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‘Papa is indisposed, ma’am.’ Maude dropped a curtsy and smiled back. ‘He asked me to give you his apologies. I will find Lady Dereham or Lady Standon at once,’ she added meekly.
However, an airy wave when she saw them on the other side of the great reception room that led on to the ballroom wa
s quite enough to fulfil her promise to Lady Hethersett, Maude decided. Just beyond a potted palm she could see Mr Worthington, an elderly gentleman who was on her list of potential benefactors for the charity. If she added him to her collection, she could relax and enjoy herself for the rest of the evening with a clear conscience.
Ten minutes later she was wondering if she was ever going to extract either money, or herself. ‘Disgraceful, the number of sturdy rogues sponging upon the Poor Relief,’ Mr Worthington was saying indignantly. ‘The charge upon property owners in every parish is outrageous!’
‘Exactly,’ Maude interjected. ‘And so many of these men are returning soldiers from the wars. Now, a very modest donation of one hundred guineas to our charity will prove a excellent investment in removing these men permanently from becoming a charge upon the parishes.’
‘Hmm.’ He eyed her dubiously. ‘Investment, you say?’
‘Absolutely,’ Maude said. ‘Of course, it takes a gentleman of experience and foresight such as yourself to appreciate that…’ Her mind went blank. Just the other side of the arrangement of greenery she could see a pair of broad shoulders and hear Eden’s trained voice.
‘Of course, Lady Lucas, I can offer inducements beyond my, no doubt, imperfect arguments as to why you should become a patron.’
‘Inducements? Why, Mr Hurst, you do interest me!’ Lady Lucas, the wife of a notoriously indolent and neglectful husband, was a sprightly blonde with a roving eye. And, Maude saw as she shifted her position slightly, those wide blue orbs were fixed on Eden’s face. Lady Lucas moved closer and rested one hand on his forearm. ‘Do tell—or should we go somewhere more private?’
‘No need.’ Eden laid his own hand over hers, then raised it to his lips. ‘I can rely upon your discretion?’
‘Oh, yes, Mr Hurst, I am very, very, discreet.’
Trollop, Maude thought, torn between admiration for Eden’s technique and indignation at Lady Lucas.
‘If you promise not to tell a soul—’ Maude strained to hear his lowered voice ‘—there is going to be a very interesting event at the Unicorn in a few weeks, and I can make certain that you have the very best box.’
‘A private box?’ Lady Lucas managed to imbue the phrase with overtones of delicious impropriety.
‘Oh, yes,’ Eden purred, ‘Very private.’
‘Two hundred guineas.’ Maude started, then realised that leaving Mr Worthington to brood on her words appeared to have done the trick. ‘Here you are, my dear, a note for my bankers.’ He pressed the paper into her hand. ‘No, no, do not thank me. Now I must find Lady Smythe, I have promised her a hand of whist.’
As she tucked the note into her reticule, Maude craned to see what was happening with Eden and Lady Lucas, but both dark head and blonde had vanished.
‘What’s the matter?’ Bel asked, appearing at her side. ‘You look as though you’ve lost something.’
‘Eden. I last saw him reducing Lady Lucas to putty with promises of a very private box at the theatrical event. And now they’ve vanished.’
‘And you are wondering if he has been swept off to demonstrate his um…credentials? Don’t worry. See—he is over there, flirting desperately with Mrs Hampton-Wilde. He really is very good at it; look at her, she is positively quivering. He throws himself into it with far more enthusiasm than Ashe does when I nag him into trying to charm money out of ladies, poor dear.’
‘Eden appears to have a natural talent for it,’ Maude said darkly.
‘Jealous?’ Bel smiled wickedly. ‘Never fear, he has not seen you yet; when he does, I am certain he’ll have eyes for no one else. That gown is stunning.’
‘It is rather, isn’t it?’ Maude allowed herself to be distracted into contemplating her gown. It was cut perilously high under the bust, and perilously low above it, modesty being preserved only with a yellow rose at the centre and a thin ruffle of lace. The underskirt of soft white satin was quite unadorned, but the overskirt of almost transparent gauze was finished at the hem with a double row of rosettes, each with a rose at the centre.
‘I love those short sleeves, so intricate.’ Bel studied them. ‘I’ve never seen anything quite like it. But how on earth you are going to stay within the bounds of decency if you dance anything energetic, I have no idea.’
‘It’s very tight, I won’t fall out,’ Maude whispered. ‘And you can hardly criticise.’ Bel was dashing in pomona green with a plunging back and fluttering overskirt with high side-slits.
Bel looked smug. ‘Ashe adores it. He wanted to stay home when he saw it. Oh, look, Mr Hurst is making her blush. Are you going to drift past and see if you can put him off his stroke?’
‘Certainly not,’ Maude said. ‘I am going to see if I can make him jealous. And there’s the very man.’ She let her eyes widen as she caught the gaze of Major Sir Frederick Staines, then dropped them in apparent confusion.
‘Careful,’ Bel warned, ‘he’s the most terrible rake.’
‘I know. Perfect.’ With a laugh, Bel moved on. ‘Oh, good evening, Sir Frederick.’
The major was tall, blond, smoothly good looking and perfect for her purposes.
