A Prior Attachment (Dorothy Mack Regency Romances)

by Dorothy Mack

  “No, that is too unkind, and not really true. I will grant you that Letty is not precisely needle-witted, but she doesn’t want for common sense and her principles are fixed. There is nothing about her that would unfit her to be the wife of someone in Malcolm’s position.”

  Miss Fairmont shrugged her shoulders. “Unless he has a prejudice against a bore with a cackling laugh for a wife,” she retorted unarguably before returning her attention to her beautifully kept hands as they danced over the keys.

  Lady Gemma pulled a comical grimace for Lucy’s benefit but refrained from prolonging a fruitless discussion about people entirely unknown as yet to her friend.

  She was in a mood to be tolerant of all mankind’s foibles at present, Lucy thought, regarding her school chum with affectionate understanding. Though Gemma had volunteered nothing of her sentiments concerning George since his appearance on the scene, some slight previous knowledge of the attachment, plus a close friend’s intuitive awareness, told her that Gemma was on fire with well-contained excitement and anticipation. She would have taken her oath that her friend was in love with the dashing captain and could only wish that the gentleman’s emotions were to be read so easily. Certainly there was affection and pleasure in the renewal of friendship, but Lucy had sought eagerly and in vain for some sign of a deeper attachment on his part. She reminded herself that a man’s tender ego might well prevent him from wearing his heart on his sleeve, so to speak, before he had some cause to believe his devotion was returned. It made sense, good sense. Then why, against such convincing rationalization, did the nagging thought persist that she could discern no sign of love on his part because none existed?

  And then there was his reaction to Coralee Fairmont. For a long moment, Lucy’s deliberate gaze rested on the girl at the pianoforte. Captain Godwin had been struck in a heap by her loveliness. This was scarcely surprising, of course. Any man who failed to respond to the age-old appeal of a beauty as perfect as Miss Fairmont’s must be lacking discrimination indeed. Her brother John had looked as admiringly and as long at Coralee as had Captain Godwin. A frown appeared on Lucy’s smooth brow as her concentration was turned inward. John had looked often and admiringly at the lovely blonde, but was there a difference in the quality of his appreciation, perhaps? His sister had learned it was rarely possible to tell what John was thinking if he wished to conceal those thoughts. If she were forced to describe his attitude toward the gorgeous Coralee, she’d have to call it a blend of admiration and amusement and concede that he did not seem concerned with concealment of either. Now that she came to comparisons, it occurred to her that there was more of amusement in Captain Godwin’s attitude toward Gemma than toward her cousin. In fact, his demeanour toward Gemma last night was strikingly similar to that of John toward Coralee. The implications of this line of thought, though highly intriguing, would have to await a more propitious hour, however, for Gemma was demanding Lucy’s opinion of the newly decorated bonnet, which she had just placed on her head.

  “Let me see it in profile. Oh, yes, I do like the effect of the flowers on the brim dipping toward one ear.”

  “Coralee?” Gemma twirled slowly in front of the pianoforte to give her cousin a view of the hat from all angles.

  “Very fetching,” drawled Miss Fairmont, sparing the dark-haired girl a quick look before executing a series of rippling notes. “I am persuaded George Godwin will find it to his taste, if it is for his benefit.”

  Gemma turned away without deigning to reply to the unspoken question, but Lucy saw her pull in the corners of her mouth.

  With the possible exception of Major Lord Oliver Barton, who, while comporting himself with punctilious civility and providing no grounds for legitimate complaint about his demeanour, still managed to set himself at a distance from the others, the members of that first dinner party enjoyed themselves hugely. The Delevans were pleased to find in Sir Humphrey and Lady Godwin a good-natured and unassuming pair who welcomed the brother and sister to the neighbourhood with genuine kindliness. Sir Humphrey was a bluff, hearty individual with no pretensions to excessive gentility; he came from sound English stock that had been on the land for uncounted generations. His wife’s birth was better than his, but neither was animated by the least desire to shine in any society removed from their own locality. They were unimpressed with the distinction conveyed by dining at a ducal table and had been on perfectly comfortable though scarcely intimate terms with the Monteith family for unnumbered years.

  If Lady Godwin had an envious bone in her body, which was doubtful, its sole expression would have been in the desire that the duchess’s pastry cook might somehow impart some of her skill to her own Mabel, whose many good points did not, unfortunately, include a light hand with the puddings to which Sir Humphrey was highly partial. She was even able to view her hostess with no lessening of goodwill toward one who, though less than five years her junior, threw her own ample proportions and grey hair into stark relief in contrast to her grace’s slim elegance. If the truth were known, Lady Godwin often experienced a vague sympathy for the duchess, who struck her as being a woman whose gentle manners strove constantly to conceal some rooted unhappiness. When she compared her own contentment with Sir Humphrey to the life the other must lead as the duke’s wife, she felt she had not far to look for the cause of this suspected melancholy.

  The last guest, Mr. Malcolm Godwin, though lacking something of his younger brother’s brilliance in company, possessed an attractive smile and conducted himself with a pleasing diffidence that did him no disservice with the older generation. Indeed, Lady Sophronia later described him as a very pretty-behaved young man, an encomium with which the three girls willingly expressed the unqualified agreement she expected.

