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36

Bianca was surprised, not in a pleasant fashion, when she arrived back at Sabrina’s house after a more than usually trying painting session in Brook Street to be informed that Lady Deborah Townshend had called while she was out and was still closeted with Mrs Da Costa in her sitting room. Hiding apparently wasn’t an option, nor running away, attractive though the idea was. Instead, she hurried upstairs to change into one of her more respectable gowns, wondering what they could possibly be talking about apart from her and her private business, and was back in a few moments, opening the door with a ridiculous sense of nervousness.

Her sister and Xan’s aunt were sitting with their heads together, deeply engaged in conversation. They broke off as she entered, and both smiled brightly at her in a manner she could only consider to be most suspicious. ‘Lady Deborah,’ she said with fair composure, curtseying. ‘How good of you to call. I am sorry I was not here – I was at Mrs Arbuthnot’s, of course.’ Bianca could not doubt that this woman knew exactly what time she generally went to Brook Street – were the horrid brats not her own grandchildren? – and had timed her visit here accordingly.

‘I came on purpose to have a little time alone with your sister before you should return home,’ Lady Deborah said shamelessly. ‘I thought it would be wise to be sure of Mrs Da Costa’s cooperation in my little scheme before I spoke to you about it. I have recently become aware that Lettice Wellbeloved is spreading ridiculous rumours about you and my nephew, and I am determined to do all I can to nip them in the bud. The audacity of the woman! She is staying in my own daughter’s house, uninvited, I make no doubt, and using it as a base to rampage around London casting slurs upon Fairmount, by extension the Challender family, and on you. I promise you both, I will not stand for it! I have already written to my daughter’s mother-in-law, that poor creature Eliza Arbuthnot, whose behaviour disappoints me but does not surprise me in the least, telling her – asking her, but I assure you I left her with no choice in the matter – to return home from Derbyshire immediately and take her friend in hand. But before she does, she is to write to the Wellbeloved woman and tell her that she will be obliged to move out of Brook Street directly and find other accommodations.’

‘Why – how?’ asked Bianca feebly. Sabrina had poured her some tea during Lady Deborah’s tirade, and she drank it thirstily.

‘She is to say that her own house is infested with vermin – I care not with what, being no expert in the matter; I leave that to her – and uninhabitable for the rest of the Season. She, therefore, will need to stay at Brook Street with her son, along with all her displaced household, to supervise the fumigation and cleaning, and there will naturally be no room for Lettice, who will be obliged to move to an hotel within days. Let us see how she likes paying the extortionate charges of the Clarendon or Grillon’s, and let us see also how they deal with her vicious monkey and its antics. My daughter will be delighted, and my son-in-law, whom I have already informed of these facts because I happened to bump into him on Bond Street this morning, had tears standing in his eyes as he thanked me. I thought for a moment he was going to embrace me, there in the public street, and weep upon my shoulder. Those bites will leave scars, in my opinion, and so I told him.’

‘That’s all very well, ma’am,’ Bianca said slowly. ‘No doubt it will hasten Lady Wellbeloved’s return to Venice, or at least drive her from London – I have never heard that she is very wealthy, so the extravagant hotel costs will be most unwelcome to her – but is not the damage already there, as far as Lord Fairmount’s name, and perhaps also mine, is concerned? I don’t see what is to be done about that now.’

Miss Constantine was doing her best not to mention her fictional cousin in front of Sabrina, and could only hope that Lady Deborah had not done so either, because Sabrina, easy-going as she was, must be perfectly well aware that they did not have an Italian cousin called Bianca Rossi, and might easily say so, with consequences she did not care to contemplate.

Lady Deborah was undeterred. ‘No, I don’t agree at all. Something can always be done, with a little resolution. And that is what I came to say. Mrs Da Costa has told me that she does not care to go into society, especially not soon after giving birth – for which I can scarcely blame her on either count – but she assures me that the Duchess feels quite differently, and of course, for my purposes, someone of her standing is exactly what I need. So I will be writing to invite her and her husband, if he cares to come, to attend my box at the opera, with you, next week, and Fairmount will also be there, of course. It is a premiere of a new work by Rossini, I understand, and in Italian, naturally, so that you at least will understand it even if we don’t.’

