Chapter Seven
Lord Mountjoy agreed to accompany his wife and Valentine to her first formal party. “It would be expected of you, and you need not stay; you have only to put in an appearance and do the pretty for a little while,” Eliza told him.
“That’s all that will be possible, for I am busy. This war drags on, and although I am sure we shall fudge some kind of peace treaty with the French in due course, Bonaparte is not to be trusted, and we need to be prepared for new adventures against us on his part.”
Eliza looked concerned for a moment, then stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “That dreadful tyrant, how I hate the man,” she said. “Half an hour is all I ask of you. That will satisfy the Dantseys; I think they might take offence were you not to attend at all.”
She knew that Mountjoy wouldn’t mind in the least if Dantsey or anyone else took offence at what he did or didn’t do. She never told him so, not wishing to encourage his high-handed ways, but his indifference to public and private opinion and his dedication to his duty were traits she found altogether admirable.
For her first appearance in the polite world, Valentine wore one of her new dresses, pale-green satin with a gauze overdress. Long kid-leather gloves, a painted fan, and her pearls completed an elegant ensemble.
“She’ll make a stir,” Mountjoy commented to Eliza as Valentine came downstairs. “What fine pearls. Philip has certainly done her proud.”
As they climbed into the carriage and settled down for the short journey to the Dantseys’, Eliza thought Mountjoy was right. Valentine was too full of vitality, too tall, too assured to fit in well among all the demure debutantes in their pale muslins.
It was not a large party, this dance at the Dantseys, not a big formal ball. Still, everyone who was anyone was there, and as Valentine was announced and she shook Mrs. Dantsey’s hand, a ripple of interest ran around the pretty ballroom.
Introductions, more curtsies, more polite handshakes.
Valentine’s hand was quickly claimed for the first two dances by an agreeable young man in a striped coat, and she went on to the floor, ready for an evening of enjoyment. She loved to dance, and the beautiful ballroom in the Dantseys’ townhouse, with its candles and the scent of flowers, was entrancing. And she was startled by the elegance of the guests. She was used to seeing astonishing jewels adorning both men and women in India, but there was here a veneer of elegance and worldliness that she was quite unused to, and she found it fascinating.
Her training in Indian dance had given Valentine an unusual grace, and she attracted some attention and the compliments of her partner. “It’s a pleasure to dance with you, Miss Welburn. You are uncommonly light upon your feet. I shall have to take great care not to be a clumsy fellow and tread on your toes.”
She laughed back at him, saying she had no such fears.
Across the ballroom, a man of military bearing was eyeing her. He said suddenly to the young lady standing next to him, “Good God, do my eyes deceive me, or is that Miss Valentine Welburn? What the devil is she doing in London?”
Lady Amelia Northrop fluttered her fan. “Why should she not be in London, Sir Richard? Is she not Mountjoy’s niece or cousin or some such thing? Is she not the young lady about whom so much gossip has been flying around?”
“Oh, so she is the one who was taken to be Mountjoy’s chère amie, is she? The reason she should not be in London is that I last saw her in Calcutta and supposed her to be there still. She had quite a reputation, let me tell you, but she is possessed of an immense fortune, and in that uncivilised part of the world can get away with a great deal of extravagant behaviour that certainly won’t be tolerated in London.”
Lady Amelia was happy to hear this, for although she did not think this new debutante was particularly pretty, certainly not as pretty as she was, she was quick to notice that the men in the room seemed to find Miss Welburn attractive.
Sir Richard went on. “She is worth a hundred thousand pounds, and I expect her father has sent her to London to find a suitable husband; clearly no one in India came up to scratch. Perhaps they took fright, for she is not quite the decorous young lady that she appears. She was regarded as something of a hoyden—I believe she was seen to ride astride, and she was on terms of great familiarity with some of the nobs and maharajahs, which was not considered seemly. But she was brought up strangely and spent time upcountry with her father.”
“Then she will be out of place here,” Lady Amelia said with satisfaction.
