Free Rakehell's Widow by Sandra Heath Page B

at the mag nificent decorations covering the front of Seaham House.
    Inside, the decorations were no less magnificent, for Octavia had certainly made free with the Duke’s purse. In the flower-strewn vestibule each lady was presented with a tiny wrist bouquet of exotic flowers, obviously picked from the hothouses at Stoneleigh Park, and there were fountains playing endlessly into artificial pools where the flashing forms of gold and silver fish could be seen. Octavia had surpassed herself, more than earning her rep utation as London’s premier hostess, for one doubted that Devonshire House or Melbourne House could have come up to this lavish display.
    The Duke and Duchess waited at the foot of the great marble steps leading down into the immense, glittering ballroom, the Duke looking somewhat gloomy, for he was pining for the ample charms of Lady Adelina Carver, who was causing him some anxiety because of her expressed preference for Harry Ponsonby. The thought that perhaps at this very moment she was languishing in Ponsonby’s arms was making the Duke very tetchy indeed. He loathed having to do his duty at the best of times, but tonight was finding it more irksome than ever.
    Beside him, Octavia was resplendent in a vivid jade- green satin which was picked out with hundreds of tiny sequins. Knowing full well her spouse’s despondent thoughts, she felt no sympathy whatsoever, feeling that he merited none because of his frequent and open excursions outside the marriage bed.
    The master of ceremonies, very imposing in the Seaham livery of maroon and gold, stepped forward as Alabeth and Jillian approached, and his cane rapped loudly on the marble floor as he called out their names. A great many faces were turned immediately in their direction, quizzing glasses were raised, and there were whispers behind fans, for the Earl of Wallborough’s beautiful daughters were the object of considerable interest. Many remembered only too well the scandal which had centered upon Alabeth six years before, and now they wondered if Jillian was a similar chip off the Wallborough block. But for every slightly unkind soul, there was another who welcomed them with genuine pleasure, for whatever Alabeth may have done in the past, she had still been a very popular young lady, whose true friends would have forgiven her almost anything, especially a romantic, if undesirable, match with a charming rake like Lord Manvers.
    Alabeth began to descend the steps, Jillian following slightly behind, and Octavia came to meet them, smiling with delight. “My dears, you both look delectable, quite delectable. Is that not so, sir?” She nudged her morose husband.
    “Eh? Oh, yes—yes, the evening goes very well.”
    His wife frowned. “Do pay attention sir, for already you have asked the Marquis of Fullsdon how his wife is, and the world knows she has left him.”
    Alabeth smothered a smile, for Octavia’s words con jured up quite an entertaining picture. The Duke scowled, muttering that Fullsdon was such a miserly wretch he was surprised his very hounds hadn’t left him too. Octavia looked cross, but then forgot him as she linked arms with Alabeth and drew her aside. “I do not think a single soul has not accepted for tonight,” she said with ill-concealed delight. “I could not be more pleased, truly I couldn’t.”
    “I’m glad for you, Octavia, for you’ve worked very hard, and everything looks most exquisite.”
    Octavia looked satisfied as she gazed across the crowded floor, which had been thoroughly sanded and decorated with the stenciled shapes of stars and half-moons. Beneath the dazzling chandeliers, jeweled ladies and velvet-clad gentlemen moved to the sweet music of a cotillion, and at the far end of the floor was the orchestra’s dais. To one side stood the pianoforte which Count Adam Zaleski was to play a little later.
    Alabeth glanced at the pianoforte. “Has the Count arrived yet?”
    “Naturally, for I do not promise such tidbits