‘How cosy you will all be,’ Sabrina murmured mischievously. ‘I hope it won’t be a very warm evening. It’s a long time since I’ve been to the opera – Laurence does not care greatly for it, and nor do I, really; I recall that the chairs are so uncomfortable – but remind me, how many seats are there in a box?’

‘Room can always be made,’ Lady Deborah replied magnificently. ‘But I don’t suppose Ventris will join us, and it is by no means necessary that he does. I hope, though, that he will attend my niece Priscilla’s coming-out ball, along with his wife, the week after. He, she and you, Miss Constantine, will also be invited to the dinner beforehand, with my nephew, naturally, and people will take good note of the fact, I assure you.’

Bianca was almost speechless for once. ‘But ma’am,’ she managed at last, ‘this plan of yours flies in the face of all reason. I do not see how anybody will look at me, suddenly spending so much time in Lord Fairmount’s company, so publicly, and believe that the rumours about us cannot possibly be true. Surely they are much more likely to believe precisely the opposite!’

‘I did say that myself, quite a while ago,’ put in Sabrina, who appeared to be enjoying herself excessively, all the more because nobody was trying to force her to go to operas and balls and make a public spectacle of herself.

‘That is wrong, I think. If you were together, alone, engaged in some sort of clandestine meetings, no doubt you would be correct. But reflect for a moment and you will see that I am right. If you are always seen in the company of distinguished members of your families – both your families – that is to say the Duchess, the Duke and myself, then people will come to realise that the scurrilous rumours can’t possibly be true, and that we are uniting, out in the open, to face them down. Whereas if you hide away and avoid each other, as Fairmount wishes and no doubt you do too, the gossip will grow to fill the space you give it, and never be properly extinguished.’

Lady Deborah took a restorative sip of what must be cold tea by now, and went on, ‘Of course, Fairmount is a great catch and should be thinking about marrying again, for the family’s sake, for Dawbney’s, and for his own, and once people see him socialising in feminine company, really for the first time ever because he married so young and buried himself in the country afterwards, they will start wondering about that instead, and forget any scandal. You will be looked at as a possible bride, among others, and what you do with that idea, my dear girl, is entirely up to you. In my experience, if a clever young woman decides she wants to marry a man, that man can have surprisingly little say in the matter.’

Bianca might have imagined that this nightmarish interview could scarcely get any worse, but clearly she had been disastrously wrong. ‘I have no desire to marry Lord Fairmount, or anybody,’ she blurted out desperately. ‘Least of all to manipulate him into doing so somehow. Not that that would even be possible. And am sure he has not the least desire to marry me. We are barely acquainted, and I am not a debutante or a young lady of fashion…’

‘That is a private matter for you and you alone,’ said Lady Deborah, rising abruptly to her feet, so that the sisters were obliged to do so also. ‘But a trip to the opera and to a ball will not commit you to anything, and may do a great deal of good instead. Perhaps you will even enjoy yourself; stranger things have happened. I shall let you know the day, and take you up in my carriage – the Fairmount coach, that is to say – on both occasions. Thank you for the tea, Mrs Da Costa, and the excellent cake. I feel that we understand each other well, and I know from what I have seen of you this afternoon that I can rely on you to advise your sister sensibly.’ And she swept out.

Sabrina was grinning wickedly as the door closed. ‘Well, that was highly interesting! Of course, you can be sure that I did not tell Lady Deborah that I have not the least idea who this scandalous cousin of ours who resembles you so much is supposed to be. And no wonder I don’t. She doesn’t actually exist, does she? It was you all along, and the naughty rumours are all true. I must say I am shocked, excessively shocked. And a little jealous. Shall I call for more tea while you tell me all about it, or would ratafia be more appropriate in the circumstances?’

