doors to the terrace were open, the gauzy curtains tied back, filling the ballroom with sunlight, which shimmered over the huge chandeliers. The polished dance floor was piled high with thick rugs to provide a soft landing in the event of mishap. Goodness knew where Mrs Phydon had found so many. Her venerable housekeeper was a positive treasure. Several stacks of equipment had been placed in the centre of the room. Their guests were to be given the opportunity to try their hands at juggling, the art of spinning hoops or, for bolder gentlemen in rude physical health, tumbling.
Alexandr Vengarov was the first on the scene, rather disappointingly quite respectably dressed in a shirt and a pair of leather breeches. My, but the man had a fine pair of calves. And really, those cheekbones could sharpen knives. The gentlemen arrived in dribs and drabs, all attired in breeches and shirts. Admittedly there were some shapely legs and fine shoulders on display, but there were some, Alicia noted, eyeing them critically, who must surely resort to padding when more conventionally dressed—and not just of the calf. However, their unexpected and indeed uninvited guest, Kael Gage, stripped down very well indeed, as did Colonel Kennedy, which was to be expected of a military man.
There was no sign of that desiccated twig of a man Falkner, and surprisingly Timothy Farthingale had made the rare decision to pass up an opportunity to make an exhibition of himself. Perhaps the pair of them were closeted elsewhere talking business. Marcus would be pleased about that, it was a partnership he was most eager to promote. Lillias would likely brief him on any progress there. She seemed to be spending an unfathomable amount of time with Farthingale.
The little Russian acrobat, demurely dressed, led the posse of blushing and giggling ladies in. This event offered an excellent opportunity to take an inventory of the early progress of the various liaisons this year’s party had set in train. Alicia studied them as they filed into the room, shockingly corsetless, wearing divided skirts. It would be fair to say that not everything was going exactly to plan. The Kilmun twins, for example, seemed determined to resist the ardent advances of Addington and Brigstock, the duke’s personal protégés. As to the other business closest to her dear husband’s heart—now that, Alicia thought with a weary sigh, was going deuced badly.
It was a relief to see that Verity had decided to honour the company with her presence. The girl had made very little attempt to endear herself to the colonel, despite the fact that her duty had been made very clear to her. Last night, in the drawing room after dinner, had been positively embarrassing. While Colonel Kennedy had made a point of seeking Verity out, the girl sat there like a wooden effigy, forcing Alicia to intervene lest further damage was done. But the conversational seeds she so carefully planted had fallen on stony ground. There was no evidence of Verity’s normal sharp-mindedness, nor of her much-vaunted wit. The poor colonel! The duchess fanned her cheeks at the memory. He at least, had emerged from the encounter with distinction. The man had shown remarkable restraint, though his mouth grew tighter with each successive silence, and those remarkable blue eyes grew stormy. In the end, she had resorted to escorting him into the card room herself.
What the devil was wrong with the girl! Colonel Kennedy was not simply presentable, he was an extremely attractive man, and quite, quite charming. Verity could do a great deal worse. He had an air about him that made one wish to do his bidding, but also made one rather tremble at the thought of not doing so. Wellington had gone out of his way to recommend his protégé to Marcus, and though Kennedy was a second son of a mere Scottish peer, Wellington’s seal of approval more than made up for a somewhat watery pedigree. Kennedy would go far under his own steam, but he would go further with the appropriate help-meet. Just as Marcus had, Alicia thought, smiling fondly. Verity was simply being stubborn. In some ways, the girl was very like her uncle. She would remind her in the sternest of terms of her obligations.
Unless the damage was already done? Rather worryingly, despite Verity’s fetching appearance in the divided skirt, Kennedy was at this moment showing little interest in his prospective wife. The duchess leaned forward over the balcony, risking discovery. It was the little acrobat that he was leaning close to, bestowing a smile on her that brought a flush to Alicia’s artfully powdered cheeks. The Vengarov woman was smiling back. She touched his arm, lightly enough, though she withdrew hurriedly. Had Verity noticed the little exchange between the female acrobat and her intended? A pinch of jealousy might rouse her from her torpor. No, blast it, Verity was pointedly staring in the opposite direction.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, if you would be kind enough to gather around, please select your preferred activity and we will begin.’ Alexandr Vengarov clapped his hands imperiously and the duchess pushed her exasperation with her niece to one side and settled back to enjoy the spectacle.
* * *
‘Very good,’ Katerina said to Lady Verity Fairholme, ‘you have excellent co-ordination, if I may say so. You are the only one to have mastered juggling with three balls.’
This was a fact not lost on those male guests who had taken what they no doubt considered the easier option. One of them, Brigstock, who was the Earl of Jessop, was all fingers and thumbs, and could barely throw and cleanly catch a single ball. When she had noticed that his lack of dexterity was an enormous source of amusement to some of the spectating ladies, Katerina had quickly moved him to the hoop-spinning group. Unfortunately, he proved no more adept at this simple trick. His face a grim mask of fierce concentration, he gyrated violently as if being assailed by a swarm of hornets, but despite his determined efforts, the hoop refused to remain around his waist and clattered repeatedly on to the rugs. It was all Katerina could do not to burst out laughing herself.
Her star pupil turned out to be the Duke of Brockmore’s niece, the woman intended for Fergus. She was extremely beautiful, though rather haughty, her manner distant at first, but during the last hour as she immersed herself in the art of juggling, she had been quite transformed. Eyeing her flushed countenance and sparkling eyes, Katerina felt an unaccustomed twist of envy. Family, breeding, looks and charm, as well as that certain something, a supreme kind of confidence that came from the security of her position in the upper echelon of society, this woman had it all. Including Fergus, if she wished. And why would she not wish for that!
Somewhat annoyingly, Lady Verity was proving to be easy to like. Her smile was completely lacking in self-consciousness. The glee she took in mastering what none of the other guests could manage was infectious. ‘You have a natural talent,’ Katerina said, and meant it.
‘Thank you.’ Her pupil beamed. ‘You are an excellent teacher. Am I ready for the skittles, do you think?’
‘You wish to learn in a morning what it takes most people years to perfect! Why not, but start with just two. Here, hold them like this. Now watch me.’
Katerina demonstrated several times, then handed two skittles to Lady Verity to try for herself. Keeping one eye on her pupil, she allowed her attention to drift back to the group of intrepid gentlemen whom Alexei was coaching in the basics of tumbling. Unsurprisingly, Fergus was one of the most successful of his pupils. He had actually managed to string a handstand and a cartwheel together. Her brother, who was ridiculously competitive, was making a point of picking holes in his technique.
Instead of taking offence, Fergus listened intently, nodding, requesting a demonstration. His next attempt was a vast improvement. He had only a fraction of Alexei’s flexibility, but he was extremely strong, with an excellent sense of balance. And he was determined. His shirt came untucked from his leather breeches on his next attempt, revealing a tautly muscled belly, a smooth, tanned expanse of chest. His next combination of handstand and tumble was almost perfect, with momentum enough to take him into a second handstand. Alexei had no choice but to applaud. Fergus caught her eye and grinned.
Flushing, for she suspected she had been staring rather too openly, Katerina turned her attention back to her pupil. Fergus, his shirt clinging to his heaving torso, rested against a nearby
