‘Lucky devil!’ said Hay.
‘Sir!’ Georgiana in outraged accents. ‘Take me back to Mama this instant, if you please!’
‘Oh lord!’ gasped Hay ruefully. ‘I didn’t mean it, Georgy, really I didn’t!’
She allowed herself to be mollified, but remarked sagely: ‘You may think him lucky, but I expect Lady Worth won’t.’
She was quite right. From the harbour of Sir Henry Clinton’s gallant arm, Judith too had perceived her brother-in-law and his partner. That the couple could waltz better than any other in the room, and were attracting some attention, afforded her not the slightest gratification. She had observed the look on Colonel Audley’s face, and although she had never before seen him wear that particular expression she had not the least doubt of its significance.
Sir Henry, noticing the direction of her troubled gaze, manoeuvred that he too might see what had caught her eye. He said: ‘Your brother-in-law, is it not, Lady Worth?’
‘Yes,’ she acknowledged.
‘Dances very well, I see. All the Duke’s family do, of course. But he will be making enemies if he monopolises Bab Childe.’
‘Monopolises her?’ faltered Judith. ‘Is not this the first time he has danced with her?’
‘Oh no! He was dancing with her the last waltz. My wife tells me the young fellows form up in column for the honour of obtaining the lady’s hand.’
‘Charles is fortunate, then,’ said Judith.
‘If you choose to call it fortunate,’ said Sir Henry, giving her a somewhat shrewd look. ‘I don’t want to see any of my staff entangled in that direction. She has a very unsettling effect, from what I can discover. One of Barnes’s boys lost his head badly over her, and is now of about as much use to Barnes as my wife’s little spaniel would be.’
‘I wonder who introduced Charles to her?’
Sir Henry laughed shortly. ‘I can tell you that, dear lady. The Prince of Orange.’
Judith pursued the subject no further. Sir Henry’s differences with the Prince made it tactless to introduce that ebullient young gentleman’s name into any conversation with his second-in-command.
Colonel Audley relinquished Barbara presently, and discovering a disinclination in himself to dance with anyone else, went away in search of other amusement. This was not hard to find, for he had many friends present, and was able to spend a pleasant hour wandering about the ballroom and the adjoining salons, exchanging greetings and news with his acquaintances.
Two suppers were being served at midnight, the one a select affair given by the King to his more distinguished guests; the other a less select and more informal entertainment held in an adjoining salon. The Earl and Countess of Worth were of the first party; so, too, was Colonel Audley, in his character of aide-de-camp. He was about to join the stream
of people passing through the ballroom to the King’s supper parlour, and was standing by the entrance to one of the apartments leading out of the main antechamber, when the curtains obscuring the room behind him were thrust back, and Miss Devenish came out, almost running, her cheeks flushed, and one hand clasping to her shoulder a torn frill of lace.
So precipitate was her arrival in the antechamber that she nearly collided with Colonel Audley and recoiled with an exclamation on her lips and appearance of great confusion.
Colonel Audley had turned, with a word of apology for obstructing the way. Miss Devenish, still clutching her torn frill, said in a breathless voice: ‘It is of no consequence. It was quite my fault. I beg your pardon—I was going in search of my aunt!’
Colonel Audley glanced from this agitated little lady towards the room from which she had fled in such haste, and took a step towards the entrance. Miss Devenish put out her hand quickly to stop him: ‘Oh, please!’ she said. ‘I don’t wish—I am being very stupid. So vexing! I have had the misfortune to tear my lace, and must get it pinned up.’
Colonel Audley took her trembling hand in his, and held it in a comfortingly firm clasp. ‘My dear ma’am, what has happened to distress you?’ he asked. ‘Is there anything I can do?’
‘Oh no, indeed! You are very kind, but it was nothing—really nothing at all! If I could find my aunt—it is time to be going in to supper, I believe.’
Colonel Audley glanced towards the ballroom. ‘We will do our best to discover her, but I am afraid it will be a difficult task,’ he said. ‘Does she expect you to join her in the supper-room?’
‘Oh yes! That is, nothing was said, but of course she would expect me. I was to have gone in with a—a gentleman, only . . . ’ She broke off, blushing more furiously that ever.
‘Only that perhaps the gentleman had had a trifle too much to drink, and so forgot himself,’ finished the Colonel in a matter-of-fact voice.
Miss Devenish gave a gasp, and looked quickly up into his face. The smile in his eyes seemed to reassure her. She said: ‘Yes, that was it. Oh, how singular it must appear to you! But indeed—’
‘It doesn’t appear in the least singular to me,’ he interrupted. ‘But your lace! That is a more serious matter. If you had a pin—or even two pins—in your reticule, and could trust to my bungling fingers, I believe I could set it to rights.’
The fright had by this time died out of her eyes. A smile quivered on her lips. She replied: ‘I have a pin—two pins—but are you sure you can?’
‘No,’ said the Colonel. ‘But I am sure I can try. Give me your pins.’