Bianca had sunk back into her seat and now sat with her face in her hands, which somewhat muffled her reply. ‘Ratafia, definitely. Lots of it. Get them to leave the bottle.’

37

Xan supposed he should be grateful that his aunt hadn’t invited Bianca and her sister to dinner with them before the opera, so he hadn’t to spend even more time in her company, and watching her eating, too, which had in the past been known to have an unfortunate effect on him. But that would have been pointless, after all, because the purpose of the evening was public display, not private contact. He gathered that the Duchess had instead dined with the Da Costa family, because when his carriage drove around to pick up Miss Constantine, not one but two women in evening clothes descended the steps and were helped up into the vehicle.

This meant, of course, that the younger lady was obliged to sit next to him, their backs to the horses, while the Duchess took the position of honour beside Lady Deborah. The coach was not especially small; they were not pressed together thigh to thigh. There were several inches of space between them. But it was shadowy inside, he could smell her familiar scent in the semi-darkness, he would have been able to sense her presence even if he had been blindfolded, and if they had been alone…

Thank God they were not alone. Despite everything, despite all her lies and all his lingering anger and hurt, despite the nightmare that his life had become, he feared that he would have dropped to the floor and laid his head in her lap, and from there… The King’s Theatre in the Haymarket was definitely not a long enough journey for all he would like to do to her and with her in such a private space. Probably Dover wasn’t, or Paris. If there was casual conversation in the carriage, he didn’t hear it or take part in it. He was too transfixed by Bianca’s proximity; he could not engage in casual platitudes.

He climbed out first and helped the ladies down, Bianca last. She was obliged to put her hand on his to steady herself, though he knew she didn’t want to. A brief contact, through his gloves and hers, but it reminded him of so many others, and of much more intimate touches. Of her bare skin. Good God, would he never be free of this obsession, and the pain of it?

There was what he understood to be the usual crush on entering the building – he was not a regular opera-goer by any means – and he didn’t encounter anyone he knew or speak to anyone, but he heard, or fancied he heard, a growing buzz of interest, passed from person to person as they saw his group and digested the import of their presence. Her Grace the Duchess of Ventris – Lady Deborah Townshend – her reclusive nephew Fairmount – the Duchess’s unmarried sister. A most unusual little party, two families that were not known to be close, an eligible earl who did not generally mix in society, and always that titillating piece of gossip that everyone had no doubt heard by now. What did it mean? Was it more deliciously enjoyable scandal, or the opposite? He gritted his teeth and looked straight ahead, catching no one’s eye.

When they reached the box and took their seats, Xan could hardly be surprised that he had Miss Constantine on one side, and nobody on the other. Beyond her was her sister, and beyond her, Lady Deborah. He didn’t imagine for a moment that Bianca had designed this placement; it was either the operation of malign fate, or his aunt’s deliberate doing. Admittedly, it was quite often difficult to tell one from the other, such was the nature of his existence at the moment.

And now they really were almost touching. Her skirt was brushing his leg, her bare shoulder was very close to his. She was more finely dressed than he had ever seen her, and her evening gown of deep indigo trimmed with jewelled embroidery was lower cut, as was the fashion for formal wear. What part of her breasts it covered, he could quite easily imagine for himself. He could remember. If he lived to be ninety, if he forgot his own name, he would surely still remember. He had kissed them, hard and fast, long and slow, he had held them in both hands and worshipped at his leisure. Once he had caused her to come just…

‘Stop it!’ she hissed. ‘You’re openly devouring me with your eyes, and you must not. This farce we’ve been dragged into is meant to scotch the rumours, not encourage them!’ Bianca was smiling as she spoke, a fixed, social sort of a smile such as he had never seen on her face before. She had a necklace of antique glass beads about her lovely neck, which he thought she must have bought in Venice. Everything went back to Venice, and probably always would.

‘To be so close to you and not touch you is more than I can endure,’ he said, disdaining pretence, at least with her, his tone and his expression as neutral and conversational as he could make them, in stark contrast to his words.

‘Well, you shall have to endure it!’ she shot back. And then very low, ‘As shall I…’