A Change of Fortune (11 page)

The new year brought no improvement in the weather. Snowflakes were now frequently seen drifting aimlessly through the frozen air, but as yet there hadn’t been a heavy fall. There was no relief from the fog, which occasionally withdrew a little to hint at an easing of nature’s harshness, but which each time closed bitterly in again, cloaking everything with its icy shroud. The cold meant that there was ever-increasing speculation that the Thames would freeze over, and the newspapers dwelt at length on the possibility of a frost fair on the ice. The newspapers also dwelt at length on the Conyngham scandal, and Leonie was distressed to see her father’s name much vilified, his guilt taken for granted. Her distress gave way to anger and indignation, and in spite of Miss Hart’s dire warning about drawing unwelcome attention to the seminary through attempting to clear Richard Conyngham’s name, she decided to go to the East India Company’s headquarters in Leadenhall Street to challenge their charges against him.

At the end of the first week in January, two days before the new term commenced, she had an opportunity to slip unnoticed from the seminary. Miss Hart was much harassed by the arrival of a Russian gentleman, who informed her that he was the new history teacher, and who insisted upon a lengthy discussion of the syllabus he intended to employ during his twice-weekly lessons. He was immensely tall, with fiery eyes, a beard, and a deep, heavily accented voice, and he was quite determined to do everything his own way. Miss Hart virtually found herself being instructed what to do, and she was so nonplussed that she meekly led him to the visitors’ room and sat there while he spoke at considerable length about Russian history. It was the second time the headmistress had received a lecture on the subject, and she found it as uninteresting on this occasion as she had on the first, but because he was there on Dorothea Lieven’s instructions, she pretended to find it all most absorbing. While all this was going on, Leonie left the seminary and took a hackney coach to India House in Leadenhall Street.

The clerk who received her was all smiles until he realized who she was, at which point his willingness to be of assistance vanished and she was politely but firmly requested to leave. Shocked and unable to believe she was being treated in such a way, she at first stood her ground and demanded to see someone in authority, but to no avail; he merely called two of his fellow clerks and she had no option but to leave the premises. It was a mortifying experience, but it taught her a sharp lesson: her father was deemed guilty, and she was henceforth to be treated as the daughter of a felon, not of an honest and good man. Dismayed and humiliated, she returned to the seminary, entering as quietly as she had left. She told no one of the visit to Leadenhall Street.

That night the seminary was the scene of all the usual noise and bustle associated with the eve of a new term. There were cases and trunks in the vestibule, and carriages arriving outside. High-pitched girlish chatter resounded throughout the building, and the seminary seemed to come to sudden life again. The older pupils, who had known Leonie before, were split into two camps in their attitude toward her; some were sympathetic and agreeable, but many were the very opposite. The little girls who were to be her particular responsibility had no prejudices one way or the other; they judged her upon how kind and sympathetic she was when they felt suddenly homesick and alone and were trying to hide their tears. But if they spent that night feeling apprehensive, she did too. After giving Katy and Joseph another reading and writing lesson, she at last retired to her room. She couldn’t sleep, she was far too anxious about the following day, and it was almost dawn before she fell into a fitful sleep.

But she need not have worried, for she slipped into teaching with an ease which astonished her. The familiar textbooks, which she remembered so well from her own early days at the school, were like a comfortable and well-loved cloak, at once warming and protective. At the end of her first morning she was feeling encouraged, and by the end of the day she felt almost confident. She would be able to endure.

* * *

In the relative seclusion of Streatham Park, Nadia and Dorothea were bored. It was the morning of Thursday, the thirteenth of January, the Russian New Year’s Day, and the two cousins were seated at breakfast, gazing cheerlessly out at the frosty, deserted park, where a small herd of deer were being fed hay by a keeper. The room was warm and filled with the heady scent of Dorothea’s favorite hyacinths, and the only sound was the steady ticking of the ormolu clock on the marble mantelpiece.

