“In case it’s escaped your notice, Althea, we’re surrounded by at least three hundred other human beings.”
Lady Dallinghurst made so bold as to put her hand on his sleeve. “And since when has that ever stopped you, Your Grace?”
Jason looked down, into her pretty pink and white face and felt pity for the absent Lord Dallinghurst. Althea Dallinghurst was a Dresden doll who played the game hard and fast. Lifting his brows, his expression nothing if not supercilious, Jason asked, “Dallinghurst in town?”
Lady Dallinghurst’s eyes gleamed. Her hold on his arm tightened.
“No. And he won’t be back for a month!” She looked up at him, clearly expecting a proposition of the most explicit nature.
“Pity. There’s a horse I’d like to see him about. Tell him I’m interested when you see him next, will you, my dear.”
With a polite nod, Jason moved into the crowd, leaving a very stunned lady behind him. It was, he decided, time to suggest to his wife that they leave and travel on to Lady Holborn’s affair, the next on her never-ending list, before he was provoked into making a wrong move and some slighted madam, with intuition fuelled by fury, guessed just how highly unfashionable was his interest in his wife.
* * *
THE NEXT AFTERNOON brought near-disaster for Lenore. She had opted to attend Lady Hartington’s luncheon, an al fresco affair in the extensive gardens of Hartington House. Because of the distance from town, the luncheon continued all afternoon, with the guests enjoying the amenities of the gardens. To Lenore, it was a welcome relief from the stuffy salons of the capital. All went well, until Lady Morecambe and Mrs. Athelbury, with both of whom Lenore was on good terms, became possessed of the idea of punting on the lake.
“Do come with us, Lenore. Lord Falkirk has offered to pole us about.”
Seeing nothing against the venture, Lenore agreed. Together with her friends, she crossed the wide lawn to where a punt was drawn up at the water’s edge. Young Lord Falkirk had already assumed his place in the stern, the long pole gripped firmly between his hands. “A quick trip to the fountain and back, ladies?”
They laughingly agreed. In the middle of the shallow lake, an island of stones was crowned by a fountain which fed a small waterfall, the whole, in reality, a disguise for the small waterwheel concealed in the rocks which caused ripples on the otherwise glassy surface of the protected lake.
Mr. Hemminghurst followed them down and gallantly assisted them to board, handing them in with a flourish. Smothering their giggles, they took their seats on the punt’s narrow crossboards. There was only just room enough for all three.
“Off we go, then!” With a sturdy heave, Lord Falkirk poled off.
Almost immediately, Lenore had second thoughts. By the time they were halfway to the rocks, she could feel each rolling wave created by the waterwheel as it passed under the punt. Her stomach started to move in synchrony. As they neared the rocks, she pressed a hand to her lips. The nape of her neck was warm and growing warmer—a very bad sign.
“Isn’t it delightful!” Lady Morecambe leaned out to pull the boat closer to the island, rocking the boat dreadfully.
Lenore shut her eyes tight, then quickly opened them again. “Yes, quite,” she managed, before setting her teeth again. An ominous chill was spreading over the back of her shoulders.
Luckily, the other three occupants of the punt were more interested in the cunning way the waterfall had been created to hide the wheel assembly than in the odd hue she was sure her skin had assumed. Breathing deeply, Lenore told herself that they would head back now, that the rocking would get less with every yard they came closer to the shore. If she could just hold on, she would see this through, without giving her secret away. Agatha, she remembered, was in the crowd on the lawn, and Lady Attlebridge, too. Along with half the female members of the ton. This was the last place on earth to fall victim to her affliction.
After declaiming with what Lenore felt to be quite unnecessary long-windedness on the mechanism that drove the wheel, Lord Falkirk turned the punt around. Gradually, Lenore felt her glazed vision improve. The bank, and salvation, were only a few yards away. She blinked, then frowned, as her sight now revealed many of the other guests lining the edge of the lake, laughing and waving at them.
Naturally, Lady Morecambe and Mrs. Athelbury waved back. Perforce, Lenore had to join in, struggling to fix a smile on her lips. But with the increased movement, added to by Mrs. Athelbury leaning out of the punt to flick water at those on the shore, the punt was rocking quite hideously again.
Lenore felt the blood drain from her face. Any minute… She closed her eyes, very close to defeat.
“There we are!”
With a grand gesture, Lord Falkirk ran the punt aground.
Letting out the breath she had been holding in a shuddering sigh, Lenore waited patiently for the other two ladies to clamber out, drawing most of the gathering crowd’s attention, before allowing Lord Falkirk to assist her to shore.
Once on terra firma, the young man looked at her in concern. “I say, are you all right, Lady Eversleigh? You look dev’lish pale.”
Summoning a smile, Lenore plastered it on her lips. “Just a touch of the sun, I suspect, my lord. I think I’ll sit down in the shade for a minute. If you’ll excuse me?”
Leaving his lordship casting puzzled glances at the light clouds covering the sun, Lenore headed for a wooden seat placed under a willow. The drooping branches of the willow gave her a modicum of privacy in which she could risk hunting in her reticule for the smelling salts Harriet had given her years before. She had never thought to use them, but, sighting the little bottle among the trinkets on her dressing-table, she had added it to the contents of her reticule the week before. Sending a thank-you prayer Harriet’s way, Lenore took a cautious sniff then leaned back and closed her eyes.
To her relief, the crowd had moved on in the opposite direction to view the sunken garden. She was left in peace under the willow, a reprieve of which she took full advantage. Only when she was sure she could stand and walk without tempting disaster did she emerge and, finding the first of the guests departing, rejoined the crowd only to say her farewells.
Returning directly home in the swaying carriage, she only just managed to gain her chamber before the inevitable overcame her.
Trencher, tipped off by Smythe, came rushing up to assist her. Finally, with wet cloths laid over her brow, Lenore lay, weak and exhausted, stretched out on her bed. It was nearly five o’clock. Soon, she would have to get up and commence the long process of dressing for the evening.