Page 37 of A Taste of Miss Honey

Beaumarsh grinned at Izzy’s impatience. “That, my dear sister, is the talk of the town. Mr Benedict Midwinter.”

Izzy frowned as the name stirred a memory. “Not our Midwinter? I mean, from Little Valentine? The family that owned Winsham Castle?”

“The very same,” Clemmie replied, not dropping the opera glasses. “I’ve been dying to get a look at him. They say he’s every bit as wicked as his father, though he’s invited everywhere because he’s so very handsome.”

“And rich,” Beaumarsh replied, watching his wife with amusement. “Should I be jealous, love?”

“Don’t be silly. I’m just dying to see what all the fuss is about. Drat Mrs Rutlidge and her enormous—”

“Clemmie, darling!” Beaumarsh reproved, shaking his head and pretending to sound shocked.

Clementine lowered the glasses to stare at her husband. “—fan,” she finished, deadpan.

Izzy laughed but stole the opera glasses while her sister was distracted. “She’s perfectly stunning, but her fan is a dratted nuisance, I agree.” All the same, a shiver of something she could not name ran down her back, her heart fluttering for no apparent reason. “Is she very scandalous?”

“Indeed. A very merry widow,” Beaumarsh replied with amusement.

Izzy looked back at them to discover a look in Clemmie’s eye that promised retribution. “She’s an avaricious tart.”

Too stunned to reply, Izzy looked to her brother-in-law, who pulled a face. “Mrs Rutlidge is notorious for stealing other people’s husbands. Though, to be fair, she only ever borrows them.”

“Yes, well, she thought better of borrowing you, did she not?”

Beaumarsh grinned, his handsome face lit up and likely causing any young woman within fifty feet of him to swoon. “Not that there was ever any cause for concern, my love.”

He took Clemmie’s hand and lifted it to his lips, and the look that passed between them made Izzy blush. She turned away, focusing her attention on the play once more.

Pall Mall, on the way to Carlton House, London, 23rdMarch 1816

Izzy gripped the seats of the carriage, telling herself not to be such a ninny. She had survived being presented to the queen and had not fallen on her face. She had been to the theatre, and it had not burned down. There was no reason to suppose that she would cause a riot at her first ball, even if it was at Carlton House of all places. Talk about being thrown in at the deep end.

“Are you all right, Izzy? You look rather pale.”

Izzy tore her gaze from the window, not that the scenery was moving much as the crush of carriages made their way inch by torturous inch up the road.

“Fine,” Izzy replied, pasting a smile to her face. She was very aware what an honour it was to secure invitations to such a dazzling event, especially for her, a little nobody from nowhere. Yet her sisters were both somebody now, and so the rushing tide that had elevated them to the heady heights of Countess and Marchioness dragged her along with them. Lord Beaumarsh, handsome, fashionable and witty, was a favourite at court and much in demand, and his presence at such an event was nothing at all out of the ordinary.

For Izzy, it was a baptism of fire.

“You’ll do splendidly.”

Clemmie’s voice was reassuring, and her expression so sure that Izzy relaxed a degree. Though she knew well the shark-infested waters of society could make or break a girl’s first season, as she had no intention of enduring another in her life, it didn’t really matter. She wasn’t a shrinking violet, and she didn’t much care what anyone thought of her. The only reason she had come was to look for Boreas, though that was not going terribly well. The staff had been remarkably tight-lipped about any contact with less than respectable purveyors of fine wines and spirits and had referred her to Lord Beaumarsh. Asking him anything was out of the question, obviously, for it would raise curiosity in Clementine’s mind and then Izzy would never hear the end of it.

Nerves jittering, she toyed with the ring Boreas had given her. It was a little big, but fitted perfectly over her evening gloves, and touching it gave her courage, made her feel stronger and more certain of why she was here. Whatever it was he was here achieve, whoever the villain he intended to smoke out, she would help him do it. This was nothing, simply an interlude she must endure before she could figure out another way to find him. Besides, if it went well, she might even have fun. She loved to dance, after all, and this was a wonderful opportunity to do so in a remarkable setting.

Finally, the carriage halted, and they stepped out in front of Carlton House’s grand portico. From here they were ushered into the foyer, where footmen bustled back and forth, checking invitations and relieving people of coats and hats, all the while trying to get the guests moving in the right direction, when many were more inclined to chatter as they discovered people they knew.

Then, up and up the grand double staircase, as Izzy stared about her with the wonder of a child. It was impossible not to. If the guests were not lavish enough to catch her eye at every turn, the house itself was simply dazzling. They entered the first anteroom, a vast space with acres of gilding, fancy plasterwork over the ornate ceiling, painted in a simply glorious shade of celestial blue.

From here, they were presented with an enfilade of state rooms, meaning that one walked from one room directly into the next, and on and on, each space more stunning than the one before. Upon entering each room, Izzy wanted desperately to linger, to inspect the wonders of the huge paintings that lined the walls, like a parade of every grand master who had ever lived. Yet the tide pulled her inexorably on until they reached the pinnacle of opulence that was the crimson drawing room.

Even Beaumarsh sucked in a breath as they stood and looked around them. “Prinny has been at it again. I can’t remember what it looked like when last I was here, but not this.”

The ornamental ceiling that towered over them was the most lavish they had seen yet, with neoclassical stucco work in gilt. From the walls, lined with crimson satin, to the damask curtains and upholstery, every inch of the space had one intention in mind: to cow any who saw it into realising the owner was richer, more powerful, and surer of his place in the society than any other mortal being. It worked, Izzy thought, feeling a touch hysterical. The chandeliers were so monumental, all she could do was gawk at them until Clemmie elbowed her and told her to close her mouth. Beneath their feet, a thick velvet carpet softened the tread of hundreds of feet as people gathered and found their friends before carrying on upon their pilgrimage through this palace of excess.

That Lord Beaumarsh was much in demand at such society affairs was soon illustrated as people thronged about him, exchanging polite greetings and chattering about the latest on-dits. Izzy watched her sister covertly, marvelling at how she navigated this strange world with apparent ease when she was hardly more experienced than Izzy. It had not been easy, Clemmie had confessed as much, warning Izzy of which ladies who delighted in being cruel so she could stay away from them. Yet, to look at Clemmie, one would never know she was the slightest bit out of her depth.

Clementine noticed her watching and leaned down to whisper in Izzy’s ear. “Chin up, love. They’re like hounds and can smell fear.”