falling into a fitful sleep.
Chapter Six
Caroline looked so pale the next morning after her poor night’s sleep that she resorted to the rouge pot before going downstairs. She felt certain Dolmain would call in person, and did not want him to see how much he had hurt her. She chose a gold-and-green striped lutestring walking dress in the latest jet of fashion to give her confidence. She would behave with cool civility, and when he left, she would not spend her day hiding her head and repining as if she were guilty, but would go on the strut on New Bond Street.
The rouge gave her a touch of color, but nothing could give her an appetite. She did not even lift the lids of the hot dishes on the sideboard, but accepted a cup of coffee and sat, sipping it, waiting for Dolmain to come. Her note to him had given no details; she merely said she must see him urgently on a most important matter. If he assumed it had to do with the diamonds, that was his business.
He came at a quarter to nine, trying to suppress a smile of triumph. Caro assumed he had heard of her disgrace at Lady Brockley’s ball; he thought she was going to beg for his help. Who could have told him so soon? And why the deuce should he be smiling about it?
He bowed and came in, “Good morning, ma’am. I had your note. I see you are ready to act sensibly now, after last night’s fiasco.”
She greeted him with a cool “Good morning, Dolmain. Good of you to come,” and nodded him to a chair. He chose to sit not across from her, but beside her. “Who told you?” she asked, reining in her temper,
“I stopped in at Brockley’s around midnight and heard you had been frozen out. Everyone spoke of it. Naturally I squashed the rumor, to the best of my ability. It will be laid to rest for good and all when we are seen out together this evening.”
A dangerous spark glowed in her eyes. “You are too kind, but I did not invite you here to gloat, milord.”
“If that is the impression I gave, then I am sorry, but I did tell you — ”
“Don’t you dare say ‘I told you so,’ in that perfectly odious way,” she said angrily.
His lips drew together and his nostrils pinched in disdain. “Then perhaps you will be kind enough to tell me why I have been summoned here when I am really extraordinarily busy at the House.”
“I thought I ought to tell you your daughter was at the Pantheon last night and returned home in a carriage with a man, unaccompanied by a chaperon,” she said bluntly, purposely avoiding the kinder word, “gentleman.”
Dolmain’s color heightened from tan to a flushed rose. “Nonsense,” he said firmly. “You are mistaken. I might have known you had not the sense to go home, when you were snubbed by society, but only exacerbated the matter by running off to the disreputable Pantheon, to mingle with rakes and rattles and lightskirts.”
“And your daughter,” she added coldly.
“My daughter was not there, nor should you have been. Julian was always a deal too lax with you.”
She was on her feet, eyes shooting sparks. “I am surprised you think me out of place with lightskirts. And how dare you criticize my husband! He was not a toplofty bore like you, to be sure. He knew how to enjoy life. And for your information, I never attended the Pantheon when Julian was alive.”
Dolmain did not stand up, but put his hand on her arm and lightly pushed her back onto her chair. “Then it is strange you should go now. It is no fit place for anyone who calls herself a lady.”
“I agree it is not the thing, but if it was questionable for a lady of my years and experience to attend, accompanied by a trusted cousin, then you must own it was much worse for a debutante to be there with a man no one has ever heard of.”
“Helen attended a musical soiree last night with Miss Blanchard, her French instructress, who makes her home with us. The concert was in aid of the French émigrés. Helen interests herself in their cause,
Chapter Six
Caroline looked so pale the next morning after her poor night’s sleep that she resorted to the rouge pot before going downstairs. She felt certain Dolmain would call in person, and did not want him to see how much he had hurt her. She chose a gold-and-green striped lutestring walking dress in the latest jet of fashion to give her confidence. She would behave with cool civility, and when he left, she would not spend her day hiding her head and repining as if she were guilty, but would go on the strut on New Bond Street.
The rouge gave her a touch of color, but nothing could give her an appetite. She did not even lift the lids of the hot dishes on the sideboard, but accepted a cup of coffee and sat, sipping it, waiting for Dolmain to come. Her note to him had given no details; she merely said she must see him urgently on a most important matter. If he assumed it had to do with the diamonds, that was his business.
He came at a quarter to nine, trying to suppress a smile of triumph. Caro assumed he had heard of her disgrace at Lady Brockley’s ball; he thought she was going to beg for his help. Who could have told him so soon? And why the deuce should he be smiling about it?
He bowed and came in, “Good morning, ma’am. I had your note. I see you are ready to act sensibly now, after last night’s fiasco.”
She greeted him with a cool “Good morning, Dolmain. Good of you to come,” and nodded him to a chair. He chose to sit not across from her, but beside her. “Who told you?” she asked, reining in her temper,
“I stopped in at Brockley’s around midnight and heard you had been frozen out. Everyone spoke of it. Naturally I squashed the rumor, to the best of my ability. It will be laid to rest for good and all when we are seen out together this evening.”
A dangerous spark glowed in her eyes. “You are too kind, but I did not invite you here to gloat, milord.”
“If that is the impression I gave, then I am sorry, but I did tell you — ”
“Don’t you dare say ‘I told you so,’ in that perfectly odious way,” she said angrily.
His lips drew together and his nostrils pinched in disdain. “Then perhaps you will be kind enough to tell me why I have been summoned here when I am really extraordinarily busy at the House.”
“I thought I ought to tell you your daughter was at the Pantheon last night and returned home in a carriage with a man, unaccompanied by a chaperon,” she said bluntly, purposely avoiding the kinder word, “gentleman.”
Dolmain’s color heightened from tan to a flushed rose. “Nonsense,” he said firmly. “You are mistaken. I might have known you had not the sense to go home, when you were snubbed by society, but only exacerbated the matter by running off to the disreputable Pantheon, to mingle with rakes and rattles and lightskirts.”
“And your daughter,” she added coldly.
“My daughter was not there, nor should you have been. Julian was always a deal too lax with you.”
She was on her feet, eyes shooting sparks. “I am surprised you think me out of place with lightskirts. And how dare you criticize my husband! He was not a toplofty bore like you, to be sure. He knew how to enjoy life. And for your information, I never attended the Pantheon when Julian was alive.”
Dolmain did not stand up, but put his hand on her arm and lightly pushed her back onto her chair. “Then it is strange you should go now. It is no fit place for anyone who calls herself a lady.”
“I agree it is not the thing, but if it was questionable for a lady of my years and experience to attend, accompanied by a trusted cousin, then you must own it was much worse for a debutante to be there with a man no one has ever heard of.”
“Helen attended a musical soiree last night with Miss Blanchard, her French instructress, who makes her home with us. The concert was in aid of the French émigrés. Helen interests herself in their cause,
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