The ball! After the excitement of the night, she had quite forgotten it!
"Now I appear to have put you at sixes and sevens again," Greville murmured.
She blushed, and reached for another slice of toast, which she buttered with more care this time. Chloe was so impatient to commence the shopping expedition that she called for Megan at half past nine, which was rather earlier than agreed. Megan had been just about to write her secret letter, but had to abandon it to hurry upstairs for her new dark green cloak.
A bright buttercup-yellow pelisse trimmed with white fur was Chloe's choice today, and it was very cheerful and sunny when the skies were so cloudy. Megan felt quite dull beside her as they walked down the Steine past the Marine Pavilion, outside which the German band was once again playing carols. A small crowd had gathered to listen, and a woman roasting chestnuts on a brazier was not short of business. With only five days to go till Christmas, the spirit of the season was almost tangible. Children's faces shone with excitement, and among the adults there was a liberal sprinkling of footmen carrying an assortment of presents from various fashionable emporiums.
Megan and Chloe passed the Castle Inn on the corner into Castle Square, where Oliver's lodgings stood next to a silk warehouse. Megan saw the name Duchess Place above the fanlight of the door, and commented upon it.
"Isn't that where Mr. March has rooms?"
Chloe nodded. "Yes, and very tolerable they are too." She blushed then. "I-I only know what they are like because Papa visited Lord Palmerston there about five years ago. They are most comfortable and well appointed for two and a half guineas a week."
"Mr. March is a very fortunate gentleman to have found favor with you," Megan said.
"It is most kind of you to say so, Miss Mortimer."
Megan wondered how far she could go. "It is the truth, Miss Holcroft. It is also the truth that Lord Rupert is heartbroken."
Chloe halted. "Lord Rupert has only himself to blame."
"Yes, he says that too."
Chloe eyed her suspiciously. "Has he primed you to sing his praises?"
"No, I primed myself," Megan replied honestly.
Chloe's lips parted, then she went off into peals of laughter. "You are incorrigible, Miss Mortimer!"
Megan smiled too, and pressed on now that she had started. "I know it is not my place to say so, Miss Holcroft, but I do not like Mr. March at all."
Chloe searched her face. "Papa does not like him either, nor does Lady Evangeline; indeed, I think I am his only admirer, but then to me he has been all that is attentive and chivalrous."
"Maybe, but Lord Rupert is in love with you, Miss Holcroft."
"Is he?" Chloe recalled how Rupert had fussed around his aunt's companion the evening before.
Megan read her thoughts. "Miss Holcroft, if his lordship paid attention to me last night, it was only to make you jealous."
Chloe smiled sheepishly. "Yes, I suppose I know it really." She played with the strings of her reticule. "I'm afraid I find it very hard to forgive him for turning me down as he did. I sobbed for weeks on account of it, and I have no intention of letting him hurt me again."
"He would never hurt you again," Megan replied.
"Maybe. Anyway, it will not arise, because I intend to accept Mr. March."
Megan gazed at her in dismay. "He has asked for your hand?"
Chloe gave her a slightly wicked look. "Not yet, but he is on the point of it."
"Miss Holcroft, do you feel the same way toward Mr. March that you did toward Lord Rupert?"
Chloe lowered her eyes, and didn't reply.
Megan feared she had gone too far. "I-I should not say any of this, Miss Holcroft, for it isn't right that a companion should presume."
"Oh, but I like talking to you, Miss Mortimer," Chloe said, putting a reassuring hand over hers. "Besides, it gives me the excuse to quiz you."
"Me? What about?" Megan was startled.
"Why, Sir Greville of course."
Megan drew back. "But he and I are barely acquainted."
"That is not how it seemed to me at Donaldson's yesterday," Chloe replied. "I saw how tenderly he took your hand and drew it over his arm. I could scarce believe my eyes, for you are a companion, and I know how he has always felt about-" She broke off in embarrassment. "Forgive me, I-I didn't mean to offend you…"
"I am not offended, Miss Holcroft, for he has left me in no doubt as to his opinion on that score. Please believe me when I say that at the library yesterday, his sole purpose was to deter Lady Garsington," Megan pointed out.
"On account of Sybil?"
"Yes."
"And that is all?"
"Of course." But Megan flushed as she remembered her reaction to him at breakfast.
"How becomingly pink you have gone, to be sure," Chloe observed dryly.
"Only because I am dismayed at what you think."
Chloe raised an eyebrow. "Hmm. Well, I stand firm, for I know there is something going on, and that it is very much to do with you. To begin with, you appear to be the reason why Lady Evangeline curtailed her stay in Bath to return here, and for a companion you are really clothed rather well, don't you agree? Please do not misunderstand, for I do not mean to be rude in any way, I am just making the observation. And now Sir Greville and Lord Rupert have arrived as well, and the former not only singled you out most particularly yesterday, but is to partner you tonight at the ball. If they attend such an occasion at all, companions usually sit meekly on the sidelines, they are certainly not escorted by one of England's most eligible gentlemen. I smell a mystery of some kind, Miss Mortimer, and I am not easily put off a scent."
"There is no mystery," Megan said, but she couldn't help recalling the odd interview in the Wells lodging house, when Evangeline had asked her some very strange questions. And since then there was no denying that this particular new employee had been treated very generously and considerately indeed. First the blue chamber, then joining the family for meals, then the clothes from Mrs. Fiske's, and now tonight's Christmas bal masque at the Old Ship. Chloe was right, there had to be a mystery of some kind. But what could it be? What possible reason could Lady Evangeline Radcliffe have for seeking her out?
Chapter 20
Chloe smiled at the various expressions crossing Megan's face. "I would give a penny for your thoughts right now, Miss Mortimer."
"They are not worth a penny," Megan replied. "Miss Holcroft, I am only Lady Evangeline's companion, I swear it."
"If you say so, if you say so," Chloe murmured dryly. "Anyway, enough of this, for we have shops to visit."
To Megan's relief the subject was dropped, and they embarked upon a very agreeable hour of browsing through the narrow alleys of shops in the old quarter. After that they spent another hour at a rather exclusive haberdashery in Ship Street, where they chose masks and hair ornaments for the ball. Chloe's purchases were lavish, of course: a silver-sequined mask, and for her hair a French star ornament adorned with bright blue rhinestones to match her evening gown. Megan settled for a small black velvet mask and a plain mother-of-pearl comb.
It was almost midday as they walked down Ship Street, near the end of which stood the Old Ship. The hotel was one of the two most important establishments in the town, the other being the Castle Inn, and it boasted sixty-eight bedrooms, although only eight looked toward the sea because a southern frontage had just been acquired in the past few years. It was to the splendid assembly rooms at the northern end of the building that Megan and Chloe repaired, intending to see what preparations were in hand for the ball.
Two liveried footmen guarded the main door, but opened them immediately when one of them recognized Chloe. Inside everything was wonderfully decorated with greenery, ribbons, and flowers, and the many chandeliers looked as if they had been freshly cleaned for the occasion. As well as the chandeliers, there were wall sconces containing slender scarlet candles and floor-standing candelabra, which together with the chandeliers would make the rooms dazzling come nightfall. Crystal droplets chinked daintily in the draft from the street as the door was closed again, and then there was the seasonal scent of cinnamon and other spices from potpourri bowls in hearths where coal fires glowed.