For the next hour she was fully occupied dealing with queries from the caterers, the florist, and most importantly the draper. Her novel idea to decorate the huge ballroom with swaths of cerulean blue muslin, which could later be given as presents to the female servants here and at the Park, had been given form and style by the earnest young draper-the white-and-gilt ballroom looked like a vision of heaven.
"Perfect." With a brisk nod, she turned away from the sight. "Please send in your account promptly, Mr. Bobbins-we will only be in town for another few weeks."
Mr. Bobbins bowed low, incoherently assuring her that his account would be presented forthwith.
Alathea checked the supplies of salmon and shrimp with Figgs, then she and Crisp descended to the cellar. By the time they'd finished selecting the wines for the formal dinner preceding the ball, it was past noon. Retiring to her office, intending to do no more than catch her breath and check her lists for the next most pressing item, Alathea found herself drawn to the window.
On the lawn behind the house, Jeremy, Charlie and Gabriel were totally absorbed in the new toy. Gabriel had stripped off his coat; together with Charlie, he was coaching Jeremy in the difficult process of gaining his balance on the awkward machine. Alathea watched, quietly amazed at the patience Gabriel showed. None knew better than she that he was naturally impatient, yet in dealing with Jeremy he displayed both tact and steady encouragement, exactly what Jeremy needed. Under Gabriel's eye, he bloomed. Before she turned away, Alathea saw him free-wheel down the lawn, managing to steer the curricle away from the thick bushes.
As she left her office and plunged back into the melee, she reflected that, while he was not long on patience, Gabriel's second name could have been persistence, a fact she would do well to remember.
Half an hour later, he found her supervising the positioning of the trestles in the parlor they were converting into a supper room. Surveying the scene, he raised his brows. "How many cards did you send out?"
"Five hundred," Alathea absentmindedly replied. "God knows how we'll manage if they all arrive at once."
Gabriel studied her face, then calmly took her arm. Ignoring her resistance and her distracted scowl, he towed her to the side of the room. "Where's the petition."
"The petition?" She stared at him. "You can't mean to work on that now?"
"I can work on it. I can write, you know." Her frown suggested she wasn't convinced of it; he ignored that, too. "I'll take it home and continue framing our arguments." He glanced at the footmen and maids scurrying frantically about. "It's too noisy here."
She didn't look happy, but nodded. "It's in the top drawer of my desk."
"I'll take it." Gabriel started to leave, then halted. Ignoring the many about them, he caught her chin. "Don't run yourself ragged. I'll see you at dinner."
Before she could react, he ducked his head, kissed her quickly, and left.
"Lady Alathea-is this where you wanted this table?"
"What? Oh… yes, I suppose…"
Inwardly grinning, Gabriel headed downstairs.
Chapter 17
The formal dinner preceding a come-out ball was, in social terms, even more important than the ball itself. The earl, Serena, and Alathea had agreed that this dinner should be the most glittering affair regardless of cost, one by which the assembled leaders of the ton would remember the Morwellans. Alathea had personally overseen every detail, from the guest list Serena had organized and the stiff white stationery on which the invitations had been inscribed, to the gleaming crystal, the silver service, the Meissen dinner service, and the crisp white damask. The dishes in all twelve courses had been carefully chosen to complement one another in a parade of culinary delight. The wine was superb. Not one of the fifty guests seated about the long table would entertain the slightest suspicion of the economies normally practiced at Morwellan House.
From her seat midway down the table, Alathea watched the sixth course being laid out. All was proceeding smoothly, the babel prevailing on all sides-conversations, laughter, the constant clink of porcelain and silverware-a reassuring testament. Her father, presiding over the event from the table's head, looked magnificent; Serena, resplendent in navy silk at the other end, was his match. Opposite Alathea, spread between their guests, Mary and Alice conversed with simple charm. Charlie was seated farther along the table to her right. All three were dressed to perfection, each a paragon of tonnish expectations. In her amber silk gown, a beaded cap perched atop her coiffed hair, Alathea contributed her part to their sartorial facade.
Her heart lifted as she gazed about her. They'd done it-they'd come to London and, despite the difficulties, claimed their rightful place in society. As if to illustrate their success, Sally Jersey caught her eye and smiled and nodded. Seated further along, Princess Esterhazy had already regally signaled her approval. Only as she followed Sally Jersey's gaze to Serena did it occur to Alathea to wonder what it was both patronnesses were complimenting her u
pon. Their appreciation of the dinner and company they conveyed to Serena, of course. So what was it she'd done to attract their approbation?
She turned to Gabriel, seated on her left. She'd been so absorbed with the dinner itself she hadn't registered his appearing at her side to escort her into the dining room as anything odd. She'd grown accustomed to having him near, to resting her hand on his arm and letting him steer her through crowds. It wasn't until she'd caught Lucifer's questioning look halfway through the fourth course that she'd realized. One glance at Celia's face, at her intrigued expression, confirmed that their sudden penchant for each other's company had not escaped notice.
The suspicion that their ease in each other's company was not escaping anyone's notice suddenly assailed her. Before she had a chance to frame the question: "Did you plan this?" in any form likely to get an answer, Gabriel glanced at her and saw the frown in her eyes.
"Relax. Everything's going well." He indicated a dish of game. "This is excellent-what's in the sauce?"
Alathea looked at the dish. "Muscat grapes and pomegranate syrup." There was no point wrangling over how he'd come to be sitting beside her. He was there. She might as well take advantage. "How's the petition?"
He shrugged noncommittally. "We've made a good start."
"But not enough to be certain of a favorable judgment."
His lips twisted; he didn't answer.
Alathea forged on, her tone barely a whisper as she considered a dish before her. "Everything we have is open to argument-there's nothing cut and dried, no absolute and obvious falsehood. All our claims rely on the word of others, others we can't call on to verify the facts. Without a bona fide witness-without Captain Struthers-all Crowley need do is deny our claims. The burden of proof will rest on us." She helped herself to beans in white sauce and passed the dish along. "We have to find the captain, don't we?"