Page 87 of Henrietta

For the ton had had its head turned by the particular interest of one of its foreign nobles in the young lady they had long ago dismissed. And, attention caught, it had seen that Miss Clithero was, indeed, looking very well at the moment – of course, one could not forget she was worth a great, great deal of money. Eighty thousand pounds, was the sum being whispered by mercenary mamas, in the ears of sons, and so in demand was her hand that she hardly had a chance to sit down, before supper was being called – providing a welcome respite for all of the Allertons, none of whom were long absent from the dance floor.

Indeed, Timothy felt that he must, indeed, have guaranteed his place in heaven by the number of disagreeable persons he had led on to the floor.

‘Should think after allowing Lady Beaufort to pinch my cheek in such a way, old St Peter will wave me on through,’ he expounded to Mr Hargan and Corky as they made their way to the supper room.

If he was expectant of being complimented on his conduct he was to be disappointed. ‘Don’t let yourself be turned into a dull dog!’ Corky advised. ‘We did not see you at Cribb’s Parlour last night, I notice.’

‘Cribb’s.’ Timothy was rather disgusted. ‘No, I dare say you did not. I do not have time for such things now. I have far too much business to attend to – the family has quite come to rely on me, you know.’

Mr Hargan made vague noises of admiration. Timothy looked expectantly at Corky. ‘You know,’ Corky began slowly, ‘these past months, my father has begun involving me closely in family business. He says I have a good head for it.’

Timothy turned to view him with a gimlet stare. ‘What a coincidence,’ he said flatly.

‘It isn’t,’ Corky objected. ‘In fact, I have long been very involved in family business.’

‘You just said you had only begun these past months!’

‘I did not wish to make you feel inadequate,’ Corky explained. ‘But, indeed, I think it commendable, Timothy! If I can be of any assistance in the matter, you let me know, old thing.’

Timothy glared, at him, so outraged that he could not, for a moment, speak. Then, recollecting himself, he let out a careless sort of laugh. ‘Oh, Corky!’ Feeling that the laugh had been quite a good one, he repeated it. ‘What a jester you are – as if I would ever need to consult you!’

‘Perhaps’, Mr Hargan suggested, ‘we ought to find our seats.’

Messrs Corcott and Allerton agreed, rather coldly, departing from one another with the simultaneous determination – if not any real idea of how to bring the thing about – to become the most quintessential man of business there could ever be. Hargan, sighing, felt only intense relief that he was not to be seated near either of his friends.

Dinner, however, proved only a momentary respite, for the Tsar – despite the decadence of the meal – was too eager to restart the dancing to linger long, and where he went, the rest followed.

French cotillions and figures, English and Scotch country dances, waltzes, minuets or reels: none were omitted, and Hetty found herself dancing them all.

‘Did I not tell you it would be so?’ Nicolet said smugly when it was time for his dance an hour or so later. ‘Now, you might have the pick of the pack – any one of them!’

‘If only it were that easy.’ Hetty tried to keep her voice light. ‘I’m afraid I do not want just anyone, Nicolet.’

‘Is Allerton truly so unique?’ Nicolet demanded in exasperation. ‘I admire the fellow, certainly, wears a coat beautifully, but so do a lot of fellows!’

This time, Hetty did not have to force her levity: she laughed, a carefree sort of sound, and it was the observation of many, standing on the sidelines, that it became her very well – including Arthur, who was still watching. Only Trixie, drawing alongside him at that moment, noted that the view did not seem to afford him any particular pleasure. There was no smile upon his face but rather a strange, searching expression – as if there were some question upon his mind that could only be answered by Hetty’s countenance.

They did not return home until early the following morning. Only a month earlier, and Hetty would have said the idea of dancing all night with gentlemen relatively unknown to her would have been impossible – and look at her now. It was a far cry from where she had begun. And though she would have given almost anything – certainly every penny of her fortune – for Arthur to have returned her feelings, at least now … now she knew he did not and would not, and would never do so.

She smiled up at him. The flame of the candle reflected in her eyes. ‘Goodnight.’

‘Sleep well,’ he said, and she did, better than she had in days, while – down the hall, ten doors down – Arthur was wide awake.

A floor up from him, so too was Trixie; though the sun was beaming in, she was sitting on her window seat, and not in her bed. One did not like to overstate one’s own importance, of course, but it seemed to her very clear that the happiness of her entire family now rested solely in her hands.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

AFTER the celebrations of the night before, and his disordered sleep, Arthur would have preferred a more leisurely start to the day, but he was awoken abruptly by the sound of almost a dozen tradesmen’s carts arriving outside. It was the day of the grand ball, and the house was already in tumult. Descending rather blearily downstairs, he found the footmen busy moving furniture and polishing the chandeliers, maids walking past bearing armfuls of crockery, while innumerable supplementary errand boys brought in case after case of refreshments ordered from Gunter’s to hand to their overtaxed cook – all of it overseen by Lady Allerton and Timothy, who was currently using his quizzing glass to inspect the crystal ware.

‘Good Lord,’ Arthur said, rather dazed.

‘Quite the sight, isn’t it?’ agreed Hetty, appearing next to him. She was wearing a severely cut habit of black cloth, with a curling feather that kept falling into her eyes. He had an absurd desire to push it out of her eyes for her, and pressed his hands firmly to his sides.

‘I am meeting Mrs Morgan in Hyde Park. Would you care to join us?’ she said. ‘I’ll wait for you, if you need time.’

‘Will you?’ he said, rather hoarsely. Then he continued, hurriedly, ‘No, I – I mustn’t. I cannot, in fact, for I have a great deal of work to do.’

He backed away, and found refuge – as so many do – in work. There were letters to attend to, numbers, bills – he felt he understood, now, why his father had preferred to do all his own bookkeeping. There was something rather soothing about tallying everything up, and double- and triple-checking his sums – as if he were bringing the world into some semblance of order. After that, he read his latest correspondence from Mr Holland, confirming the repairs which would go ahead next month, and a letter from Thimbleby, reporting that his enquiry to the buyer of the deer park as to the likelihood of building a factory upon the land – Trixie’s suggestion, however ridiculous, had stayed with him – had been answered by the assurance that the buyer faithfully promised that ‘no such industry, woollen or otherwise, would be taking place there’.