Part 13 (2/2)
Kesseley walked over to the mirror and looked at himself, then the picture. He had never really compared himself to another man. His face was leaner, his jaw squarer, everything harder than the rosebud-lipped fop in the picture. He took his brush and tried to subdue his curls into poetic windblown locks. It didn't work. His hair only stuck together like a big brown bush.
Baggot spit twice in his hand and reached for Kesseley's hair. Kesseley recoiled. ”Don't you dare put your spit in my hair!”
”That's how 'em girls make curls.”
Kesseley licked his finger and wound a curl about it. Weren't ladies clever! It made a pretty little ringlet, like a pigtail on his forehead. ”Ain't it dandy!” He made a row of little curls across his forehead.
”I picked out these nice clothes for you,” Baggot said.
Kesseley looked closely at the s.h.i.+rt. It had a big yellow stain on the front. When he pointed at it, his valet only shrugged. ”No one will see it. It will be under your coat.”
When Baggot held out the cravat, Kesseley spoke without thinking. ”At the tailor's today, he showed me-”
”You went to a tailor without telling me!”
Kesseley had stepped right into it. ”It was just a quick visit.”
”But I'm your valet.” Baggot's big drooping lips began to shake.
”I didn't plan it. It just happened. Anyway he showed me a new knot for my cravat.”
His scraggly eyebrows furrowed in confusion. ”A new knot? I can't do a new knot. I only have one hand and-”
”Fine. Fine. Forget the new knot.” Kesseley sighed, defeated.
Baggot smiled, his small world restored. ”The old one is best for you. Not too dandy. Here.” He held out the end of the neck cloth. Kesseley took it as Baggot wound the other end under. Then Kesseley relinquished his end and took the other. Their old dance. When it was done, the cravat lay limp, like wilted cabbage around his neck.
”Don't that look nice!” Baggot commented.
”Yes,” Kesseley said, more tersely than he intended. ”That will be all, thank you.” The man hesitated.
”That will be all,” he repeated with more force.
Baggot scurried away liked an admonished child. Kesseley hung his head in his hands. Why was it so d.a.m.n hard to have something exactly like he wanted it? It seemed everyone had a little hook in him, pulling him in every direction.
He felt like a cheating husband when he drew the paper out of his desk and began a letter to the tailor's valet brother Frans, requesting his services. He could feel Baggot's hurt and guilt tugging at him. But d.a.m.n it, the man couldn't do his job. Just how much longer must Kesseley suffer fools?
He would have two valets.
He folded the note and stuck it inside his coat to give to the footman and left. Coming around the stairwell, Henrietta came out of her chamber in her evening gown, looking, well, beautiful.
”Good G.o.d!” she cried when she saw him.
”What?”
She couldn't seem to speak, as if horrified beyond words. She just moved her hands about her hair and cheeks.
”What's wrong?” he asked.
”Nothing! It's just-just-”
”Just what?”
She touched his curls. ”Let me help.”
”No.” He grabbed her wrist, stopping her. ”I thought you wanted me to look like a fop.”
Kesseley just sat in the carriage with his silly curls, stiff and silent as a wall. He refused to talk to her, except a tight, begrudging compliment that her gown was ”nice.” It was her best, an ivory tulle dotted with small white flowers and a matching sprig of flowers in her hair. She would have preferred beautiful beautiful or or lovely, lovely, but perhaps a mere ”nice” might be the best she could expect after the horrible exchange in the hall. but perhaps a mere ”nice” might be the best she could expect after the horrible exchange in the hall.
She should have realized Kesseley was trying to improve and been encouraging. Why didn't she think? She always said the wrong thing!
Grosvenor Square was crammed with carriages stopped at every door. Soft gold light fell from the stories and stories of windows, making the thick, foggy air almost luminescent. Music from multiple orchestras mingled in the square.
The carriage swerved, finding an opening in the line and stopping before a red brick home with pilasters rising to the roof. The footman opened the door. Henrietta stepped out of the carriage first. The temperature had dropped, chilling her under her fas.h.i.+onable, yet very impractical spencer. She rubbed her arms with her hands.
”Are you cold?” Kesseley asked as he stepped down. The sound of his voice flooded her with relief. He had spoken to her! Almost kindly. She smiled.
His jaw stiffened as he offered his arm.
She took it, clutching on to him as the door opened to the magnificent entrance. All her sad thoughts momentarily vanished in the grandeur. The oval entrance reached up four flights to a white domed ceiling embellished with gilt hexagons and diamonds. The bal.u.s.tered stairs rose to the first floor, then split into two, crisscrossing like loose ribbons to the upper balconies.
The host and hostess came toward them. Quick introductions were made and the hostess, a wisp of a woman with slanting eyes in a pinched face, kissed Lady Kesseley's cheek.
”You get more beautiful every year. I'm terribly jealous,” she said, then switched her attention to Henrietta. ”And this must be your companion everyone is talking about. We've been waiting on you.”
Her husband was squat man with a happy round face. ”Lord Kesseley, welcome to our home. I read your impressive article in the Journal of Agriculture Journal of Agriculture just this morning.” He put his hand on Kesseley's shoulders and drew everyone up the stairs to the first floor balcony. just this morning.” He put his hand on Kesseley's shoulders and drew everyone up the stairs to the first floor balcony.
They pa.s.sed two enormous doors which opened into the ballroom. Henrietta glanced inside and saw beautiful couples sweeping across the floors in a graceful minuet. Edward and Lady Sara circled each other, hands clasped. Had not Lady Kesseley and the hostess been holding Henrietta, she would have stumbled.
Inside the card room all eyes turned to Henrietta.
”You shall be my partner,” the hostess said and led her to the center table. Guests crowded around as the cards were dealt.
Henrietta felt like an actress suddenly thrust on stage without knowing her part. The cards shook in her hand. What did these numbers mean? All she could see was Lady Sara in Edward's arms. She scanned the room until she saw Kesseley, leaning against the wall by the door. His arms were crossed at his chest and those ridiculous curls drooped into his eyes. Knowing her old friend was there eased her mind. Her racing thoughts slowed to an easy flow. She took a slow breath, everything coming back, the numbers, the moves, the possibilities. She laid the ace of diamonds on the table.
Kesseley knew Henrietta would win. As applause broke out in the room, he quietly slipped out the door to the ballroom.
Let her go, he reminded himself again as he looked upon the minuet dancers. He nervously brushed away one of his saliva-stiffened curls. he reminded himself again as he looked upon the minuet dancers. He nervously brushed away one of his saliva-stiffened curls.
Just find a nice girl. No one too fancy. A wallflower that would appreciate some attention. Plain and sweet with an approachable chaperone.
But it was unavoidable, he was drawn to the most beautiful of them all. Lady Sara waited in the center of the room on a sofa. Her friends cl.u.s.tered about her.
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