Free A Scandalous Publication by Sandra Heath Page A

itself took place one fine June morning on Putney Heath, and from all accounts the whole of the beau monde traveled there at dawn to watch. The great attendance meant that the confrontation was very reliably reported, so that Charlotte was left in no doubt that of the two protagonists, only Max came out of it with any credit. He had again declared himself innocent and had requested his opponent to call a halt to the proceedings, but Lord Wellington had not only refused, he had also been far too precipitate, turning to fire before the command was given. Fortunately his shot had missed its mark, but he had then had to summon every last vestige of courage to stand there while Max slowly and at his leisure took aim for his heart. The watching crowd had held its breath, giving a loud gasp when at the last moment Max had fired his pistol into the air before tossing it scornfully to the ground and turning away. Lady Westington, who had been unable to resist the temptation to be present, had received a very reproachful and accusing glance from Max as he walked to his carriage, and those who saw her exceedingly guilty reaction had no doubt at all that her whole story had been a fabrication, invented out of pique. That night Lord Westington, much reviled for having fired early, had taken his erring wife away to their country seat in Northamptonshire, intending to stay there until the whole sorry incident was forgotten. For the moment, however, it was talked of in all the drawing rooms, including that at the Parkstone residence, where a very reluctant Sylvia had in the end to admit to her father that she had been wrong about Max and Lady Westington and that Max had conducted himself very well indeed throughout the whole affair.
    Charlotte’s friendship with Sylvia became very firm over those weeks, and they were frequently to be found in each other’s company. The renewed friendship between Mrs. Wyndham and Admiral Parkstone flourished too, the admiral often taking tea at Henrietta Street, at which occasions he and Mrs. Wyndham sat chattering for hours, driving their respective daughters to the point of ennui with their recollections of events long since past and people long since gone.
    Of Richard Pagett there was unfortunately still no sign. The house sparkled like a new pin in readiness for him, and poor Polly was dispatched each morning to clean his waiting bedroom anew.
    Richard’s arrival was not the only event toward which Charlotte was looking forward; there was also the Parkstones’ summer ball. Her enthusiasm for it took her completely by surprise, for in the past such functions had never appealed to her, but now it was somewhat different. However, it was one thing to eagerly anticipate it; it was quite another to feel entirely happy about what she would wear. Her wardrobe was very sorry now, lacking all the beautiful gowns created for her by Madame Forestier, that most-sought-after of couturieres, and even if she had still possessed them, they would have been two summers out-of-date. Only one of the gowns she had retained offered any possibilities, and that was a plain white muslin with a fairly high neckline and long, puckered sleeves. It needed a great deal of alteration to be suitable for a ball, and so in the evenings she divided her time between writing Rex Kylmerth and attending to the gown, which soon sported a desirably low décolletage and a shortened skirt with a stiffened hem. She adorned it with hundreds of tiny silver sequins, some taken from a rather ornate reticule which had somehow been overlooked when she had sold her things at Kimber Park, and some purchased from Messrs. Clark & Debenham at considerable cost to her small allowance.
    Planning the ball and making all the arrangements naturally occupied a great deal of Sylvia’s time, and when she was with Charlotte, it was a frequent topic of conversation. It was to discuss some minor catering difficulty that she called one afternoon at Henrietta Street,