Lord Marbeck was talking to Lady Mountjoy, and they were looking in Valentine’s direction. Discussing her? That vexed her. She had found Lord Marbeck overbearing on her arrival, but she would have be civil; she must smile and pretend she had quite forgotten their first encounter. Now they were coming over to her. She had to admit that Marbeck had a fine figure, well suited by his severe evening dress, and certainly now, when he wasn’t frowning, a handsome countenance. Then he was at her side, taller than she remembered, smiling down at her, and again there was that glint of humour in his eyes.
Lady Mountjoy said, “Lord Marbeck wishes to be reacquainted with you, Valentine, although an introduction is not needed, for I understand you met at the port when you arrived from India.”
“We did indeed.”
Lord Marbeck said, amusement in his voice, “I’m afraid Miss Welburn did not welcome my company on that day.”
Lady Mountjoy said, “I was very shocked when I heard what you planned to do, Valentine, for while most of the hackney cab drivers are perfectly respectable people, a young lady in your situation, with a bandbox, just arrived from India, a stranger to the country and city, must be considered a target for theft at the very least, even if you were offered no violence.” Then another thought occurred to her, and she said, almost sharply, “Valentine, where were your jewels at that time?”
Valentine said airily, “I had them with me. I would not leave them in my other boxes.”
Eliza closed her eyes, and had she not been in company she would have shuddered. She turned to Lord Marbeck and said, “You must understand that Miss Welburn has brought some exceptional jewels with her from India, and the thought of her climbing into a hackney cab with those stones makes me feel quite faint. She could have had her throat cut for a fraction of the value of those jewels. I am therefore particularly obliged to you, Lord Marbeck, for taking the trouble to escort her to Mountjoy House.”
Valentine said, “Since the driver had no idea I had my jewels discreetly tucked away about my person, I do not see that there was any real danger. However, I realize I sound ungracious, and so I thank you, Lord Marbeck.”
He bowed. “As I promised, I called upon you, but was told that you were not receiving visitors.”
“That was upon my instructions,” Lady Mountjoy said. “I felt it was necessary for Miss Welburn to rest after her tiring voyage.”
Valentine said instantly, “Lady Mountjoy is being polite, Lord Marbeck. The truth is that I looked such a fright—as you yourself commented—that she did not dare show me to polite society until I had been tidied up and was properly dressed and ready to receive visitors without sending them into fits of laughter or disapproval.”
“In which case, I hope that next time I do myself the honour of calling upon you, you will be at home,” Lord Marbeck said. “Meanwhile, may I now have the honour of your hand for these next dances?”
Valentine didn’t want to dance with him; she found him disturbing, and she did not like the sensation of being laughed at. Her father laughed at her, and she knew that it did her good not to take herself too seriously. That was different. She didn’t care that a man who was, after all, a perfect stranger, should find her a source of amusement. However, Lady Mountjoy’s eye was upon her, so she took the proffered hand and allowed herself to be led into the dance.
Lord Marbeck proved an accomplished dancer, and Valentine’s love of dancing, her sense of pleasure in the music and the lively company all around her, banished her crossness. She found herself able to converse perfectly reasonably when they were going down the dance together.
A stately dowager standing near Lady Mountjoy commented on what a fine couple they made, and what a delight it was to watch them. “I like to see a young lady who dances well. I can’t be doing with these girls who have to mind their steps all the time. Miss Welburn is under your care, I believe? Mountjoy’s goddaughter? I thought all the talk about him bringing a mistress home was so much nonsense. Mountjoy has his faults, but vulgar behaviour has never been one of them.” She nodded her turban and moved away.
Eliza was used to her and thought nothing of these brusque manners, but she watched Valentine and Lord Marbeck with approval. She, too, thought they made a good couple, and she said so to Mountjoy, who had come to take his leave of her.
“Matchmaking, my love? Marbeck has everything to recommend him, but the word is that he intends to marry Lady Amelia. He’s a fool if he does, for she will grow into a shrew like her mother. However, each man must follow his own fate and destiny. Not everyone,” he added, giving his wife a look of the warmest affection, “can be as fortunate in his wife as I am.”
Eliza pursed her lips. She did not care for Lady Amelia Northrop, a scheming young lady with not half Valentine’s character and spirit. Lord Marbeck should have a care if he was looking in that direction for a wife.