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“It is an invitation to a ball.”
“A real ball? Like Cinderella?”
Was she the girl in the ashes? And Lord Macklin the handsome prince? But Teresa had no magical helpers. This was reality, not a fairy tale. Yet she’d missed him dreadfully since she’d sent him away.
A knock on the door heralded Tom’s arrival. He had invited himself today for some of Eliza’s lemon tea cakes and an unspecified discussion.
He devoured three of the former before tapping a finger on the invitation. “I came to see if I could escort you to this Overton ball.”
“Youare going?”
He grinned at her surprise. “Not very likely, eh? His lordship arranged it. I reckon seeing a proper society ball will help me play a toff onstage.”
This might be so, but it didn’t really explain.
“I’ve spoke to Vining and hired his hack for that night. Be almost like having a private carriage.”
“What in the world is going on, Tom?”
“A ball?” He ate another cake. “No need to worry. I’ve had dancing lessons at the theater.”
As ifthatwas her concern. “This makes no sense. Why am I invited to this ball? Why are you? Who are these Overtons? Surely they cannot have heard of either of us?” They had better not have heard ofher.
Tom was nodding as if he agreed. “Like I said, it’s his lordship’s scheme.”
“Scheme?”
“Plan,” corrected Tom quickly. “I got an idea about it.”
“I would be delighted to hear this.”
“Well, what they call the season is just about over, eh? I reckon Lord Macklin will be leaving town soon. So I’m thinking he’s seeing this ball as a way of saying goodbye.”
“Goodbye.” Of course he would be going. Society streamed out of London when the season ended. It would be months before he returned, and by then perhaps he would have forgotten her. He ought to. But she couldn’t bear the thought. Surely she could see him once more. She could have that. They might even waltz. “I will go,” she said. She simply couldn’t resist.
“Good,” said Tom.
Teresa began reviewing her gowns to decide which would dazzle one particular, discriminating member of thehaut ton.
Sixteen
He had perhaps worked harder at other things in his life, Arthur decided several days later, but never in such a concentrated burst. He was accustomed to having a large staff making arrangements for him. He hadn’t wanted to involve them in his plan for Miss Grandison’s brother, however, and he didn’t really mind the effort. He told himself he was like an ancient knight on a quest to win his lady. An odd sort of quest, to be sure, but the intent was there. A massive effort was the point, wasn’t it? He didn’t feel in the least as if he’d lost his senses. Had he not rather found them?
By the day of the ball, he had checked off all the tasks on his list. He’d made certain that Quigley, Trask, and John Grandison all planned to attend. He had used all his powers of persuasion on Mrs. Overton and convinced her that serving rack punch at her ball might set a new fashion, though Arthur suspected that she was moving over into the category of those who thought he’d gone a bit mad. The idea filled him with an unfamiliar glee. It had been a very long time since he’d confounded anyone. Had he ever? Really? He couldn’t recall an instance, but he did have a great deal on his mind.
Tom and the two actresses from the Drury Lane Theater had been provided with the right sort of clothing and fully primed for the “scene” they were to perform. The ladies seemed to find the whole idea good fun. Miss Grandison had done her part as well, reminding thetonof her youthful embarrassment despite rising doubts about Arthur’s mental stability.
On the night, Arthur dressed to be more conspicuous than usual. Actually, he never was the least bit conspicuous. So this ensemble would be a first attempt. “I beg your pardon, my lord,” said his valet, Clayton, when he discovered a certain garment that Arthur had dug out of the back of the wardrobe. “There has been some mistake. I will just…”
“No, I’m wearing that one,” Arthur interrupted.
Clayton turned, holding the waistcoat that they’d rejected as unacceptable, its cherry-red and silver stripes too garish for public view. “Thisone?”
Clayton had been with him for more than twenty years, and Arthur valued his canny insights as much as his personal services. But in this case the valet wasn’t aware of the plan. “Thatone,” Arthur confirmed.
“But, my lord.”
Arthur saw that he’d gained another recruit into the ranks of those who feared for his sanity. So all was going well. “I am determined to wear it. A bit of a change, eh, Clayton?”
