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Chapter Eight
‘He is not going to come,’ Maude said to Jessica as they met at one end of the long reception room. The party had been in full swing for over an hour, the rooms were full of people, all talking at the top of their voices and drowning out the string quartet that was playing valiantly on a dais halfway down the room.
Young ladies just making their come-out were giggling together or blushing up to their hairlines if addressed by a young man, groups of middle-aged gentlemen stood around discussing politics and sport, the chaperons were exchanging politely barbed compliments on each other’s charges and in one of the side rooms some of the older guests were playing cards.
Gareth, who took the view that there was no point in entertaining if you did not do it properly, had ordered only the best wines to be served and the guests were already anticipating one of the Standons’ famous buffet suppers.
‘Don’t give up on him,’ Jessica urged, ‘It isn’t late yet.’
Maude was already shaking her head. Then instinct sent a shiver down her spine as tangible as the trail of a cold finger running slowly over every vertebra. ‘Eden is here.’ She scanned the room, searching for his arrogant carriage and dark head. ‘There. By the door.’
He was causing a small stir, heads turned. It was not exactly disapproval, Maude realised, more surprise at his presence at such a very respectable soirée. She remembered what the others had told her about his reputation, the fact that he had been seen at some of the more dashing gatherings, the way he attracted not a little attention from the more adventurous ladies. Whether he really fell for their lures she had no idea; people did not mention such things within the hearing of unmarried girls.
Probably, for the man was hardly a saint. Bel was no doubt right. But she was curiously unmoved by the thought of Eden’s past amours. It was his future fidelity she was interested in.
‘Seeing him like this,’ Jessica murmured in her ear, ‘you can understand the rumours about his father. He’s a Renaissance portrait come to life.’ Then she added, her tone puzzled, ‘And yet, there is something about him that is familiar.’
But Maude hardly heard her. She was already moving, drifting nonchalantly down the room on the opposite side to Eden, wafting her fan, smilin
g at acquaintances. She stopped opposite where he was standing, deep in conversation with a group of men she recognised. They were all in their thirties, titled, fashionable, known for their sporting pursuits. And Eden, she realised with interest, was already familiar with them. The way they were together spoke of easy acquaintance. But she had dined at their tables, attended the parties their wives gave, and had never met Eden there.
Yet here he was, obviously comfortable in their company and dressed, just as they were, in the height of elegant male fashion, as he had been the other evening in their box at the theatre. So, he was admitted more comfortably into male society, was he?
‘We must hold another charity ball, Lady Maude.’ Maude focused her attention on Lady Wallace who had appeared at her side, the aigrette of feathers in her coiffure a danger to everyone within three feet of her. ‘Or some other fund-raising event, don’t you think so?’
‘For the soldiers? Yes, indeed. Last year’s ball and the picnic were very profitable, were they not? I was wondering whether we should not try for something a little different this year, but I confess, I have had no ideas yet.’
She had lost Lady Wallace’s attention. ‘My goodness, there’s that Mr Hurst, such a surprise to see him here. So decorative, don’t you think? And such lovely long legs. Not that I should be saying so,’ she chuckled richly, ‘Seeing that he must be young enough to be my son. And of course, there’s no family, so he’s not exactly one of us. To say nothing of that reputation.’
‘Really?’ Maude held her breath, praying that Lady Wallace would not suddenly recall that she was speaking to an unmarried woman. ‘Do tell.’
‘He is notorious for bedding married ladies.’ The aigrette dipped so low that it almost put Maude’s eye out as her companion leaned closer to whisper.
‘That is hardly unique,’ Maude commented drily, glancing around the room. She could see any number of young matrons with a certain reputation. Once they had provided their spouses with the obligatory ‘heir and a spare’ they had no shame in engaging in heavy flirtation, or worse, with attractive gentlemen. Anything was possible, provided they were discreet.
‘But they do say that he never returns to the same one twice,’ Lady Wallace confided, startling Maude. She had assumed that Eden would indulge in an affaire with the same lady for some time. ‘He invariably loves them and leaves them after the one night, despite their pleas for him to return. And given that, by all accounts, his performance in bed is quite spectacular—oh my goodness, I quite forgot you are not married, my dear. You must forget I said anything about—’ She broke off, her pale blue eyes opened wide in alarm. ‘Mr Hurst!’
‘Lady Wallace.’ Maude turned to find he was standing just behind them, looking quite unmoved at being confronted by two ladies, one of whom was goggling at him as though he was a pantomime demon emerging from a trapdoor, the other, Maude was only too aware, who was blushing like a peony. ‘Lady Maude.’
‘Sir.’ It was as much as she could manage to articulate. Quite spectacular performance? In bed? She had desired him all year, she still tingled all over when she thought of his kiss, but somehow she had never let herself imagine in detail what it would be like to be taken to bed by Eden Hurst. She knew, in theory, what happened, but it had all seemed a rather hazy concept. Rather daunting, if truth be told, and something she put off quizzing Jessica about. Now, so close to the long frame she knew was hard, muscled…
‘Maude?’ Lady Wallace nudged her foot with one pointed shoe. She appeared to be more than a little flustered to find herself actually in conversation with such a notorious character. ‘I was just saying to Mr Hurst how much I enjoyed the new production of How to Tease and How to Please. You have seen it, have you not?’
‘Yes, of course. So amusing, and Mrs Furlow was in fine voice. Papa invited Mr Hurst to our box during the interval.’ Best to establish early on that they had met in innocuous circumstances.
‘Oh, so that is what you meant when you mentioned the theatre at our meeting the other day.’ Lady Wallace smiled nervously at Eden, who was looking politely mystified. ‘Excellent.’ She rallied and tapped him firmly on the arm with her fan. ‘You can do so much good, young man.’
‘I haven’t asked Mr Hurst yet, Lady Wallace,’ Maude said, smiling through gritted teeth.
‘I’ve let the cat out of the bag, haven’t I? I had better take myself off and let you work on him.’ She gave a little gasp at her own choice of words and scurried off in a flurry of feathers like an affronted hen.
‘So, Lady Maude, you have something to ask me, have you?’ He was smiling in that disconcerting way he had, which always gave her the sensation that there was a lot more than mere amusement going on inside his head. ‘Am I going to regret accepting Lady Standon’s invitation when I hear what I am to do for you?’
‘What I would chiefly like you to do for me, at this very minute, is to procure me something to drink,’ Maude declared, ‘and find me somewhere to sit down. This is the most incredible crush.’
‘The mark of success, surely?’ Eden steered her through the crowd to an empty alcove, reaching it just ahead of another couple. Maude recognised Lord Witchell and his latest flirt, Mrs Bailey. There was an interesting moment while the two men eyed one another, then Lord Witchell bowed sharply and walked off. It did not escape her that, far from seeming put out, Mrs Bailey directed a lingering look back over one white shoulder at Eden. A look that said, as clearly as words, that she knew him. Very well indeed.
‘I will not be a minute.’ Maude fanned herself and studied the room while she recovered her composure somewhat. She refused to contemplate whether Mrs Bailey knew Eden in the Biblical sense or not. It was more to the point to worry about whether he had heard what, or who, Lady Wallace had been talking about.
