were shown off in shop windows, to be gazed at by the elegant ladies and gentlemen who strolled with leisurely ease in the early evening.
Just before the junction with Bond Street, the chaise turned south into St James’s Street, at the end of which stood St James’s Palace itself. It was a gentlemen’s street, containing all the most superior clubs, from White’s and Boodle’s, to Brooks’ and the Thatched House. In nearby King Street she knew she would find Almack’s, that most select temple of high fashion, from which it was a disaster to be excluded.
But the close proximity of Almack’s meant little to her as she toyed nervously with Philip’s signet ring through her glove. She was only a minute or so away from her destination now, and her pulse had quickened in anticipation. Oh, how she longed to see him again, to be in his arms with his lips over hers.
The chaise turned again, this time westward into St James’s Place, at the end of which stood Southvale House. By the light of the streetlamps she could see superb town houses on either side, while directly ahead it was just possible to make out the autumn foliage of the trees in Green Park. Tall wrought-iron gates loomed on the left, at the very end of what proved to be a cul-de-sac, and as the chaise drove through them into thecourtyard, she looked up to see stone griffins standing fiercely on the tops of the post.
Southvale House itself was larger and more magnificent than any other building in the street. Its roofline was marked by a stone balustrade on top of which were placed statues of gods and griffins, and the two upper stories boasted handsome pediments supported on Doric columns. A double flight of steps led up to the door, which opened immediately the chaise was perceived in the courtyard.
A rather superior butler emerged, dressed very grandly in a brown coat with velvet lapels, beige knee breeches, and a powdered wig. He was accompanied by two footmen in fawn-and-gold livery, who positioned themselves very precisely on either side of the door while the butler descended the steps. One of the postboys had dismounted and came to open the chaise door for Rosalind, but as she alighted, the butler spoke to her. ‘I think you may have called at the wrong address, madam. This is Southvale House.’
‘I’m well aware that this is Southvale House,’ she replied a little coolly, disliking his manner. ‘It’s upon Lord Southvale that I’m calling.’
‘His lordship is not at home.’
Not at home? Her heart sank, for that hadn’t been a possibility she’d even thought about. ‘Then perhaps Lady Eleanor is at home? Or Miss de Grey?’
‘No, madam, they both have a dinner engagement this evening.’
‘When do you expect someone to be at home?’
‘I really cannot say, madam,’ he replied evasively, for she was a complete stranger. ‘Perhaps if you call again tomorrow …’
‘I haven’t come all this way simply to call again tomorrow,’ she replied shortly, disliking his manner more and more. ‘My name is Miss Carberry.’
‘Madam?’ He looked blankly at her, the name evidently meaning nothing to him.
‘Hasn’t Lord Southvale mentioned me?’ she asked, an uneasy finger touching her heart.
‘No, madam, I fear he has not.’
She stared at him, totally taken by surprise. But why hadn’t Philip said anything about her? What on earth reason could there be for such a glaring omission?
The butler was eager to be rid of a caller he felt had no legitimate business at the house. ‘As I said, madam, perhaps if you call again tomorrow …’
‘Does this mean anything to you?’ she asked, taking off her glove and holding up her left hand.
He recognized the ring immediately, and his lips parted in astonishment. ‘It – it’s Lord Southvale’s signet ring, madam.’
‘And does the finger I’m wearing it on suggest anything to you?’ she inquired, her tone frosty because she was suddenly so uneasy.
He swallowed. ‘Well,
Just before the junction with Bond Street, the chaise turned south into St James’s Street, at the end of which stood St James’s Palace itself. It was a gentlemen’s street, containing all the most superior clubs, from White’s and Boodle’s, to Brooks’ and the Thatched House. In nearby King Street she knew she would find Almack’s, that most select temple of high fashion, from which it was a disaster to be excluded.
But the close proximity of Almack’s meant little to her as she toyed nervously with Philip’s signet ring through her glove. She was only a minute or so away from her destination now, and her pulse had quickened in anticipation. Oh, how she longed to see him again, to be in his arms with his lips over hers.
The chaise turned again, this time westward into St James’s Place, at the end of which stood Southvale House. By the light of the streetlamps she could see superb town houses on either side, while directly ahead it was just possible to make out the autumn foliage of the trees in Green Park. Tall wrought-iron gates loomed on the left, at the very end of what proved to be a cul-de-sac, and as the chaise drove through them into thecourtyard, she looked up to see stone griffins standing fiercely on the tops of the post.
Southvale House itself was larger and more magnificent than any other building in the street. Its roofline was marked by a stone balustrade on top of which were placed statues of gods and griffins, and the two upper stories boasted handsome pediments supported on Doric columns. A double flight of steps led up to the door, which opened immediately the chaise was perceived in the courtyard.
A rather superior butler emerged, dressed very grandly in a brown coat with velvet lapels, beige knee breeches, and a powdered wig. He was accompanied by two footmen in fawn-and-gold livery, who positioned themselves very precisely on either side of the door while the butler descended the steps. One of the postboys had dismounted and came to open the chaise door for Rosalind, but as she alighted, the butler spoke to her. ‘I think you may have called at the wrong address, madam. This is Southvale House.’
‘I’m well aware that this is Southvale House,’ she replied a little coolly, disliking his manner. ‘It’s upon Lord Southvale that I’m calling.’
‘His lordship is not at home.’
Not at home? Her heart sank, for that hadn’t been a possibility she’d even thought about. ‘Then perhaps Lady Eleanor is at home? Or Miss de Grey?’
‘No, madam, they both have a dinner engagement this evening.’
‘When do you expect someone to be at home?’
‘I really cannot say, madam,’ he replied evasively, for she was a complete stranger. ‘Perhaps if you call again tomorrow …’
‘I haven’t come all this way simply to call again tomorrow,’ she replied shortly, disliking his manner more and more. ‘My name is Miss Carberry.’
‘Madam?’ He looked blankly at her, the name evidently meaning nothing to him.
‘Hasn’t Lord Southvale mentioned me?’ she asked, an uneasy finger touching her heart.
‘No, madam, I fear he has not.’
She stared at him, totally taken by surprise. But why hadn’t Philip said anything about her? What on earth reason could there be for such a glaring omission?
The butler was eager to be rid of a caller he felt had no legitimate business at the house. ‘As I said, madam, perhaps if you call again tomorrow …’
‘Does this mean anything to you?’ she asked, taking off her glove and holding up her left hand.
He recognized the ring immediately, and his lips parted in astonishment. ‘It – it’s Lord Southvale’s signet ring, madam.’
‘And does the finger I’m wearing it on suggest anything to you?’ she inquired, her tone frosty because she was suddenly so uneasy.
He swallowed. ‘Well,
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