Christopher stood guard in the corridor outside Rose’s door, while Carter strode off to supervise Nigel’s preparations.
For the occasion, Ellen had donned one of her London evening gowns; of fuchsia silk, the gown consisted of multiple rows of magenta-lace-trimmed frills, along with Emma’s favorite ribbon rosettes, but was devoid of additional ribbons and bows. Regardless, their first sight of the gown caused Louisa to blink, and Rose to raise her brows in fatalistic resignation.
As Ellen was slated to play the part of Rose’s newly acquired bosom-bow, fixed at Rose’s elbow throughout the evening, Rose’s reaction was, perhaps, understandable.
Now, after slanting a considering glance at Ellen’s gown, Rose directed her waiting dresser to pull out from her wardrobe an expensive creation in satin of a blue that, at least, wouldn’t clash with the fuchsia.
Despite that apparent accommodation, Ellen remained on high alert as, side by side and with Christopher trailing close behind, she and Rose walked toward the stairs to the front hall. The clocks in the house had just chimed for eight o’clock; they could expect guests to commence rolling up at any moment.
At the head of the stairs, Christopher touched his hand to the back of Ellen’s waist, bent his head, and murmured, “Good luck.”
She raised her head and watched him stride quickly down the corridor, making for the small alcove that lay behind the musicians’ gallery above the far end of the ballroom. Mr. Kirkpatrick had suggested it as the perfect place for him, Louisa, Drake, Toby, and Christopher to wait out the evening. If they were careful, they could keep an eye on activity in more than half the ballroom and, to either side, in sections of the drawing room and dining room without anyone knowing they were there.
“Come on.” Rose started down the stairs. “I need to be in position before anyone arrives.”
They reached the open front door, guarded by Secombe at his most formal, just as the first carriage disgorged six laughing young men.
After that, guests arrived in a steady stream. Ellen lost count after sixty-three. Early on, she’d peeked into the drawing room and had confirmed that Tilly, with Julia and Robbie at her elbow, was acting her part, welcoming the young gentlemen with apparent pleasure and steering them toward the tables where the dealers stood waiting. Nigel—with Carter idling a yard away—had come forward to greet his friends; if Nigel’s welcome lacked his usual sparkle, none of his friends, all openly delighted at the prospect of an evening’s play, seemed to notice.
For her part, Ellen strove to maintain the appearance of a young lady anticipating an evening of unalloyed entertainment. She smiled on the silly young men to whom Rose introduced her, then was somewhat disconcerted when—presumably falling victim to her doll-like façade—several attempted to shamelessly flirt with her.
Being repressively severe in depressing their pretensions would not have fitted with the image she needed to project. And indeed, viewed against Christopher or even Toby, their behavior was more in the nature of errant puppies; rather than harshly putting them in their place, she brushed aside their protestations with a laugh and otherwise ignored them.
Once they quit the front hall, she moved with Rose as, incessantly smiling, the older woman wove through her guests, laughing a touch brittlely perhaps, yet constantly encouraging the young men to chance their hand and play.
Wine, which, in the interests of all concerned, would later in the evening be watered down, presently flowed freely, and minute by minute, the noise created by so many young men talking and exclaiming all at once escalated, building toward outright cacophony.
Ellen was tempted to look everywhere at once, to check that their preparations were holding up, but she had to keep her wits fully focused on Rose, monitoring each and every interaction.
This, after all, was merely the first trial of their charade—the first of the three challenges they faced. While everyone was on edge over maintaining their façade and keeping their acting skills up to the mark, thus far, all appeared to be advancing smoothly on all fronts.
The dealers, bolstered by the more experienced men from London, were interacting appropriately with the guests. The footmen tacked through the throng, offering various beverages. Perforce, there was not a maid in sight; that would have invited trouble. The only females in the room were Ellen, Rose, Tilly, and Julia, yet somewhat to Ellen’s surprise—and she suspected the relief of those watching from above—the considerable crowd remained fully focused on the action at the tables, calling to each other, crowing over wins, and constantly egging each other on.
As she glided through the crowd by Rose’s side, Ellen saw Julia and Robbie holding close to Tilly, overseeing her exchanges with the guests. In Ellen’s estimation, if they were to have trouble with one of the Fontenays, it wouldn’t be with Tilly; even more than Rose, Tilly seemed to have accepted on which side her bread was buttered and was being careful to play her part and not deviate by even a whisker from her assigned role.
Nigel, Ellen was nowhere near as sure of, yet every time she glimpsed him, he was playing his prescribed part of rowdy young gentleman-host to the hilt, with a glass in his hand and his eyes glittering rather feverishly in the gaslight. Carter was never more than a yard away, and Ellen suspected two other young men, neither of whom she recognized, were likewise unobtrusively dogging Nigel’s steps.
Supper came and went; overseen by Secombe and his staff, the sudden rush of activity in the dining room passed off without incident, but the food proved merely a momentary diversion. Soon all the young men were back in the card salons, crowding about their favored tables.
The noise—and the tension of being so much on guard—started a faint headache throbbing behind Ellen’s eyes. She ignored it and forged on.
Yet despite them all being so on edge, the evening rolled on without a hitch.
Finally, the crowd in the drawing room started to thin, with bosky young men staggering out to the tables set up at the rear of the front hall. On entering the house, they’d eagerly lined up at the same tables to buy gambling tokens and now sought to exchange the tokens they still held for cash.
Several footmen stood about the long, narrow tables, ensuring that the interactions proceeded without disruption or altercation. Unsurprisingly perhaps, the transactions were overseen by Rose in her capacity as hostess; Ellen stood beside her, behind the chairs on which two senior footmen sat, receiving the tokens and carefully counting out banknotes in exchange.
The departure of the guests continued in reasonably orderly fashion. Eventually, Secombe and some of the footmen helped the last stragglers to cash their tokens, then steered them out of the house and assisted them into their carriages.
When the last carriage rattled away, Ellen couldn’t stop herself from regarding Rose with faint amazement; to the letter, the woman had stuck to the script Drake had dictated. In truth, Ellen hadn’t expected such ready compliance.
Rose caught Ellen’s look and interpreted it correctly. She raised a shoulder. “I’m not such a fool that I haven’t realized Winchelsea is not a man to cross.”
There was that, admittedly, yet as she trailed up the stairs in Rose’s wake to watch over her while she changed back into her carriage dress, Ellen couldn’t shake the feeling that, when it came to Rose, she needed to remain vigilant.