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‘New bouquets?’ I asked her in an undertone.
Ella turned her wide, pleading eyes on me.
‘Half a dozen of them! He has told me that my lips look like rose petals, and my hair like sunflowers, and my skin like lilies, and he apparently thinks it necessary to bring me copious quantities of all that vegetation every time he makes a comparison. Please don't leave me, Lill!’
I patted her arm. ‘Don’t you worry. I’m right here.’
For a moment she closed her eyes in silent gratitude. She looked about ready to faint. And this time, I was ready to bet her anxiety had nothing to do with the fact that the man next to her wished to marry her against her will. A knight of the British Empire was leading her by the arm! That was enough to make Ella faint any day.
I, personally, didn’t have such a high opinion of Britain’s aristocracy. They didn’t seem to have anything better to do than to roam their lands shooting pheasants and foxes. Not that I missed those - I had met a pheasant in Green Park once, and it had squawked at me in a most unpleasant manner, enough for anybody to want to shoot it - but still, they didn’t seem to be a very productive sort of bird[35]. The aristocracy, I mean, not the pheasants.
We all walked to the coach, Wilkins taking the place on one side of her while I squeezed myself in on the other side, in easy slapping distance of his face. With his long nose and over-large ears, he didn’t seem like the sort of chap who would suddenly start ravishing a young lady, but then, you could never be sure. I wanted to be close so he wouldn’t get any quick ravishing done while I wasn’t looking.
‘Well,’ Sir Philip said, beaming widely. ‘Isn’t this cosy?’
Not for the first time I wondered whether there was something wrong with his brain.
The others climbed in after us, the driver jumped onto the box and off we went. The coach wheels rattled on the cobblestones as we moved towards Lady Metcalf’s residence at a brisk pace. Needless to say I didn’t know how long the drive was going to be. I was not a regular visitor there.
Just before we turned around the first corner, I looked back and saw a figure standing in front of our neighbour’s house. Even at this distance I could see the anguished look on Edmund’s face. My, my. The chap had really got it bad. I was so glad I didn’t have anything to do with this stuff called love and never would be stupid enough to. It never seemed to work out right.
Suddenly, Ella turned her head to look back, and I quickly turned forward again, fixing my new official ball-grin on my face. It was hard to keep up. The expression on Ella’s face as she gazed at her love disappearing in the distance was like a poisoned dagger to the heart of a loving sister.
‘What are you looking at, Miss Ella?’ enquired the blasted Wilkins, turning to follow her gaze.
‘Oh, nothing, nothing,’ she said hurriedly and, thank the Lord, it was at that exact moment we turned the corner and Edmund vanished from sight.
‘Well,’ Wilkins chuckled nervously, turning around again, ‘I guarantee you that anything we might be leaving behind is not half as interesting as what we are driving towards.’
‘Indeed?’ Ella’s voice was polite but indignant; disbelieving love-light shone in her eyes.
Anne leant forward, her curiosity peeked. ‘Is Lady Metcalf’s ball going to be that spectacular, then? Do you know something we don't?’
‘No, I fancy the ball will be pretty much like any other ball in London, though I do by no means intend to demean Lady Metcalf’s hospitality.’
‘Then what are you talking about?’
‘Forgive me.’ He smiled at us in a manner he obviously intended to be mysterious. For most of the inmates of the coach, it actually worked. ‘I should have expressed myself more clearly. It is not what we are driving towards that is extraordinary, but whom we are driving towards.’
Now he definitely had Anne’s and Maria’s attention.
‘Are we to understand that there will be a personage of special importance present at the ball tonight?’ Leaning forward even farther, Maria lost no time in asking the central question: ‘Is it a man?’
‘Yes, Miss Maria.’
The twins’ eyes gleamed, and even Lisbeth’s seemed to flicker. Mine slid shut in desperation. I knew what the next word out of their mouths would be. It started with an ‘m’. And the one after that with an ‘o’. And the one after that… hmm… let me think… with an ‘s’.
‘Married or single?’ Anne demanded.
I’m good at guessing, aren’t I?
‘Single, I believe.’
Opening my eyes again, I took a peek. If the twins' eyes had been shining before, they were ablaze now. They had sniffed prey and were preparing for the hunt.
‘You’re being very coy, Sir Philip,’ Maria accused him, giggling. ‘You’re giving us answers of one or two syllables.’
Four or five syllables, actually, Maria, but who’s counting.
