Hope's Betrayal Part 18

Charles took his leave and returned to London. A couple of days later Jack and Eulogy did the same. Suddenly the house which had been bursting with male vigor and feminine laughter, seemed quiet and empty. To keep herself occupied, Lady Ryevale threw herself into preparations for the ball and insisted on calling in Mrs Locke to measure Hope for a gown. Knowing Her Ladys.h.i.+p was missing her sons, Hope didn't have the heart to refuse.

On the evening of the ball, Hope was left speechless as she put on the new dress. Mrs. Locke had excelled herself; the gown a perfect fit, simple but stunning in white muslin with darling puff sleeves and roses embroidered around the hem. Hope couldn't help but swish the skirts so the soft fabric brushed her legs-never had she felt so special. And as a finis.h.i.+ng touch, Lady Ryevale sent her own maid to dress Hope's hair; not that Hope found it easy to sit still, biting her tongue with impatience as the maid worked the hot iron through her hair. But the end result was worth it: a cascade of tumbling ringlets which bounced and s.h.i.+mmered as she moved her head, topped with green ribbon which matched her eyes. When Hope finally saw her reflection, dressed and coiffured, she was dumbstruck; gone was the tomboy smuggler of old, replaced by a young lady of style, glowing with vitality. With a tremor of excitement, she wondered what Captain Huntley would think.

She was not to be disappointed. In full dress uniform, the gold braid glinting in the candlelight, Captain Huntley looked up as she descended the stairs, and his mouth opened and shut, like a fish. There was open admiration in his eyes and he followed her every move. Hope trailed a gloved hand down the banister, placing one daintily slippered foot in front of the other down the stairs, taking her time.

"Miss Tyler, you look...enchanting."

Hope beamed. "Thank you, Captain Huntley, and you look...impressive." Indeed, which of them was the more breathless, was open to debate.

His shoulders seemed broader than usual as he gave her a smile which made her knees shake. Then came Lady Ryevale, s.h.i.+mmering down the stairs in a gown of turquoise satin, trimmed with cream lace.

"Mother." George held out his arm. "You look fabulous."

"Thank you, dear."

In high spirits the party of three climbed into the waiting carriage and with the full moon lighting the way, set off for the Wainwright's. Luckily for Hope, tongue-tied in George's presence, Lady Ryevale was in a chatty mood.

"The Wainwright's made a fortune importing tea..."

Hope nodded to show she was listening, as she fought the urge to gaze at George in his uniform.

"...not that we hold new-money against them."

Just as well, Hope reflected, since Captain Huntley's efforts with the revenue had been to protect the tea trade. She glanced over, and caught him staring. Fl.u.s.tered, she looked away.

The carriage pulled up in front of an imposing building, that Lady Ryevale muttered was "tasteless rococo." As they dismounted and ascended the steps of the portico, Mrs. Wainwright stood waiting to greet the arriving guests. She was a bosomy lady with a penetrating voice and Hope hung back, fascinated by the three ostrich feathers bobbing and dancing above their hostess's head.

"Thrilled, positively thrilled you could attend." Mrs Wainwright clasped Captain Huntley's hand and pressed it to her bosom. "Annabelle," she called over her shoulder. "Do come and say h.e.l.lo to our hero." She pulled the Captain closer and said in a stage whisper. "My Annabelle has her heart set on a dance with you."

He retrieved his hand, and shook the blood back into it.

"I am touched indeed, but my injuries prevent me from dancing."

"Such a shame. But if you find yourself able..."

"Then Annabelle will be the first to be asked."

As they walked away, Hope fancied the Captain leaned more heavily on his cane than he had done previously, and suppressed a smile.

Ascending the sweeping staircase, towards the chirpy strains of a string quartet, their party made for the ballroom. But if Captain Huntley had hoped to slip in unnoticed, he was to be disappointed. No sooner had people spotted his arrival, than they crowded around; slapping his back, shaking his hand and complimenting his bravery. It seemed he was quite the hero. A smile crept across his habitually serious face and it made Hope glad. Whatever Hope thought of the effusive Mrs Wainwright, she was correct in one thing-Huntley should be greeted as a hero. Besides, in full dress uniform, the gold braid of his rank glittering in the lamplight, he looked utterly magnificent and she felt proud.

