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Lord Warburton had been thinking. ‘There’s something amiss with a society that encourages the breaking of marriage vows,’ he said thoughtfully.
‘Ever since the restoration this country has run mad,’ Dorothy agreed. ‘They are like children at a fair. There will be tears before the day is done.’
The lackey reappeared to announce that dinner was served and the party moved into the dining-room.
The room was magnificently furnished; candelabra of massive silver, heavy brocade curtains, polished oak furniture and the most beautiful crystal wineglasses that Cornelia had ever seen.
The meal was elaborate and richly served. Mistress Brent whispered to Cornelia that it was far more impressive than the Lord Mayor’s banquet, since there were so few at the table to eat the huge array of dishes.
The Alderman, excited, drank far more than was his custom. His face grew very flushed. He talked too loudly, leaning his elbows on the table to argue with Lord Warburton about the activities of the Dutch, and their threat to England’s trade.
‘We must be masters of the seas,’ he told him solemnly. ‘Trade is what we live by, and only if we control the passage of our ships can we be safe.’
Lord Warburton snorted. ‘Sir, while our own shores are defended we are safe enough. Damn trade, I say. Too many foreign goods are brought into the country by you merchants. You will ruin English farming.’ He turned his vast shoulder upon the Alderman and spoke to his brother-in-law. ‘It is certain, now, that there is coal on my estate in Derbyshire. There is talk of forming a company to mine it—it will ruin the fields, though. I do not like to see my land cut open like that.’
Alderman Brent angrily prodded him. ‘The merchants of this country are its backbone. I sell and buy goods. You breed and sell sheep and cattle. What difference? We both live by trade.’
Lord Warburton glared at him, eyes bulging. ‘You insult me, sir. I do not live by trade.’ He breathed heavily. ‘Trade. Good God, what next?’
Sir Rendel rose, scraping his chair back. ‘I think it is high time the ladies withdrew.’
Somewhat relieved, the ladies hurriedly left the gentlemen to their enjoyment of the battleground, and retired to the drawing-room.
Lady Warburton, frostily upright, engaged Mistress Brent in probing conversation, clearly designed to discover the exact nature of her brother’s relationship with the Brent family. She glanced, from time to time, at Cornelia, with narrowed eyes, as though suspicious of her.
Lavinia, seating herself upon a footstool beside Cornelia’s chair, stared up at her intently. ‘Pray, do tell me, how did you come to meet dear Rendel?’
‘My father made his acquaintance,’ Cornelia replied coolly.
Lavinia opened wide her big blue eyes. ‘You must not be offended, Mistress Brent, if I say that it is unusual for Rendel to make friends with the merchant class. He is not only a busy Member of Parliament, when the House is sitting, but he is one of the King’s companions, you know. His interest in your father surprises me.’
Cornelia met the curious glance openly. ‘I cannot enlighten you, I am afraid. I hardly know Sir Rendel. You must ask him for information yourself.’
Lavinia laughed lightly. ‘You obviously do not know him very well, as you say, or you would know that Rendel is a perfect oyster when he chooses.’
Cornelia shrugged. ‘Then you will have to contain your curiosity, will you not?’
‘La, do not be so stiff,’ Lavinia said, dimpling. ‘It is only natural to be curious.’ She gave her a sparkling glance. ‘You are a very pretty girl, you know, and Rendel is famous for his love of pretty women.’
Cornelia grew very red and her eyes snapped angrily. ‘No doubt,’ she said tightly. ‘However, I am not one of the Court ladies, to be pursued and made a public mockery. I dislike Sir Rendel and all men of his kidney.’
Lavinia’s eyes grew wide again. She stared, opening her mouth to speak again, but at that moment the gentlemen appeared, and the subject was dropped.
At Lord Warburton’s suggestion, a card table was set up, and most of the party sat down to play a childish, noisy game around it, slapping each other and squabbling over the stakes.
Cornelia refused to join them, but stayed in her chair, staring at the fire, while one part of her mind angrily went over the conversation she had just had with Lavinia Lambeth.
She stiffened when Sir Rendel returned from the card table and lowered himself into the chair beside her, lying back with his long legs stretched out towards the flames, his shoes perilously close to the hearth.
She intended to ignore him, but after a long silence could not resist turning her head, imagining that he must have fallen asleep. Her pulses leapt treacherously as she met the grey eyes.
‘Pray, Madame,’ he drawled, ‘do not move. I was enjoying the beauty of your profile. It has a clear stamp which is most fetching, especially when the firelight turns your hair to gold. Your chin is so delicately rounded that were we not in company I should be tempted to kiss it.’
‘You would not dare. ‘
He smiled slowly, his eyes holding hers. ‘Madame, if you knew me better you would not throw down the gauntlet. I will excuse your folly this once—but let me warn you. Issue no more challenges to me. I make it a rule never to refuse them.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
