Mistress Masquerade. Juliet Landon

in a way.’

      Verne decided to take the bull by the horns, time being in short supply. ‘Apart from yourself, ma’am,’ he said, ‘there is no one else I would ask and, even now, I am aware that an event such as this is hardly the time or place to be discussing such matters. But...’

      ‘But perhaps it’s better to hear uncomfortable things at first hand rather than the embellished accounts of others. Don’t you agree? At least then you’ll be in possession of the facts before you...well, I was going to say before you begin manoeuvres, but that sounds rather too military. Annemarie may have fallen short of her duties as hostess this evening, but that’s not to say she was unaffected by your presence. I’ve never known her use the wrong knife to butter her bread roll before.’

      ‘Slender evidence of regard, Mrs Cardew.’

      ‘I know, but it’s in the eyes too, isn’t it? Hers and yours.’

      ‘Mmm,’ he said. ‘So may I ask what did happen, ma’am?’

      ‘Indeed. You may already have heard that Lady Benistone was once a very lovely and successful courtesan. Well before your time, young man.’

      At thirty-two, Verne could recognise an older woman’s kindly flattery when he heard it. ‘I had heard something to that effect,’ he said.

      ‘She was twenty-two years her husband’s junior. I say was, but of course she still is. We don’t know where she is. Even your employer, before he became Regent, pursued her without success. Lord Benistone kept her in some style and eventually she agreed to marry him. The trouble was...’ she said, lowering her voice.

      ‘Please don’t continue if you’d rather not. I shall understand.’

      ‘The trouble was...well, you’ve seen how things are there, haven’t you? It’s no kind of mess to keep a lovely woman and their three daughters in. She was a top-drawer courtesan, so you can imagine how she felt. Collecting was, and still is, my cousin’s passion. He’s not going to change now. No shortage of money. He’s always been able to buy anything he wanted.’

      ‘Including his wife.’

      ‘Even Esme Gerard. And she loved him, too. But only for so long. He gives his entire attention to his collection and then wonders why he’s lost the only woman he ever loved. Everyone can see it but him, although I think he’s coming to realise his failings more now. Lovely man. Wrong priorities.’

      ‘It’s not uncommon, ma’am.’

      ‘Unfortunately, it’s not. Lady Golding...Annemarie...was widowed only a year when it happened. Not long out of mourning and being courted by a smooth-tongued young rake who promised her the world.’

      ‘Sir Lionel Mytchett.’

      ‘Yes, him. And if her father had taken the trouble to investigate him, he’d have seen what was happening. The young blackguard! Playing on her emotions.’ Cecily’s voice lowered again, this time in anger. ‘Wooed her for close on three months and led her to believe he was about to make an offer for her.’

      ‘So she was in love with him?’

      The pretty fair curls shook in denial, but the reply was less certain. ‘Who knows? I believe it was too soon after Richard. I believe she was probably more in love with the idea of being a married woman than with Mytchett himself. I had offered to hold Miss Marguerite’s coming-out ball at Park Lane. Well, they couldn’t possibly have held it at Montague Street and I’d done the same for Annemarie’s wedding. What none of us had quite appreciated was the growing attraction Mytchett had developed for Lady Benistone and what I think,’ she said, emphasising her own interpretation of events, ‘is that he’d seen in the mother something he could get without bothering to marry the daughter, if you see what I mean.’

      Verne nodded. Mytchett was just the kind to take advantage of that situation. What a pity Lord Benistone had not looked after his family better.

      ‘Annemarie,’ Cecily continued, ‘was a twenty-three-year-old widow and Esme was as eager as she was to get away from Montague Street and live a normal kind of life. That’s what they both wanted, but it was less troublesome for him to take Esme than Annemarie. They disappeared at Miss Marguerite’s ball. He knew exactly what he was doing, but I doubt very much whether Esme had thought it through. She’s a creature of impulse, is Esme, like Annemarie was before this happened.’

      ‘A double loss,’ said Verne, watching Marguerite smile into her partner’s eyes.

      ‘A triple loss, my lord. Husband, beau and mother. She’s become embittered. She won’t allow her friends near and won’t socialise at all. Rejection is a terrible thing. It changes perfectly delightful people into avengers.’

      ‘It’s clear she wants nothing to do with men, after that.’

      ‘I’m afraid so. Any man hoping to make an impression on Annemarie will have to be very patient, with no guarantee of success. But if you would like some advice on the matter, my lord...?’

      ‘Anything you can offer, Mrs Cardew.’

      ‘Then you might begin by finding the mother,’ she said so quietly that Verne had to lip-read. ‘I doubt very much whether Lady Benistone would stay long with that scoundrel and I would not be surprised to learn that she’d already left him, though I cannot imagine how she’ll live without support. Women like Esme are not good at that, you know. And the family are miserable without her. All of them.’

      Again, Verne’s attention was drawn to the swirling figure of Marguerite, her happy smile and arms outstretched to her partner. ‘So you don’t think Lady Benistone would return uninvited?’ he said.

      Cecily’s sideways glance was full of forbearance, as if only a man could ask such a question. ‘Pride, my lord. That’s a terrible thing, too. It stops people doing what they ought to do and it makes them do things they shouldn’t.’ For the last closing bars of the music, Cecily’s sad conclusion was left unanswered. ‘Ah,’ she said, ‘the dance has ended. ‘Shall you stand up with her before you leave, my lord? We’d take it as a great favour.’

      Obediently, and without a trace of reluctance, Verne rose to his feet, understanding that he would be expected to pay for the help he’d just been given. ‘Indeed I will, ma’am. It will be my pleasure.’

      ‘And I shall be happy to receive you at Park Lane, my lord.’

      ‘You are more than kind, Mrs Cardew. I shall take up your invitation.’

      * * *

      Two hours later, he was back in Bedford Square with a head too full of information to say much to Samson except that they’d be going down to Brighton tomorrow.

      ‘Very good, m’lord. Marine Pavilion, is it?’

      Grunt.

      ‘Will it be the curricle or the phaeton, m’lord?’

      ‘Oh, don’t ask so many damned stupid questions at this time of night, man. I’ll decide in the morning.’

      ‘Certainly, m’lord. Only...you see...one trunk fits best on the curricle and the other fits on—’

      ‘Prepare me a bath. I need to think.’

      ‘Pleasant ball, was it?’

      The deeply expressive groan warned Samson that he had ventured too far and, being usually so responsive to his master’s every whim, saw that he had better produce the required bath without delay and in silence.

      * * *

      Soaking in the hot water by candlelight, Verne watched the clusters of swirling soap bubbles while trying to connect the day’s events right up until the dance with Miss Marguerite Benistone, which he would normally have deemed too expensive a payment by half had he not discovered so much from her chaperon to make it worth his while. Miss Marguerite’s cup had truly runneth over when his friend George Brummell came to the rescue. He had taken some persuading