They stayed out longer than she had intended so that Lady Pamela did eventually see the lake and its surroundings in all the magic of the darkness and lantern light. And the orchestra were tuning their instruments inside the pavilion, with its doors thrown open so that the music wafted over the water.
Several of the guests who had not been invited to the banquet began to arrive, and the child’s eyes grew round at the splendor of the ladies’ gowns and the gentlemen’s evening coats, and at the jewels that glittered in the many colors of the lanterns.
And finally, when they were already on their way back to the house, the banquet guests were coming along the terrace all together in a group. Fleur drew Lady Pamela into the shade of a tree.
“We will look, sweetheart,” she said. “Don’t say anything. Perhaps Mama will be upset to see you outside in the dark.”
But she need not have worried. The child seemed quite content to be a silent spectator. She watched in wonder as her mother passed on the arm of a gentleman, laughing and sparkling up at him. The duke was farther back in the group, a lady on his arm.
“Ooh,” the child said. “Mama is the prettiest lady. Isn’t she, Miss Hamilton? She is the prettiest lady of all.”
“Yes, she is, indeed,” Fleur said. And she felt that she did not lie.
The child was noticeably tired by the time they arrived back at the nursery and was quite content to give herself over to her nurse’s fussing.
Fleur hurried to her room to change into her best dress—a plain blue muslin, which she had thought something of an extravagance when spending the money Mr. Houghton had given her in London. Now it seemed very ordinary indeed in comparison with the gowns she had seen outside.
But it did not matter. She was, after all, only a servant. And nothing could quite quench her excitement this evening. She dressed her hair carefully, the knot at the back of her head a little looser than usual, a few strands of hair allowed to fall over her ears and along her neck.
She felt as nervous as a girl must feel at her come-out ball, she was convinced as she hurried down the stairs and across the hall and outdoors. There were light and music and laughter coming from the direction of the lake. Of course, she had never had a come-out ball.
IF THEY COULD HAVE PLANNED the weather as meticulously as all the other details of the evening had been planned, the Duke of Ridgeway thought, they could hardly have done better. Even as the night wore on, there was still a suggestion of warmth in the air, though the basic coolness was, of course, perfect for those who danced every set. And the breeze was only enough to sway the lanterns in the trees and flutter silks attractively and cool heated cheeks without in any way endangering the elaborate coiffures of the ladies.
He had always enjoyed the more elaborate of the entertainments that Willoughby was famous for. And this was no exception. It was true that he had found the conversation of his guests through much of the day somewhat insipid, but then, tonight all his neighbors were present too. And he had always made a point of being friendly with his neighbors.
He danced the opening set with his wife, who was easily the most lovely of all the ladies present, he thought entirely without bias. She had realized, of course, that a gown of sheer white silk and lace would pick up the colors of the lanterns and would sparkle in the breeze. Sybil always dressed for maximum effect.
He danced with some of his guests and some of his neighbors, and talked with several of the men. He allowed Lady Underwood to persuade him, when he had asked her to dance, to row her across to the island instead and stroll past the pavilion and among the trees, as some of the other guests were doing. He resisted her very open hints that he kiss her among the trees.
And he watched his servants dance and help themselves to refreshments and generally enjoy themselves. He made a point of speaking to as many of them as possible.
He stayed away from Fleur Hamilton. She was looking extremely lovely, the simplicity of her dress and hair succeeding only in making all the other ladies look overdressed. Her hair glowed golden in the light of the lanterns.
And if his wife sparkled, then Fleur glowed as she danced with Houghton, with the vicar, with Ned Driscoll, with Chesterton, with Shaw, and with Chamberlain—twice.
He would stay away from her, the duke decided, for if he had learned one thing about her since his return to Willoughby, it was that she feared him and was repulsed by him. And her feelings were understandable. Only he could expose her for what she had been on one brief occasion. And her memories of that occasion and of the part he had played in it must be less than pleasant for her, to say the least.
He strolled to the tables to talk with Duncan Chamberlain during one break in the dancing. They had never been close friends as boys, as Chamberlain was almost ten years his senior. But they had become friends in later years, particularly since his own return from Belgium.