The Incomparable Countess. Mary Nichols

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СКАЧАТЬ Chapter Three

      Frances was called upon to exercise her indifference sooner than she expected. The Duke of Loscoe was invited to the ball which she had helped to organise in aid of the orphanage. She and a committee of ladies had been planning it for some time and it was to be as grand an affair as they could manage to which all the ton had been invited. He had already made a generous donation to the cause of the orphans and it would have been unthinkable to exclude him.

      The choice of venue had been the subject of great debate; should it be held in Almack’s Assembly Rooms, at an hotel, or in a private house? The Assembly Rooms were considered stultifying and there was hardly a hotel with large enough rooms, and besides, their owners would not wish to turn away their ordinary customers to make room for them. If it was to be a private house, then it must have a ballroom big enough to accommodate all the guests they hoped would pay for the privilege of attending.

      ‘It had better be Corringham House,’ Frances had said.

      ‘But, Lady Corringham, are you sure?’ Mrs Butterworth had asked. ‘There might be people wishing to come who might not be quite top of the trees. You never know how they might conduct themselves.’

      ‘If they are prepared to pay, then I am sure we can handle any problems of behaviour. After all, beggars cannot be choosers.’

      ‘My lady!’ Lady Graham, another member of the committee, cried in horror. ‘We are not beggars. Never let it be said that we are begging.’

      Frances had smiled. ‘No, but we are going to ask an exorbitant amount for a ticket, are we not? They deserve Corringham House for that.’

      It was some time since Frances had entertained on such a lavish scale; usually she gave small intimate suppers at which conversation, listening to music and playing a few hands of whist were the main ways of passing time. There had not been a ball at the house since Augusta’s come-out five years before and the ballroom had not been used since. She thought she would enjoy the challenge.

      And so, on a warm Saturday evening in May, when London was just beginning to fill up for the Season, Corringham House was ablaze with light. Extra servants had been busy all day, polishing the ballroom floor; others were scurrying about carrying chairs, tables, plates and glasses to wherever they were needed. The dining room had been laid out with one long table covered with a pristine damask cloth, ready for the food to be set upon it, and dozens of smaller tables were arranged round the room for the guests to eat supper in small intimate groups. In the over-heated kitchen an army of specially contracted caterers were frantically preparing food, getting in each other’s way and cursing volubly. By early evening, banks of fresh flowers were in place and the musicians had arrived.

      Frances made one last tour of the rooms, including one on the first floor for those who did not care to dance and preferred cards, and two others set aside for gentlemen and ladies to leave their hats and cloaks and refresh themselves. There was an attendant in each. Satisfied that all was in readiness, she went up to her bedroom on the second floor, where Rose was waiting to help her dress. She felt hot and sticky and glad to soak in the bath which had been put on the floor of her dressing room and filled with warm, perfumed water.

      Until then she had been too busy to reflect on the possible success or otherwise of the enterprise. What would her aristocratic friends think of being asked to pay for the privilege of being her guests? And would they come, knowing that others, just as rich but less socially acceptable, might also pay and they would be obliged to mix with them? It was too late to worry about that now. She stood up and stepped out of the bath. Rose wrapped a towel round her and began rubbing her dry.

      When the first carriage rolled up the drive and deposited its occupants on the doorstep, she was ready to greet them. She had chosen to wear an open gown in amber crepe over a silk slip in pale lemon. It had a scooped neckline and puffed sleeves. The amber crepe and the sleeves were sewn with tiny seed pearls and the bodice was caught under the bosom with tiny yellow flowers, the eye of each one studded with a pearl. Her hair was arranged à la Grecque and studded with more pearls. Apart from her rings, she wore no other jewellery.

      After the ladies of the committee, who had all arrived promptly, the first guests to arrive were Augusta and her husband, Sir Richard Harnham. Frances, always pleased to see her stepdaughter, kissed her fondly. ‘I am so glad you are here. I have been thinking it will be a very poor do and no one will come.’

      ‘Fustian!’ Richard said, smiling at her and raising her hand to his lips. ‘Nothing you do is a poor do. It will be a great squeeze, you see if I am not right.’

      ‘I do hope so.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘Even if no one comes, they have already paid for their tickets. We have banked the money and plans have already been made to spend it.’

      ‘Oh, Mama, please stop worrying,’ Augusta said. ‘Enjoy yourself.’

      Considering there was only twelve years between them, Frances found it amusing that Augusta, now that she was grown up and married and had children of her own, still insisted on calling her Mama, but it did not displease her; she was very fond of Augusta.

      Her stepson, James, was the next to arrive, dressed in a black evening coat, skintight pantaloons and shirt points high enough to scratch his cheeks. His muslin cravat had been tied to an intricacy that would have done credit to Beau Brummell. He had a young lady on his arm whom Frances had never seen before, but whom she immediately knew to be a very expensive chère amie indeed. She was dressed in a cream satin high-waisted gown embroidered all over with gold and silver thread. Her hair had obviously been dressed by someone skilled in the art and she wore a diamond necklace, diamond ear drops and several gold bracelets.

      ‘May I present Miss Annabelle Franks, ma’am,’ James said, drawing her forward.

      ‘My lady,’ she said, dropping into a curtsy. ‘I am very pleased to meet you.’

      ‘You are welcome, Miss Franks.’ Then, to her stepson, ‘James, Augusta is arrived, do go and speak to her.’

      She watched them go with some trepidation. James had succeeded to his father’s title at the age of seventeen and now, at twenty-four, was something of a scapegrace. Frances had had many a run-in with him over the coils he landed himself in, but for all that she loved him dearly. When not living at the Corringham estate in Essex, he stayed in bachelor chambers in Albany, rather than at Corringham House. She suspected it was because he did not want her to know everything he was up to.

      He and the young lady had hardly passed into the ballroom when Sir Percival arrived. He looked like a peacock in his green velvet knee breeches, silk stockings and mauve satin coat. There was a froth of lace at his throat and more spilling over his wrists. He took her hand and bent to kiss it, smiling at her. ‘Fanny, you look beautiful tonight.’

      She laughed. ‘Well, thank you, Percy. And I must say, you look magnificent.’

      He preened himself in his old-fashioned clothes, unaware of the slight irony in her tone. ‘I shall expect at least one dance.’

      ‘You may have it, if I have time to dance at all. I might be too occupied.’

      ‘Gammon! You must make time. I did not pay a ransom for a ticket to be deprived of the pleasure of dancing with you, which was the only reason I came.’

      ‘Not to help the orphans?’ she teased.

      ‘I could have made a donation without coming.’

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