Nadia sighed. Today in St. Petersburg the Winter Palace and the Hermitage would be thrown open and forty thousand tickets issued. There would be such merriment and festivity. Even in London there would be
soirees
, dinner parties, or the theater. But they were out here, in virtual isolation, with absolutely nothing to do. She sighed again, glancing at Dorothea’s vexed expression. How she wished her cousin and her dull-brained husband had not quarreled so bitterly that he had absolutely refused to please his wife by agreeing to return early to town. Now he was determined to stay out here for as long as possible, simply to irritate her, and if her present mood was anything to go by, he was certainly succeeding.

There was a knock at the door and a footman came in with a letter for Nadia. It was from Imogen, and it contained news which immediately made her get up agitatedly and go to the window.

Dorothea glanced curiously at her. “Is something wrong?”

“Rupert has returned early from Althorp. He’s in town now.”

“So?”

“So, I wonder why. He was going to stay there another week.”

Dorothea shrugged. “He’s changed his mind; there’s nothing unusual about that.”

“But this time I want to know why.”

“You think it’s because of Leonie Conyngham, don’t you?”

“I don’t know. I fear that it could be.”

“Well, I warned you. The fact that she’s no longer a great heiress doesn’t make her less beautiful.”

“I don’t need reminding of that!” snapped Nadia.

“And if he chooses to go and see her, there’s very little you can do about it.”

“That is another thing of which I need no reminding. Oh, I should be there, not here! I have to know what’s happening.”

“
You
wish you were there? How do you think
I
feel, cooped up here with Lieven at his must dull and obstinate.
Mon Dieu
, I’d give anything to leave this wretched backwater.”

“Why don’t you, then?” asked Nadia carefully, wondering if Dorothea could be goaded into returning to the capital. “I don’t understand you at times. You’re the queen of London society, your word is law as far as the Season is concerned, and yet you meekly bow to Lieven’s ridiculous pettiness.”

Dorothea flushed a little at the scorn. “I merely attempt to keep up appearances.”

“Why bother? Everyone knows your marriage is a pretense and has been for some time now.”

“I’ve been in London for little more than a year, and I do not wish to jeopardize the position I have attained during that time. Lieven could make things very disagreeable if he wished. When I feel the time is right to put him in his place, then I will do it, but I hardly think now is that time. I haven’t a pressing reason to flout his wishes by returning to town.”

Nadia gazed out of the window once more, watching the deer browsing on the scattered hay, their breath silver in the cold. “Imogen’s letter contained other news. I know that you are no longer concerned with the activities of Lord Byron, but I rather think Lord Palmerston is of great interest to you.”

Dorothea looked up quickly. “What of him?”

“It seems that he and Lady Cowper have fallen out, in fact he’s most definitely in a miff with her. He’s been seen every night in his box at the opera house, while Emily Cowper is seen anywhere and everywhere but there.”

“Is Imogen sure of her facts?”

“As sure as it’s possible to be. Emily Cowper told her herself.” Nadia chose her next words carefully. “There seems little doubt to me that Lord Palmerston is ripe for the plucking. Your box is next to his at the opera house, isn’t it?”

Dorothea didn’t reply for a moment. Her long pale fingers drummed a little thoughtfully on the table.

“Will you seize your opportunity?” asked Nadia softly.

Slowly Dorothea got up, tossing her napkin onto the table. “Yes.”

“We’re returning to London?” Nadia could hardly keep the delight from her voice.

“Yes.”

Nadia smiled. Now she would be able to discover why Rupert had returned so suddenly from Althorp. And she would be able to keep a wary eye on the seminary.

* * *

Before noon, after yet another acrimonious confrontation between Dorothea and the furious, resentful Lieven, the two cousins left Streatham Park in the traveling carriage. They drove north through the freezing fog, along a road which had deep ruts as hard as iron. Progress was slow and they didn’t reach Harley Street until well after dark. Within an hour of arriving, they emerged again, dressed in evening elegance, and the town carriage took them across London to the opera house, where Imogen had said Lord Palmerston was to be seen each night, and where it so happened that Rupert, Duke of Thornbury, also had a box.

