it.
His pencil moved over the pad, roughing out the plan of a building with an open central courtyard to accommodate the elms and then for no reason that he could fathom, added people to his drawing: the urchin bowling a hoop, a man on a horse, a carriage on the drive, the cake-and-fruit stall beside the water and the two ladies he had just seen. He laughed at himself for his fancifulness. Pulling his watch from waistcoat pocket, he was startled to discover it was already four-thirty; his valet would be dancing up and down in impatience. He hurried to where he had tethered his horse and cantered off in the direction of Hyde Park Corner and his house in Bruton Street.
‘Rosie, could we not go and see the guests arriving for the banquet?’ Esme asked when they were on their way home in the carriage after Lady Aviemore’s tea party. Esme had expected the company to be mixed, but they had all been ladies, some young, some older, who spent the time between sipping tea and nibbling wafer-thin sandwiches, in exchanging gossip, some of it shockingly malicious, but the outcome was several invitations to soirées and musical evenings and little dances.
‘It is too early in the year for balls,’ her ladyship had said. ‘But I intend to hold one as soon as the town begins to fill up. Lord Aviemore is on the committee dedicated to raising funds for the Exhibition and we thought a subscription ball would be just the thing. Very exclusive, of course. You will come, dear Lady Trent, won’t you, and bring your delightful sister?’
Rosemary declared she would be delighted, which surprised Esme, considering Rowan’s implacable opposition to the project, but a look from her sister stopped her making any comment.
‘Lord Aviemore is to attend tonight’s banquet,’ her ladyship continued. ‘It is being held to encourage the towns in the provinces to raise funds. After all, it is a countrywide endeavour, not just for the capital.’
‘I thought it was an international project involving the whole world,’ Esme put in.
Lady Aviemore looked sharply at her as if surprised to hear her daring to take part in the conversation. ‘Indeed it is,’ she said. ‘But it is the idea of our own dear Prince and it is this country which will organise and build it.’
‘I believe the banquet is to be a very grand affair,’ one of the other ladies put in. ‘I intend to go past the Mansion House on my way home to see the guests arrive.’
It was that which had prompted Esme’s question. Ever since she had returned from her walk in the park, she had felt unsettled, as if she were waiting for something extraordinary to happen, though she had no idea what it might be. The tea party had done nothing to dispel it. They had no engagement for the evening and, as both Rowan and Myles were to be out and they only had themselves to please, she could not see that a little diversion would do any harm. Myles was off to the banquet at the Mansion House and Rowan was going to have dinner with Lord Brougham, a former Lord Chancellor, who was one of the prominent figures working to scotch the idea of an exhibition. She smiled to herself in the darkening interior of the carriage, wondering if Myles and Rowan had encountered each other on their way out and, if they had, what they had said.
‘Whatever for?’ Rosemary demanded.
‘It will be such fun to see all the coaches and carriages arriving and the guests dressed in their finery. I should like to be able to tell Mama and Papa I had seen Prince Albert. Oh, do tell the coachman to take us that way.’
Esme could see she was tempted to see the spectacle herself, though she still hesitated. ‘What Rowan would say I cannot think.’
‘Why should he say anything? You do not have to tell him.’
‘Goodness, Esme, I would never deceive him or keep anything from him, and I sincerely hope that when you are married, you will be completely honest and open with your husband.’
‘I am sure he would not begrudge me a sight of the Queen’s consort arriving for a banquet.’ She did not add that if he did, she would have made a terrible mistake in her choice of husband. She was beginning to think this idea of deliberately setting out to find a husband was full of pitfalls and she must be on her guard. ‘Go on, Rosie, it won’t take long, will it? There is no one waiting for us at home.’
‘Oh, very well. I suppose it cannot do any harm.’ She used her fan to lean forward and tap the coachman on his back. ‘Croxon, take us round by the Mansion House.’
Without giving a flicker of reaction to this strange way of getting from Russell Square to Kensington, he obediently turned the carriage and headed down Kingsway to Aldwych, Fleet Street and Ludgate Hill, an area new to Esme. This was the financial heart of the City and was a mixture of imposing buildings and little alleyways and courts. They began to notice the crowds as they approached St Paul’s and from then it was difficult for the coach to proceed. ‘There’s nothing for it—but we shall have to get out and walk,’ Esme said when the carriage finally came to a stop, closed in by the hordes, and, before her astonished sister could stop her, had opened the door and jumped to the ground. Rosemary felt obliged to follow.
They pressed forward until they managed to find themselves a good position where they could see the guests arriving, with Rosemary grumbling all the way. ‘We’ll be trampled to death,’ she said, holding tight on to Esme’s arm.
‘Of course we won’t. You saw how everyone made way for us, they probably think we are guests.’
‘I don’t think there are any lady guests. They will all be men.’
‘Really? Then we shan’t see any sumptuous dresses.’
‘No, did you think we would?’
Esme did not answer because the police were forcing everyone back to make way for the cabs and carriages bringing the guests. There may not have been any ladies, but the men were got up like peacocks. There were foreign ambassadors in court dress, high-ranking military men in dress uniform, glittering with medals, mayors from provincial towns in red robes and regalia, bishops in their vestments, others in colourful livery, who Rosie told her were the Masters of the City Guilds, and there were men in plain evening dress, wearing honours on their breasts.
‘Oh, look, there’s Myles,’ Esme said, pointing. ‘Doesn’t he look grand?’
Myles was wearing a double-breasted black evening coat, narrow black trousers, a blue brocade waistcoat and a shiny top hat. He did not appear to see them as he walked into the building beside the Mayor of Leicester.
But someone else did notice them. The young man they had seen in the park was right behind Myles. His evening coat sported several decorations. His waistcoat was black with silver embroidery, which glittered as he moved. And he moved gracefully, Esme noticed, a sight which set her heart pumping. Oh, but he was handsome! He turned to follow Myles and caught sight of her animated face under a fetching blue bonnet and, smiling, stopped to doff his hat and give her a slight bow of recognition before disappearing inside.
‘The effrontery of the man!’ Rosemary exclaimed. ‘You should not have encouraged him to be familiar, Esme.’
‘I didn’t encourage him. I cannot help it if he chooses to tip his hat to me. I do not know why you are making such a fuss.’
‘It is the second time today. I begin to wonder if you do know him after all and that is why you wanted to come here.’
‘No, Rosie, I promise you I have never met him. It is pure coincidence.’
‘If
