Lady Meriton smiled. "Though Baron Haukstrom has mellowed with age, the Duke of Houghton has not."
"What the baron has mellowed with is dropsy," Cecilia said drily. "But to return to the invitation list, I must tell you Jessamine that I am as suspicious of Sir James as I am of Randolph, and Branstoke is already on the invitation list. What harm can it be to assemble the rest of the possible suspects together?"
"If they are suspects, which I very much doubt," Lady Meriton said repressively, though there was a thoughtful, considering expression on her face.
Cecilia shrugged and smiled. "Then allow this to be an opportunity for me to learn that," she said winningly.
Her aunt sighed, her lips compressed in a thin line as she considered Cecilia. She was silent a moment, then nodded shortly. "All right. I will have invitations sent out to Randolph's friends. Do you have any particular names in mind?" she asked, rising to cross to her desk.
"A few. I was hoping you could suggest others."
"I don't make any promises, but I'll see what we can do."
Cecilia smiled, and it reached her eyes.
Lady Meriton was amazed at the brilliance reflected in her niece's eyes. She decided whatever happened, it was worth it just to bring that light into Cecilia's expressive face.
In the end, they winnowed down the list of Randolph's cohorts to three names: The Honorable Reginald Rippy and Sir Harry Elsdon, both of whom were with Randolph after the opera; and Lord Havelock, whose family's estate had burned to the ground some years past. There were, perhaps, one or two others of his cronies that he spent as much (if not more) time with; however, in correlating their lists, those three names were the only ones of his immediate circle who were in attendance at Lady Amblethorp's musicale. Interestingly enough, they were the only ones they agreed were likely to possess the moral turpitude for murder.
Afterward, Lady Meriton professed herself amazed at the numbers of gentlemen she considered capable of cold-blooded murder. It made her shiver just to consider it. In high dudgeon, she wrote a letter to her husband relating that fact. In agitated tones, she found herself importuning Lord Meriton to return to England at his earliest convenience. It was the most crossed and recrossed letter she'd ever written to her globe-trotting spouse and one she nearly did not send. In the end, Loudon saw it conveyed to the mails, and Lady Meriton heaved a sigh of relief. She'd finally told another of her niece's madcap schemes and therefore felt absolved of ultimate responsibility. Happily, she returned to her paper and scissors, taking care to order from the stationers adequate supplies for her journey south to Oastley Hall.
As Cecilia anticipated, Randolph's friends were quick to respond positively to the invitation. Randolph himself nearly cried off, but his invited friends shamed him into attending. He grumbled and argued that Oastley was "a dashed dull dog of a place," but no one listened to him; after all, it was the home of the infamous Franklin Cheney, one time rumored highwayman and smuggler, now fourth Duke of Houghton.
Soon talk of the proposed house party dominated salon conversation throughout Mayfair, and Lady Iantha Cheney, the Duchess of Houghton, was moved to write an agitated letter to her daughter demanding to know what stories were being circulated about the proposed gathering. It seemed she was suddenly besieged with letters from people proclaiming long-lost friendship and saying wouldn't it be nice to visit together. It was keeping her secretary busy devising imaginative delays. On the other hand, the duke replied to any who had the effrontery to write him in a similar vein with the words,"No, and be damned!"As it was a response totally in keeping with this eccentric peer's personality, no offense was taken in any quarter.
Ultimately, the house party guests who would attend numbered some thirty-eight, well within the bounds of the capabilities of the Cheney staff, some of whom were old enough to remember the wild orgies held by the duke in his bachelor days. Those parties saw well over one hundred young bucks and doxies in attendance. Of course, with that crowd, private accommodations were not always necessary, nor private beds a requirement.
But those days were long past, and the thirty-eight guests invited to this party would fill the guest rooms nicely. On the night of the ball, the mansion would be filled to the rafters. As a consequence of the party's size, Cecilia and Lady Meriton journeyed to Oastley three full days before the guests to help oversee the final arrangements. They took with them Lady Meriton's dresser and Sarah, a young housemaid with aspirations to be a lady's maid.
Cecilia entered into the preparations with a verve that raised her grandmother's thin, aristocratic eyebrows and caused her grandfather to pound her on the back and bluffly proclaim he knew her illnesses stemmed solely from inactivity. It was unfortunate his action coincided with her swallowing a sip of sherry. It set her coughing and sputtering dreadfully, for which he glared at her and stumped away.
Nonetheless, it was with a feverish excitement that Cecilia met the first guests as their carriages pulled up before the estate. Anticipation sizzled through her veins. With her color high and a decided sparkle in her eyes, never had she looked prettier. The gown she wore was new for the occasion—ordered so by her grandmother—and designed to complement her fair coloring. It featured twining spring flowers printed on a white ground and trimmed with rose-colored silk ribbons. Her shawl was of a deeper rose shade and edged with long tassels. In lieu of a lace cap, by order of her grandmother, Cecilia's silver-blonde locks were dressed high on her head, adding inches to her petite stature. A spray of artificial flowers cunningly wrought to resemble the arrangement printed on her gown was pinned among the pale curls. The overall effect of her attire was refreshingly spring-like and elegant. Banished were the lavenders and grays of lingering mourning.
Cecilia was pleased and touched by the wardrobe her grandmother bestowed on her. She was also amused, for she realized the house party was the duchess's way of matchmaking, and so she whispered to Jessamine in a lull between arrivals.
"You mean you have just fallen to mama's machinations? Fie on you, Cecilia," her aunt jested. "I realized that when I read mama's letter requesting I complete her invitation list. As if I pay any attention to single young men about London! That's why I knew mama would not be happy with filling the guest list with Randolph's cronies."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"What, and have you cry off or go into one of your spells? Hardly. It was better to see you excited about the party. Besides, no matter what mama thinks she is arranging, if you are not ready to remarry, no man will be able to catch your attention."
Cecilia smiled ruefully. "That is true enough. . . . Isn't that virulent green and gold the Cresswell livery?" she asked, pointing to a cumbersome traveling coach mounted with servants in the distinctive livery that was pulling around the great drive.
"Unfortunately, it is. And before you get hipped at mama's matchmaking inclinations, let me remind you that if she were dead set on securing you a husband, she would not have invited Miss Cresswell to number one of the guests."
"Society's latest rose shall have the bees buzzing around her for sure. I think you're correct. With competition like that, I stand in little fear of being swamped," she conceded. "Come, let's go greet London's sensation. It will probably be the only time we have the opportunity."
"Lucky us," murmured Lady Meriton drily.
Cecilia laughed and wrapped her shawl more closely about her shoulders as they went outside to wait on the broad stone steps.
Miss Philomel Cresswell, the reigning queen of the London season, was the first to descend the large traveling coach's steps. She paused on the step to look up at Oastley Hall, a curious, satisfied expression on her face. She turned to laugh gaily at something said by her traveling companions, then stepped lightly down into the drive.
It was easy to see why she was society's darling. She was beautiful. Her hair was a glossy dark brown and dressed in masses of ringlets atop which perched a small tricorn hat of cherry red trimmed with dyed black pheasant feathers. Her curvaceous figure displayed to perfection in a well-fitted traveling dress of cherry red trimmed with black silk scallops and braid. Amazingly, her full, pouting lips echoed the cherry red of her outfit while her brown eyes sparkled with teasing invitation.
Cecilia pursed her lips and risked a side glance at her aunt. Lady Meriton caught her glance and raised an amused eyebrow. Together they watched the duke and duchess greet Philomel and Mrs. Cresswell, who descended the steps after her daughter. Behind Mrs. Cresswell came Sir James Branstoke.
Chapter 5
