’

She smiled tightly. ‘I am afraid that if I try hard enough, I won’t. You make me rather ashamed of myself, Colonel.’

‘It was not my intention.’

‘None the less.’ Lady Verity got to her feet. ‘You are a good man. A most admirable one. I hope that the Duke of Wellington can for once overlook his ego, and award you the posting regardless. His loss would also be Egypt’s.’

‘But not yours?’ Fergus said, smiling.

She laughed. ‘I am a good deal less sure of that than I was this morning, but I suspect that matters not a jot. You would not have offered for me, Colonel, had I set out to charm you from the beginning, would you?’

‘I honestly don’t know.’ He frowned, running his hand through his hair. ‘I came here with every intention—at least, I thought I did, but—it’s such a cold-blooded way to make a match, is it not? I think we’ve both had a lucky escape. Best leave it at that.’

‘Unflattering as the sentiment is, I am forced to agree. I can only hope that the next suitor my uncle produces for me feels quite the opposite.’

‘Perhaps you should consider finding your own suitor.’

‘A novel thought.’ Lady Verity extended her hand.

Fergus brushed her fingertips with his lips. ‘It is indeed.’

* * *

Slipping her feet into a pair of soft leather slippers, Katerina quit her bedchamber. The house was quiet in the lull between the flurry of housework and the laborious preparations for dinner. The duke’s guests were, according to the Programme of Events, off on a mystery tour. Descending the stairs to the main guest floor in the hushed silence, she felt the eyes of the ancestral portraits which lined the walls around the stairwell on her, and succumbed to curiosity. Each painting was neatly labelled and in chronological order. The illustrious history of the Brockmore family was laid bare in picture form, from the first earl, his countess and their nine children, through to the current, fourth duke and his duchess.

Bloodline and pedigree, those most valuable things to the aristocracy—of their children and their horses, Katerina thought sardonically. And after that, power and influence. Oh, and wealth, of course, though that seemed to come a poor third. Pomp and circumstance, those were the things that mattered when a match was made. There was no place for love, and as to desire—desire, as she well knew, was sated in less formal relationships, with those who could not claim blood or pedigree, or whose blood and pedigree, no matter how revered in their own world, was not revered in the right world.

It did not matter what one was, but how one came to be. A mere accident of birth, yet in the Duke of Brockmore’s world, which was also Fergus’s world, her birth excluded her for ever, no matter how much of an aristocrat she was in her own right. The guests at Brockmore Manor might look up to her on the tightrope, but they would look down their noses if they encountered her on the ground. More likely, they would not even recognise her. Should she make the unforgivable mistake of trying to enter their world however, that would be a very different thing. Not that she would try. Not that she wanted to.

The space next to the portrait of the current duke and duchess, unlike all the others, was not filled with smaller portraits of children. Instead a painting of a weak-chinned man in his forties was hung just below their images. Katerina peered at the label. ‘“Robert Penrith,”’ she read. ‘“Nephew to the Fourth Duke, and Heir to the Brockmore Title.”’

Pity stirred in her breast, looking at the painting, for it starkly drew attention to the Brockmores’ childless state. A very galling state for such a dynasty, she suspected. So much power and influence, so much wealth, so much pomp and circumstance the Brockmores had, yet they were forced to expend it on nephews and nieces and cousins.

Perhaps one day Fergus’s children would adorn the walls here, if he married Lady Verity. It was an unpalatable thought. Turning away from the gallery, Katerina ran lightly down the central staircase, across the polished chequered tiles of the reception hall, through the ballroom and on to the terrace. The blue waters of the lake were irresistible. Crossing the velvet green of the lawn, a flutter of scarlet silk caught her eye. The statuesque beauty clad in her habitual crimson, Lillias Lamont had not joined the mystery tour and nor had her companion, also dressed in red silk. Sir Timothy Something. They made a very odd pair as they disappeared into the maze. Proof that opposites could attract.

Katerina did not need proof of that. She and Fergus were not so much opposites, as from opposite worlds. In many ways they were so similar, yet in that most important regard they were utterly different. Fergus and Lady Verity, now they ought to be a perfect match, yet that scene between them this morning—if she had not witnessed Lady Verity’s transformation herself, she would not have believed it. Had they resolved their differences? Fergus had been furious when he’d gone after her, but Fergus had an enormous amount at stake. Enough to force him into obeying orders, no matter how unpalatable?