Chapter Eight

      Eloise’s head snapped around. She watched Jack Clifton walk into the room, tall and elegant in his black swallow-tailed coat and buff pantaloons. He looked relaxed and at his ease, and she schooled her own features into a look of bland indifference as she rose to her feet. More people were coming into the room and Mrs Renwick hurried away to greet them, leaving Eloise with the major.

      ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded as he bowed to her.

      He raised his brows.

      ‘Renwick invited me. Do you think I should remove myself because you do not want me here? I am a guest, madam, as you are. You will have to make the best of it.’ He bared his teeth. ‘Smile, madam, we are in company; you do not want anyone to suspect an intrigue, do you? Or perhaps, considering your reputation, it is of no matter to you.’

      ‘Your being here is no matter to me, Major,’ Eloise flashed back at him. She gave him a smile as false as his own and swept away to meet the other guests.

      With the exception of Alex Mortimer, the party was complete, and when Eloise sat down to dinner it was with the almost certain knowledge that her tormentor from Vauxhall Gardens was amongst the guests. She glanced around the table as the servants came in with the first course. She discounted Mr and Mrs Renwick from her list of suspects and, reluctantly, Major Clifton. Lord and Lady Parham were inveterate gossipmongers, but she did not think either of them capable of such subterfuge. Sitting near her were two other couples, both related to Mrs Renwick, plus Sir Ronald Deforge. Then there was a gentleman called Graham with an unfortunate taste in florid waistcoats and her late-husband’s cousin, Mrs Margaret Cromer, an iron-haired lady whose forbidding countenance was relieved by a decided twinkle in her grey eyes. At the far end of the table was Mr Renwick’s sister, her clergyman husband and two pretty daughters. Eloise knew them slightly, but since Mr Briggate and his family had travelled from Dorset to join the party at Renwick Hall she hoped she might discount them.

      With a sigh she turned her attention to her dinner. In truth, she had no idea whom she should suspect. She must not relax, even for a moment. She pushed a piece of chicken across her plate, sadly aware that her appetite had disappeared.

      After dinner the ladies withdrew to the long gallery, where fires blazed in the two fireplaces. They disposed themselves gracefully on the elegant sofas while they talked and gossiped, and during a lull in the conversation Eloise wandered off to look at the numerous pictures that covered the walls.

      ‘We have some very fine paintings here, Lady Allyngham,’ said Mr Renwick, leading the gentlemen into the room at that moment. ‘However, they don’t show to advantage in the candlelight: you are best looking at them during the day.’

      ‘I should like to do so,’ she replied.

      ‘And I should be delighted to escort you,’ replied her host, smiling. ‘Or let Clifton be your guide; he knows as much as I about the pictures here at the Hall.’

      ‘You flatter me, Charles,’ said Jack. ‘I do not claim to be an expert.’

      ‘But you have an eye for a beautiful work of art,’ returned Mr Renwick.

      ‘And for a pretty woman,’ added Mr Graham, walking by.

      ‘And that,’ Jack replied gravely.

      He was about to turn away. Eloise said quickly, ‘You consider yourself a connoisseur, perhaps?’

      ‘Of art, madam, or women?’

      ‘Oh, Clifton is decidedly a connoisseur of women!’ laughed Mr Renwick, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

      ‘I take leave to question that,’ muttered Eloise, so quietly that only Jack could hear her. She found his dark, unsmiling gaze resting on her.

      ‘I have enough experience to know when beauty is merely a sham, a bright veneer to cover a tarnished character.’

      Colour flamed through Eloise’s cheek. She turned away, furious with herself for challenging him. It was a game she could not win. She fixed her eyes on a large portrait, pretending to study it while she struggled to regain her composure.

      ‘What—’ Jack was standing at her shoulder, his words quiet in her ear, ‘—has the Glorious Allyngham no laughing riposte for me?’

      She drew herself up and turned to him, masking her anger with a glittering smile.

      ‘I am amazed, sir, that you claim any expertise at all when it comes to our sex. In my experience you show no aptitude at all and see only what you want to see!’

      With no more than a small inclination of her head Eloise moved away, back to the relative safety of the crowd.

      It was still early so it came as no surprise when one of the younger members of the group suggested dancing. The party moved to one end of the room where the fine pianoforte was situated and footmen were called to roll away the carpet. With her nerves at full stretch, Eloise could not share in the general high spirits so she stepped up to her hostess and offered to play for the dancers. Mr Graham, overhearing her, immediately cried out at this, saying with a laugh, ‘Would you deprive us of the pleasure of watching you dance, Lady Allyngham?’

      ‘Would you deprive us of the pleasure of partnering you?’ added Sir Ronald Deforge.

      She shook her head.

      ‘Thank you, but I am very happy to play tonight.’

      Mr Graham was inclined to argue.

      ‘But, my lady—’

      ‘Someone else may take a turn at the pianoforte later,’ declared Mrs Renwick, the peacemaker. ‘I know Lady Allyngham to be an excellent pianist and it would be an honour to have her play for our little party.’

      Major Clifton carried a branched candlestick across to the pianoforte.

      ‘Out of sorts, Lady Allyngham?’

      She gave him a frosty look and turned her attention to leafing through the music piled on a nearby table.

      ‘I am not always so flighty as you think me, Major.’

      ‘Perhaps you are missing Alex Mortimer.’

      ‘Oh, do go away!’