The opera house was reasonably crowded, and Dorothea was immediately gratified to see Lord Palmerston seated alone in the adjacent box. At twenty-nine, the young Secretary for War was very good-looking and elegant, and possessed a sensuous smile which told of an equally sensuous nature. He was tall and looked a little delicate. He had sandy hair and a high forehead; his skin was pale and his eyes seemed always a little lazy and amused. He noticed Dorothea immediately, and she left him in no doubt at all of her feelings as she smiled and inclined her head to him. His glance moved slowly over her, lingering on her so-slender figure in its sapphire-blue velvet gown, and on the whiteness of her bare shoulders. Then he returned the smile, and in that silent, knowing exchange an agreement was made. She sat back, exhaling with slow satisfaction. Her return to the embassy without Lieven would cause a stir, but if Palmerston was her lover she would be able to rise above it all, for he was as pressing a reason as any for making public her rift with her husband.

Beside her, Nadia was less pleased with the way things were going, for the Thornbury box opposite was empty. Her fan snapped open and closed, and the draft from it shivered the spangles adorning her green silk turban. She looked exquisite in a plain white silk gown, its low décolletage revealing the flawless perfection of her shoulders and throat, but although she attracted many admiring glances, she didn’t notice any of them as she gazed across the auditorium at that other box. Where was Rupert? She had been convinced that he would be here tonight; some sixth sense had told her he would be, but it was now nearly time for the curtain to rise and still there wasn’t any sign of him. Was he even now paying court to Leonie at the seminary? The fan stopped abruptly, for another disagreeable thought suddenly struck her. What if Leonie’s attitude toward him had undergone a dramatic change now that she was impoverished? Was she now prepared to encourage so wealthy an admirer? Once this thought had occurred to her, she couldn’t think of anything else, and she hardly glanced at the stage as the curtain rose and the performance began.

It was almost time for the intermission when suddenly someone entered the Thornbury box. It was Rupert. But Nadia’s smile of relief faded a little when she saw that he wasn’t alone; his mother and an unknown but exceedingly ugly young woman were with him. The young woman was short and rather thick-set, and her complexion was disagreeably sunburned. She wore a bright vermilion satin gown which did absolutely nothing for her, and she positively dripped with diamonds. Nadia had never seen so many diamonds; they were in her wiry dark brown hair, hanging pendulously from her ears, lying in glittering strands around her neck, and shimmering on her pudgy wrists and fingers. She was more dazzling than the stage. Nadia stared in astonishment at Rupert, whose attentiveness to this ugly creature could only be described as marked.

As the intermission commenced, Nadia still stared across at the other box, watching Rupert, who was at his most charming for the benefit of the creature in vermilion. Suddenly, as if he sensed the close scrutiny to which he was being subjected, he glanced across the auditorium, straight into Nadia’s eyes. For a moment he seemed stunned, and then he got up, making his excuses to his companions and withdrawing from the box. Nadia knew he was coming to speak to her, and she too withdrew into the passage to wait for him.

He smiled as he approached. “Nadia,” he said softly, drawing her hand to his lips and lingering over it for a moment, “I had no idea you were back in town.”

“So I noticed.”

He ignored the sarcasm. “I had to return early from Althorp. My mother was taken ill and Marguerite thought it wise to send for me.”

“Marguerite?”

“Miss St. Julienne. She’s the daughter of my mother’s old friend, and she’s come to England from her father’s plantation in Jamaica. She’s in my mother’s charge, and will be here for the Season.”

“She is, presumably, the creature who is with you tonight.”

“Yes.” His knowing eyes mocked her a little. “Don’t underestimate her because she has no looks, for she’s set to be the catch of the year. She is what is vulgarly known as a fortune, a vast fortune.”

Nadia looked away, her mind racing. “Is that why you are paying her such ridiculously marked attention?”

“No, I’m being agreeable for my mother’s sake. She dotes upon Marguerite and wants me to be my most charming toward her.”

“You’ve more than obliged tonight, sir.”

“Oh, come now, Nadia—”

“Does your mother wish you to marry this vast fortune?”

“I rather think she does, but I have no such intention. My mother has been ill and I’m humoring her, that’s all.” He put his hand to her cheek. “You surely don’t imagine that I would wish to take such a dreadful person as my wife?”