Lady Hathaway's House Party by Joan Smith Page A

Sloanes, who discreetly refrained from speaking of accidental meetings and reconciliations, and she passed the time till it was the hour to dress for dinner pleasantly with them. She didn’t give Arnold a thought till she was in her room changing, but then she wondered where he had been, and was just a little grateful that he hadn’t been in the saloon, trailing around after her with Oliver watching him.
    Strange that Oliver had taken him in such strong dislike. He hadn’t used to mind it in London if she had a puppy sitting at her feet. He had been wonderfully tolerant. If he voiced any complaint at all, it was that she had served her admirer the wrong beverage, or had worn a dress that was not stylish enough.
    She thought he would have no complaint of her gown this evening. She made her toilette with even more care than she had intended, and she had not planned being a dowd in her first public appearance since her estrangement. Her marriage gowns had been left in London at Avondale House, but since removing to Easthill with her father she had continued wearing the more modish fashions discovered in London. She had found in Amesbury a woman capable of making her up the styles she now favored, and wore on this occasion an ensemble adapted from La Belle Assemblée by herself—a dark-green silk underdress covered over with ecru lace. It was straight-cut, almost of a widowish severity, but on a young lady it appeared sophisticated rather than austere. That was one trick she had learned from Lady Hasborough. “Don’t be afraid to tackle matron’s gowns, Belle. They look like the deuce on us matrons, but lend you young girls a bit of chic.”
    She had simplified her hairstyle too. Her curls were no longer worn loose, but bound back to make her look older, and at her ears she wore the pearl ear drops her father had given her for her birthday. They bounced and jiggled playfully at every movement of the head, counteracting the severity of the hairdo. She knew she looked well as she revolved in front of her mirror, and smiled at how differently she appeared from the little quiz that had invaded London a year ago.
    The change was not only on the surface, either. She was on to them now. Their superficial good nature and friendliness covered a wicked malice. Not all of them, of course. The Delford set was not like that, nor was Kay, but Liz Dempster and her crew, and it was a large one, were all bent on making mischief, making a scandal to have something to talk about. Their whole life was devoted to it. They wanted to cut everyone down to their own insignificant size. They must be bitterly unhappy, to want to see everyone else miserable too. And she had been like a newborn chicken to that gathering of hawks. They had made short shrift of her.
    She went downstairs with her head high, ear drops dancing against her cheeks to remind her she was sophisticated. She needed the reminder, for she felt very much like Miss Anderson, with her insides quaking at her first ball. She was greatly relieved to find Arnold lingering at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for her. There were a few others loitering about the hall and entrance to the green saloon as well, but it was to Arnold she walked straightaway, smiling to see him there to protect her. Having stationed himself within view of the grand staircase, Avondale saw both her descent and her reception by Henderson, and was on his feet in a flash. Kay, with her ears pricked for trouble, had seen it too, and was after him like a shot.
    “Oh, Oliver,” she said, drawing up to him, then she lowered her voice for her message. “Lady Dempster is positively goggling to see what you will do. Do act with a little discretion, my dear.”
    “Yes, Kay, I’ll take him outside to murder him. Don’t worry I plan to spill blood on your nice carpet.”
    “Nor on my nice lawn either, if you please.” She laughed a merry laugh that hid her terror pretty well. “Get Mrs. Ponsonby a glass of wine, will