At the far end of the room, the quartet struck up a cord. As dancers started to promenade, the floor bounced a little. Men opposite women in lines, only the top couple in motion as the others stood idly watching. Despite her nerves, Hope was excited. This wasn't so very different from a country dance in the church hall, except that the dresses were silk and the setting more ornate. Tonight, nothing would dint her spirits.

"Mother, shall we sit?" Captain Huntley indicated three unoccupied seats.

"Good idea."

His hand gripping his silver cane-the air thick with perfume, tobacco and hot wax-George coughed.

"Give me a rough sea and a high wind any day,"

As they made their way around the floor, conversations stopped and people turned to stare at her. Hope quailed inwardly as their eyes raked her from head to toe, and whispered behind hands. George bent his head to her ear.

"They look because you are beautiful."

Startled by the compliment, she muttered. "Or because I'm an infamous smuggler."

His eyes met hers, unblinking and sincere in a way which shattered her composure. "They are jealous because you are a natural beauty."

Hope found she was holding her breath, conscious only of his intoxicating presence. It took every ounce of her will to remember how to walk. All in all, she was glad to sit down and blend into the background while she regained her composure.

The ballroom was crowded, Hope guessed there were at least hundred people in the two adjoining rooms. Never had she seen such wealth and opulence, from the gentlemen in black breeches and buckle shoes, to the ladies in satins and silks, necks and ears bright with jewels.

"I had no idea folk hereabout were so wealthy." She whispered to George.

"Ah, that's because they've travelled far and wide. Some will have come from as far away as Plymouth for tonight's festivities."

"Oh." Hope's eyes grew large with wonder. Lulled by the music and heat, her thoughts started to wander, catching glimpses in her mind's eye of the world her mother had inhabited in the ton, of the b.a.l.l.s and parties she must have attended....

"Watch out," Huntley nodded toward the door. "Our hostess on a starboard bearing. Brace yourselves"

"George!" His mother grinned, "keep your voice down."

Like a s.h.i.+p in full sail, ostrich feathers streaming out behind her, Mrs. Wainwright was making straight for them in the company of an aloof-looking gentleman.

"Lady Ryevale, Captain Huntley. May I introduce Mr. Oswald."

Her Ladys.h.i.+p looked bemused. "Of course. Mr. Oswald, are we acquainted?"

The man bowed regally. While not handsome, he had a ruggedness of feature which could be taken as attractive, and he held himself with the confidence of arrogance.

"I pray my forwardness does not offend, but I asked Mrs. Wainwright to introduce us, because I am, or rather was, a friend of your late husband."

"Isn't that wonderful?" Mrs. Wainwright chirped. "You must have so much to talk about."

"Indeed." Mr. Oswald turned smoothly to their hostess. "I appreciate your time, Mrs. Wainwright, when you have so many guests to attend. Pray, do not let me detain you."

"Oh, well, if you're sure. I should see that Annabelle is alright."

"My grat.i.tude and thanks." Oswald bowed in such a way which meant Mrs. Wainwright was dismissed.

"Lady Ryevale, again, apologies for being forward, but I recognised you across the room and felt compelled to speak."

"Any friend of my late husband, is a friend of mine." She frowned. "I don't recall you at his funeral."

"Alas, I was abroad when word of Charles's pa.s.sing reached me."

Lady Ryevale exhaled and seemed to relax. "Delighted to meet you."

"At your service." His voice was low and melodic, but with a slightly oily quality to Hope's ear. It seemed the Captain felt the same for he s.h.i.+fted in his seat.

"You were a good friend of my father's, Mr. Oswald?"

"I knew him when we were both very young at Eton together. Alas, time meant we saw little of each other in Charles's latter years...to my eternal regret."

"I feel as if we've met...recently." George frowned.

Hope fancied Mr Oswald faltered momentarily, before resuming his debonair smile.

"I have...had... a brother, who looks...looked... like me. He died recently. Perhaps it is him you recall?"

"I am sorry to hear of your loss, my condolences."

"Thank you." The awkward moment pa.s.sed and Oswald studied Hope in a way which made her toes curl, and then turned to Her Ladys.h.i.+p. "I didn't know you had a daughter, Lady Ryevale."

"Miss Tyler is a friend of the family."

"Oh," with growing comprehension Oswald looked from George to Hope and back again. "Then are congratulations in order?"

"Miss Tyler is my mother's companion." George's voice caught.

