A Gentleman's Honor (Bastion Club 2) - Page 107

The Marchioness of Huntly was one of the ton’s foremost hostesses. When they arrived, Huntly House was ablaze with lights. A theme of white and gilt was repeated throughout the imposing reception rooms; the ballroom was festooned with white silk sprinkled with gilt stars and looped back with gold cords. The light from three brilliant chandeliers winked and glinted in the jewels circling ladies’ throats and encrusting the combs in their coiffures.

Born a Cynster, Lady Huntly had been watching for them; she swept forward to greet them, and strolled down the ballroom chatting amiably, then handed them into her sister-in-law’s care.

The Duchess of St. Ives positively glowed with social zeal. She smiled brilliantly at Alicia. “He is defeated, you see.” Irrepressibly French, she gestured about them. “Oh, it may take a day or so more to complete what we have begun, but there will be no repercussions. He will not succeed in using us in so cowardly a way to attack you, and thus hide his own infamy.”

Here, the company were the crème de la crème; only those accepted into the most rarefied of tonnish circles were present. The duchess remained with them for some time, introducing them to numerous others. Her generosity and determination added to the weight bearing down on Alicia’s conscience.

Then a waltz started up, and Tony swept her onto the floor and into an interlude of pleasant distraction. She knew better than to think of the nebulous worry dogging her, not while in his arms; he was guaranteed to notice, and question, then interrogate further, and that she was not ready for.

So she laughed and smiled at his witticisms, eventually insisting he return her to Adriana’s side. They joined her sister’s circle. Although in this venue the attractions of those who had gravitated into Adriana’s orbit was exceptional, it was clear, at least to Alicia, that her sister’s decision to lean on Geoffrey Manningham’s arm was not affected in the remotest degree.

Inwardly sighing, she made a mental note to arrange to speak with Geoffrey soon, to explain their financial state. Oddly, the prospect did

not fill her with the dread she’d once thought it would.

Brows faintly rising, she realized she now knew Geoffrey too well to imagine mere money, or even their scheme, would weigh overmuch with him. His devotion to Adriana had remained unwaveringly constant throughout the weeks; indeed, it had only strengthened and grown. Adriana, at least, would achieve the goal they’d aimed for.

Her thoughts turned to herself; feeling a stir beside her, she abruptly pushed them aside, away, and turned.

“My dear Mrs. Carrington.” Sir Freddie Caudel bowed and shook the hand she offered. He glanced around, then met her gaze. He lowered his voice. “I can’t tell you how distressed I am to have learned of the problem besetting you.”

Alicia blinked; the phrasing sounded rather strange, but Sir Freddie was one of the old school, somewhat formal in his ways.

“However, it seems the ladies of the ton have rallied to your cause—you must be grateful to have gained the support of such champions.”

She’d learned that many gentlemen disapproved of the social power the grandes dames wielded; the edge to Sir Freddie’s words suggested he was one. “Indeed,” she replied, calmly serene. “I can’t tell you what a relief it’s been. The ladies have been so kind.”

He inclined his head, looking away over the crowd. “It’s to be hoped this man will be identified soon. Is there any information as to who the blackguard is?”

She hesitated, then murmured, “There are a number of avenues of investigation in hand, I believe. Lord Torrington could tell you more.”

Sir Freddie glanced at Tony, on her other side, presently engaged with Miss Pontefract. Sir Freddie’s lips curved lightly. “I don’t believe I’ll disturb him—it was purely an idle question.”

Alicia smiled and turned the conversation to the latest play, which she hoped to see during the next week. Sir Freddie remained for several minutes, urbanely chatting, then he excused himself and moved to Adriana’s side.

Turning back to Tony, Alicia saw he’d been tracking Sir Freddie. She raised her brows quizzically.

“Has he spoken—or even hinted—yet?”

“No—and don’t speak of it. I’m hoping not to tempt fate.” On a spurt of decision, she made a silent vow to speak with Geoffrey as soon as possible. There was no need to put Sir Freddie to the trouble of asking for Adriana’s hand—no need for her to have to face the ordeal of politely refusing him.

To her relief, the evening rolled on in pleasant vein. Nothing of any great note occurred, no difficult situation arose to challenge her, or them. The small hours of the morning saw them heading back to Waverton Street, tired but content with the way their plans had gone. Geoffrey parted from them at their door. Tony accompanied them in, ultimately accompanying her up the stairs to her bedchamber, and her bed.

Tony shrugged off his coat, dropped it on the chair, felt very much as if he was shedding some physical restraint along with his social facade.

I don’t like this. No more do I.

Charles’s words, his answer. A statement that grew more accurate with each passing day. Despite his erstwhile occupation, its shadowy nature and often nebulous threats, he and his colleagues had always, ultimately, dealt with foes face-to-face. Once the engagement had commenced, they’d always known the enemy.

Never had he had to cope with a situation like this. The action had commenced with Ruskin’s murder; subsequent acts, strikes at their side, had been mounted and executed with impunity, causing damage and difficulty in their camp. A. C. had forced them to respond, to deploy to meet his threats and the actions he’d unleashed, yet even though they’d managed thus far to weather all he’d thrown at them, they’d yet to sight his face.

An unknown enemy, with unassessed capabilities, made the battle that much harder to win.

Yet it was a battle he could not lose.

Glancing across the darkened room, he watched Alicia, sitting at her dressing table, brush out her long hair.

He couldn’t even contemplate conceding a minor skirmish; there was too much here that was now too precious to him.

Tags: Stephanie Laurens Bastion Club Historical
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