“Like anactress!” Lady Tolliver cried, before lowering her voice to a sharp whisper. “I have never known such public mortification! Do you realise the bishop’s nephew is in attendance? And the vicar’s wife! I shall be consigned to the very back of the pews, Henrietta, beside that widow with the dreadful breath. Well... I suppose this is it. We are ruined – utterly and irredeemably.” Turning away, she pressed a hand to her bosom. “Do not speak to me. I feel an attackof the nerves coming on, and I should very much like to suffer in dignified silence, as befits a mama whose daughter has brought shame upon the family name.” She spun back, eyes flashing. “Half of London has now seen your décolletage and will assume you are the sort of girl who dances with Italians.Italians,Henrietta.”
Theo’s shoulders began to shake, and he was obliged to press a finger to the bridge of his nose to stem the entirely unseemly moisture gathering in his eyes. It was, without question, the most diverting quarter hour he had passed all year.
“And you, Lord Langley – do not imagine for a moment that I am unaware of your lurking presence!” She whirled upon him. “Skulking about in alcoves like a disreputable footman with wicked intentions! I would not be in the least surprised to learn this entire disgraceful episode was your doing.” She advanced upon him with a pointed finger. “Should it come to light that you encouraged my daughter in this utter madness, I shall see you barred from every respectable drawing room from here to Bath. Your name shall be struck from our Christmas card list forever, and your reputation dragged through the pages of The Morning Gazette like a common rakehell. I shall write to your mother at once and demand to know what sort of rearing produces such a – such a –”
Whatever formidable accusation she had meant to deliver was lost to a tremulous gasp. Lady Tolliver pressed a hand to her forehead and swayed dangerously.
Theo closed the distance in two unhurried strides, catching her as though rescuing a lady toppling in a country set. “Well,” he said, fartoo entertained by the entire ordeal, “that is certainly one way of concluding a disagreement.”
Hetty, for her part, was entirely useless through her stifled gasps of laughter. “Oh dear. What is to be done? I am dreadfully afraid I left the vinaigrette in my reticule at home.”
“A grievous oversight,” Theo said solemnly, adjusting Lady Tolliver’s limp form. “Shall we abandon her here and allow Society to draw its own conclusions?”
“Theodore Winslow! You are ghastly.”
“Not in the least,” he returned, lowering Lady Tolliver to the floor before withdrawing a pace. “Indeed, I am convinced she shall rouse the instant someone dares utter the word ruin within ten paces.”
At that precise moment, a great commotion erupted from across the ballroom. It seemed they were not nearly so secluded as Theo had supposed, for Viscount Tolliver had spotted his wife and was now thundering through the assembled guests with the grace of a startled bull. “My love!” he bellowed. “Hold fast, my darling! Do not go into the light! Someone fetch a physician at once!”
This, of course, was precisely the wrong thing to say.
A collective gasp swept through the room as guests snapped open their fans in unison, and an elderly dowager was heard praying audibly for Lady Tolliver’s soul. One poor fellow, evidently overcome by the drama, emptied an entire glass of wine down his waistcoat, and a particularly excitable young lady emitted an unrestrained shriek and had to be steadied by her chaperone. A chorus of “A physician! A physician!” began to rise in earnest, andsomewhere near the lemonade table, an overzealous footman rolled up his sleeves as though preparing to perform surgery on the spot.
Theo, to his credit, arranged his features into an expression approximating concern, though the effort was somewhat undermined by the sight of Hetty, whose complexion was now flushed with the strain of suppressing laughter. “Papa, please. Mama has merely swooned. She is not, to my knowledge, bound for the hereafter.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it!” thundered Viscount Tolliver, dropping to one knee beside his wife with such dramatic force that he very nearly overturned a passing tray of champagne. “Stand back, all of you! The light of my life has suffered a grievous collapse! I shall not allow her to perish amidst this rabble of ruffians and libertines. I said we ought never to have left home for Christmas this year!”
A bewildered murmur passed through the crowd.
“Christmas?” Theo muttered aside to Hetty. “But it is April.”
She kept her eyes fixed ahead, clearly not daring to look at him lest she dissolve into laughter once more. “Yes, well, you must make allowances for Papa. His grasp upon the calendar becomes somewhat uncertain when agitated.”
“Shall I summon a Yule log and roasted goose?” Theo asked under his breath. “Or will a physician suffice?”
Hetty gave up all pretence of composure, stepping back with one hand clapped over her mouth in a manner that could, at a glance, be mistaken for genteel distress, though Theo knew full well she was struggling not to cackle aloud.
“My dearest, my treasure – do not leave me!” the viscount cried, seizing one of his wife’s limp hands and pressing it to his chest with enough fervour to resemble an amateur stage performance. “My love has succumbed to the plague! Speak to me, I beg you! Blink once if you can hear me!”
At length, Lady Tolliver fluttered her lashes open. She took in the chaos about her – the flurry of fans, the wineglasses slopping their contents, the viscount clutching her hand as though awaiting the headsman’s axe – bestowed upon her husband a look so withering it might have soured milk. “For heaven’s sake, Bertram,” she hissed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I have fainted, not succumbed to the plague. Kindly remove yourself from the floor before you cause an even greater scene. And no, it is not Christmas.”
“Well,” muttered the viscount as he heaved himself upright, seizing the sleeve of a nearby footman for support, “that does rather explain the lamentable absence of figgy pudding.”
The unfortunate footman could do little more than remain rigid as the viscount clambered to his feet. Around them, the assembled company released a collective sigh of disappointment.
“Shall I call for your carriage, Lady Tolliver?” asked Theo, offering his arm with just enough gravity to make Hetty smother another laugh behind her fan. “Or do you feel equal to the rigours of society now that the worst is past?”
Lady Tolliver, restored to both life and temper, accepted his arm with queenly disdain. Once upright, she adjusted her gloves and fixed Theo with a look so imperious that a lesser man might have been felled on the spot. “I am quite equal to it, thank you, Lord Langley.Though if there is another syllable uttered concerning Christmas, plague, or puddings of any description, I shall expire entirely… and take you all with me.”
Theo bowed low. “Then I shall speak of nothing but springtime, robust health, and water biscuits, ma’am.”
“See that you do,” she replied, before rounding upon a passing footman. “You there, boy – lemonade and some headache powder. At once!”
The poor lad turned on his heel and nearly tripped over in his haste.
“I observe she has dispensed with the sighing stage entirely and advanced straight to ordering refreshments,” Theo murmured, low enough for Hetty’s ears alone, as he drew up beside her.
“Yes, well,” Hetty replied, regaining her composure and adjusting her gloves. “Efficiency comes with practice. I really ought to have armed myself with smelling-salts. And perhaps a black veil for the period of mourning she will now require over my ruined reputation.”
