Lady Merion grasped the straw. But what on earth did blackberries have to do with Hazelmere? However, knowing that gentleman, she guessed the gift was far from innocent. She baldly stated, ‘Dorothea, I forbid you to wear that tonight!’
‘Oh, no! Don’t do that, Grandmama! See, this tag from Mr Astley says he has taken the liberty of designing the brooch so it can be used as a pendant off the emerald string. How very thoughtful.’
Examining the brooch and then the string of emeralds, Dorothea discovered the secret of joining them and regarded the composite piece critically. It was perfectly balanced and looked both expensive and utterly unique.
‘Dorothea, I don’t know what that brooch signifies, and I’m not sure I want to know,’ declared Lady Merion in her most authoritarian tones. ‘But, whatever Hazelmere means by it, you can’t seriously intend to wear it tonight. Just think how conspicuous it will be! How on earth would you face him while wearing it?’
‘Why, with my customary composure, I should hope,’ returned her wilful granddaughter. ‘I really couldn’t refuse the challenge, Grandmama. You know I couldn’t.’
Reflecting that she knew nothing of the sort, Lady Merion was visited by a strong suspicion that Hazelmere was leading Dorothea into deep waters. But, in the circumstances, there was little she could, in reality, do.
The only deviation from Lady Merion’s rigid schedule was caused by Edward Buchanan. Without warning, he appeared on the doorstep and refused point-blank to accept Mellow’s frigid denial of the ladies of the house. By dint of mentioning Herbert Darent, he prevailed on Mellow to admit him to the morning-room while that worthy conveyed a message to his mistress.
Lady Merion came downstairs, huffily indignant, and sailed into the morning-room. Five minutes later, looking slightly stunned, she emerged and went looking for her elder granddaughter.
Ten minutes later Dorothea, paler than usual, descended the stairs. She paused for a moment, eyeing the morning-room door with revulsion. Then, drawing a deep breath, she entered.
It was worse than she had imagined. Lady Merion had mentioned the bouquet of daisies—daisies!—already wilting. What she had not found words to describe was the incredible smug conceit of the man holding them.
‘Ah! Miss Darent!’ Abruptly words seemed to fail Mr Buchanan. Then, unfortunately, his tongue regained its major habit and he spoke. ‘I suspect, my dear, that you know very well why I’m here.’ His archness made Dorothea feel decidedly unwell. Luckily he was standing on the other side of a small round table and she had every intention of keeping it between them.
He seemed to find nothing remarkable in her silence and continued with unabated cheerfulness. ‘Yes, my dear! All right and tight, I’m here to beg the honour of your hand! I doubt you expected a declaration quite so soon, before your coming-out even. Not many young ladies can claim to be settled so successfully before being presented, what?’
She could stand it no longer. ‘Mr Buchanan. I thank you for your offer but I’m afraid I cannot consent to marry you.’
‘Oh, no difficulty there, my dear. Edward Buchanan knows how these things are done. Lord Herbert has already given his consent. All we need now is for you to say the word and we can announce it tonight at your ball.’
Hazelmere, rather more perceptive than Mr Buchanan, could have told him that that was precisely the wrong thing to say to a lady as independent as Dorothea Darent. Colours flying, she made no effort to conceal the loathing she felt. ‘Mr Buchanan. You appear to be labouring under a misapprehension. Herbert Darent may be my guardian but he has no power to coerce me into marriage. I will not accept your proposal. I have no wish to be married to you. I trust I make myself plain? And now, if you’ll excuse me, we’re very busy. Mellow will show you out.’
She swept out of the door, head high, pausing to instruct Mellow to see to their unwelcome visitor before continuing, thankfully and triumphantly, upstairs.
Later that evening, just before her dinner guests were due to arrive, Lady Merion stood in her hallway and watched her granddaughters descending the stairs. Her bosom swelled with pride and a well-earned sense of satisfaction. They were superb!
Cecily, leading, was a vision of childlike innocence, a twinkle in her big brown eyes belying any attempt at gravity. But Dorothea! Breathtakingly lovely, she came elegantly down the stairs, her innate poise allowing her to carry the stunning gown to maximum effect. She was a sight that would stop any male heart. Especially Hazelmere’s! thought her ladyship with a touch of vengeance as her eyes alighted on the blackberry pendant. Dorothea had been right to wear it, she grudgingly admitted, for the pendant set off the whole to perfection, lying glinting green and red against her granddaughter’s alabaster skin.
Within minutes Mellow announced Ferdie, who had promised to come early to lend them his support. Entering the drawing-room, he stopped stock-still and simply stared.
‘Oh, I say!’ was all the elegant Mr Acheson-Smythe could manage. At this evidence of appreciation all three ladies went into whoops of laughter, and a far less formal atmosphere greeted the remaining guests, who began to arrive promptly thereafter.
The drawing-room was soon abuzz with conversation. Lady Jersey and Princess Esterhazy complimented both girls with obvious sincerity. As Dorothea moved away to talk to Miss Bressington, Sally Jersey turned to Lady Merion. ‘M’dear, I just can’t wait to see Hazelmere’s face when he comes through the door and sets eyes on that vision.’
‘Sally, don’t say things like that! I’m dreading that either he or Dorothea or both will forget where they are and do something quite scandalous tonight!’
‘I hardly think, for once, anyone would blame him if he did!’
At exactly that moment Mellow announced the Marquis of Hazelmere and the Dowager Marchioness. While no one was ill-bred enough to stare, Hazelmere was well aware that all eyes, save one set of emerald green, were trained on him. He resisted the temptation to look for Dorothea and instead, with his usual urbane air, led his mother to pay their respects to Lady Merion.
Lady Hazelmere, not under any such compulsion, sought out Dorothea and in an undertone designed for him alone, said, ‘My dear, you are lost! That girl is the most stunning sight I have ever seen!’
Hazelmere, hazel eyes laughing, replied, ‘Thank you, Mama. I rather supposed that to be the case, seeing how closely all these tabbies are watching me.’
Lady Hazelmere chuckled and turned to compliment Lady Merion on her charges. Relinquishing his mother to the group of old friends around their hostess, Hazelmere skilfully drifted into the crowd.
The Haze
lmere party was closely followed by the Eglemonts. Under cover of the bustle this created, with most attention being distracted by the sight of Lord Fanshawe greeting Cecily Darent, Hazelmere approached Dorothea where she stood talking to his younger sister, Lady Alison Gisborne. This vivacious blonde, having no doubt who her brother’s inamorata was, had introduced herself to Dorothea. Seeing him, she smiled broadly and announced, ‘Hello, Marc! Yes, I’m just going to see Mama, who I know is dying to say something to me!’ She laughed up at him and departed.
‘How well my younger sister understands me,’ he murmured, raising Dorothea’s hand to his lips as usual. He was thankful for the few minutes he had had to grow accustomed to the vision she presented.