All for Love by Jane Aiken Hodge Page A

already, I rather think. I told you we were not the only ones who cheated.’
    ‘Anne, who’s Mr. Fonseca?’ Juliet had sent Alice for a glass of water.
    ‘Dear God, is he back?’
    ‘Yes, and in a black rage, because he sent me camellias and I didn’t wear them. Well, you can see —’
    ‘Yes.’ Anne bent forward to give the emerald hair-piece a loving little pat into place. ‘The Winchelsea emeralds. Won’t Madame Josephine just be mad as fire when she hears you were the first to wear them. She’s been after them ever since we got here. But Mr. Fonseca’s back? That’s bad news. She was so sure he’d be gone for a month or more.’
    ‘Yes. Something went wrong with his plans. The Spanish were waiting for him at the frontier. I don’t rightly understand. But there’s no time , Anne. Tell me, quick, what is he to my cousin? You can see, I have to know.’
    ‘I wish I knew,’ said Anne. ‘Or rather.’ Sombrely. ‘I wish I didn’t think I knew.’
    ‘I was afraid it was like that. From the way he spoke. For a moment, I was afraid he and Mr. Purchis were going to quarrel. Oh, Anne, I do hope he doesn’t come to the party.’
    ‘He’ll come,’ said Anne. ‘And you must just see to it that you are not alone with him. Ah, thank you, Alice.’
    Juliet was glad of the water, with its momentary excuse to linger. But — ‘They’re arriving in throngs now,’ said Alice. ‘Then I must go down.’
    She found Hyde receiving guests at the foot of the main stairway. ‘There you are, my dear,’ he tucked her arm into his ‘You know Mr. Troup, of course.’
    The immense red-headed, red-eyebrowed politician had been one of the party of chief citizens at the theatre and he was indeed a figure it was impossible to forget. ‘Of course I do. You enjoyed the play, sir?’
    But the queue of guests behind was too pressing for him to be able to answer. To her relief, she found that names were unimportant in this throng of people. It was merely to smile, to shake hands, to mutter some nothing about the play, or the theatre, or Mr. Scarbrough’s red carpet, and then start all over again. Only, once, was there a tiny pause, an imperceptible jolt in the smooth proceedings. She had looked over the heads of their neighbours the Richardsons to see the tall black figure of Mr. Fonseca towering behind them. His grip on her hand hurt. ‘Ride with me tomorrow. Our time, our place.’ His low voice was covered by the Richardsons who were still exclaiming to Hyde about the differences between their two Jay-built houses.
    ‘I am so sorry.’ She smiled up at him innocently. ‘We leave for Winchelsea in the morning.’
    His lips framed a word she preferred not to recognise. Then, ‘At Winchelsea, in that case. Our rendezvous there.’ And, louder, ‘I shall count on the first waltz.’
    ‘Then you will be disappointed.’ Hyde had disentangled himself from the Richardsons and held out a cool hand to Fonseca. ‘My wife and I have decided that the waltz may be all very well in Europe, but it is hardly the thing for one of our Savannah parties. But I am sure she will be able to favour you with a quadrille. Not the first, my love, which you must dance with our guest of honour, Mr. Jay, not the second, which I reserve for myself.’
    ‘The third then.’ Once more, the queue was pressing from behind, and Fonseca moved on, with a black glance for Hyde.
    ‘No waltzes?’ The lady of the following couple had heard the exchange. ‘But how gothic, Mr. Purchis.’
    ‘We are gothic at Winchelsea, Mrs. Brimmer.’
    After Fonseca, Jay’s respectful adoration was pure pleasure. Dancing the first quadrille with him, Juliet was almost able to relax, to consider the possibility of enjoying this evening. But how could she, with Fonseca always somewhere visible, watching her, black-browed, furious. Still, at least she did not have to waltz with him. There was something puzzling about that too. ‘You never told me there was to be no