There was a fleeting darkness behind Oswald's eyes which made Hope wary.

"My apologies, it's just you seemed so ...close." Oswald, arched a brow and continued conversationally. "I see, Captain, you have been in the wars."

"Fell foul of smugglers."

"Ah! Smugglers.Terrible problem along this stretch of coast."

"Where did you say you are from?"

"I didn't. I'm visiting from the Southwest."

There it was again-that crack in the good humour, a hint of menace. Hope's skin p.r.i.c.kled, there was something jarring about this man which she couldn't pin down; a hawkish look, a sharpness not wholly softened by the ingratiating smile.

After a fas.h.i.+on, Oswald cleared his throat.

"Lady Ryevale, would you do me the great honour of this dance?"

Her Ladys.h.i.+p fanned herself, "Goodness, you flatter me. Thank you for the kind offer, but I'd rather not dance thank you, the crush you understand...and my advanced age." She said artfully.

"Stuff and nonsense. You are as lovely now as when Charles first told me he'd found the woman he wanted to marry. But if you refuse to dance, then perhaps Miss Tyler would agree?"

Hope didn't need to look at Captain Huntley to know he was scowling.

"I...that is...it's not my place to dance."

Oswald's predatory eye strayed back to Hope. "Surely, Lady Ryevale, you wouldn't deny your companion one dance-with an old friend of your husband?"

"Hope dear," Lady Ryevale patted her hand, "Dance with Mr Oswald, for my sake."

Not five minutes earlier Hope had been watching the dancers with envy, her foot tapping beneath her gown but now, with reluctance, she took Oswald's arm. Luckily, it was a country dance and any fear of not knowing the steps rapidly dispelled. Oswald took her hand and bowed as if she was a lady. In fact, Mr Oswald cut a fine figure, for a tall man he moved with surprising grace, and Hope began to enjoy herself.

As she waited in line, clapping in time to the music, she felt eyes boring into her back. She turned and her heart jolted, for Captain Huntley was watching her with a thunderous black look. But then the line of dancers moved up one, and she lost sight of him. Soon it was her turn to promenade with Oswald, and amidst concentrating on the steps and the muddle of couples, she forgot about Huntley, until the final chord struck and Oswald escorted her back to her seat. Surrept.i.tiously she studied the Captain, outwardly he had regained his composure, but for an angry vein ticking at his temple.

"My compliments, Miss Tyler, a most enchanting partner." Oswald placed a lingering kiss on Hope's fingertips.

Huntley grew dangerously still.

"A shame you cannot join the fun," Oswald caste a pitying glance at him, "Watching must be so tedious, especially for a man like yourself who lived for action."

Hope suppressed a gasp.

"I am not the invalid you presume, Mr. Oswald." Huntley rose to his feet. "Miss. Tyler, would you do me the honor of this next dance?"

Hope found herself trapped between the two men.

"Actually, I am a little hot and would prefer not." The idea of dancing with Huntley did indeed make her feel flushed.

"It seems Miss Tyler prefers my company." Oswald said nonchalantly, as if taunting Huntley. With the two men almost nose to nose, Hope squeaked.

"Actually, I feel better now. I'd be delighted to dance." She slipped her arm through Huntley's and discretely nudged him away.

From the first few steps George knew this was a mistake; his injured leg made him clumsy as he staggered and limped around the floor. Several times he trod on Hope's feet which she took with good grace and ignored.

"Do you want to sit down? Because if you do, truly, I'm feeling rather hot." She whispered after he nearly fell a second time.

"No, of course not." George hated being petulant and yet he couldn't help it. Hope was dazzling, her hair bobbing around her glowing cheeks, and yet all he wanted was for the dance to be at an end so he could sit down like an old man. Well, he wouldn't give in. Neither spoke for the duration of the dance, and after an eternity the final chord was struck. Huntley placed his hand in the small of her back, but there was no respite for Huntley as he noticed Oswald deep in conversation with Lady Ryevale. The last thing he wanted was more of that unctuous man's company.

"d.a.m.n."

"What was that?" Hope asked.

"Nothing." George thought quickly. "How about refreshment?" His heart hammered against his ribs, on impulse he changed direction, steering Hope toward the door. She looked startled, but didn't object.

"Well, I am a little thirsty."

"Good." Intent on keeping Hope away from Oswald, he didn't notice her perplexed expression.

Chapter Thirteen.