  No entertainment had been planned for what the duchess termed a simple family meal, but knowing the elder Godwins’ fondness for cards, she hinted her sister-in-law into proposing a game of whist while the younger element amused itself by making music. Coralee was prevailed upon by her aunt to give them all the pleasure of a few songs, which she did readily enough after the requisite display of hesitation and modesty considered proper to the occasion. The applause and admiration that greeted her performance was real, for she possessed a good strong soprano that she used well, and nothing could have improved upon the exquisite picture she presented accompanying herself at the pianoforte. In her pale-yellow muslin with gold ribbons adorning the tiny puffed sleeves, she was the epitome of youth and beauty. Small wonder that most of the gentlemen present wore expressions bordering on the fatuous when at last she excused herself with a laugh and a graceful apology for taking up more of their time than was seemly. The protests following upon this remark were quite sincere; Major Barton’s finely chiselled lips actually stretched into the semblance of a smile as he offered the comment that he had rarely been privileged to witness such superb breath and vocal control in an amateur, while Captain Godwin was heard to declare in fervent tones that he for one could listen to Coralee all night with indescribable pleasure.

  “I know when I am being offered Spanish coin,” objected Miss Fairmont. “You would be bored to tears if that were to happen.”

  The captain interrupted to protest dramatically that she did him a grave injustice, that she cast aspersions on his veracity, indeed on his very honour.

  Miss Fairmont held up a staying hand. “Enough!” she said on a gratified laugh. “I apologize for the imputation, but you must see the advantage from my point of view in stopping while my audience wishes more. Besides,” she added, glancing around at her cousin with a glinting smile, “it is time to share the stage with someone else. Gemma?”

  Lady Gemma’s flawless complexion lost some of its rich colour as she demurred hastily, “You know I have no voice, Coralee. It would spoil the memory of your fine performance.”

  “Nonsense, you are too modest, my dear cousin,” purred Miss Fairmont. “Why do not you and Miss Delevan sing that charming little ballad I heard you rehearsing the other day
when I arrived?”

  Lady Gemma’s eyes, bright with distress, sought her friend’s in wordless appeal and found her equal to the occasion.

  “Unfortunately, we have not yet completely learned that song, but if John will assist us, there was an amusing little French song we were used to sing at school.” Lucy’s countenance was serene and untroubled as she smiled at the company in general before directing it at her brother.

  Mr. Delevan readily assented. “It will be my pleasure, as long as you two girls promise not to drown me out.” Under cover of the murmur of laughter that greeted this plea, he extended a hand to help Lady Gemma to her feet as Lucy seated herself at the instrument. The tiny brunette had recovered her poise by now, strengthened by an encouraging look from the duchess, but he could sense her unwillingness, and he gave her hand one comforting squeeze before releasing it.

  Thanks to Mr. Delevan’s powerful baritone, which, despite his professed anxiety, was entirely capable of dominating the female voices, the trio performed very creditably and even conceded another number to popular demand. After that, it was a simple matter for Gemma to suggest that the gentlemen try some three-part harmony. With the exception of the major, who declared flatly that he didn’t sing, they were agreeable to the suggestion and eventually produced some better results than their lack of practice might have promised.

  All in all, it was a pleasant evening, but as she parted from Lucy at the door to her friend’s bedchamber, Gemma struggled with a vague sense of disquiet that she wished to believe was no more than simple disappointment at not having managed a single private moment with George as yet. Naturally she was disappointed — any girl in her situation would be — that the demands of general civility had precluded their achieving even a short tête-à-tête. It was no one’s fault of course; tonight marked just their second meeting since George’s return, and so far they had met only in company. Even as she counselled the patience that was so difficult of achievement for one of her impulsive nature, the nagging thought persisted that lovers could communicate in a room full of humanity. An exchange of glances could enclose them in their own private world. She shivered a little as she climbed into bed at last but attributed the chill to her dawdling pace at making herself ready for sleep. Tomorrow would be a brand-new day that would surely provide an opportunity to renew the closeness she and George had attained before he had gone off to war.

  The small dinner party marked the beginning of a regular intercourse between the younger members of the two neighbouring families. Most days would find the gentlemen from Godwin Manor engaged for some activity with varying members of Monteith Hall’s current residents. Sometimes the men would go out together, but often, if the weather was especially promising, the ladies would join them in their rides about the locality.

  To Gemma’s silent but deeply felt chagrin, Captain Godwin made no attempt in the days that followed to single her out for any distinguishing attentions. She waged constant battle with the jealousy that gnawed at her spirit when he flirted with the obliging Coralee. He flirted charmingly with herself and sometimes with Lucy also, but the best will in the world to believe otherwise could not convince her that her share of his compliments was greater than that accorded to the other girls. A stiff-necked pride she had not known she possessed enabled her to conceal her wounds, but she bitterly regretted having displayed her heart to Mr. Delevan. Not that that gentleman of the exquisite manners and innate kindness ever betrayed his knowledge by the flick of an eyelash; on the contrary, his tactful presence and discreet social skill ensured that all appeared serene on the surface. Though grateful for both the breeding and the kindness, she was too frequently reminded of the awkward situation in which she had placed herself and was hard put to behave without consciousness in the presence of George or Mr. Delevan. However, even this uncomfortable state of affairs took on an aspect of normalcy as the days passed in outwardly pleasurable activity.

  The captain and Major Barton, occasionally accompanied by Mr. Godwin, fell into the habit of calling at Monteith Hall about teatime. On less clement days, they might drop in earlier and while away the afternoon playing billiards before joining the ladies for tea.

  On one such rainy afternoon Captain Godwin and Major Barton wandered into the billiard room, where a game of sorts was going on amid general hilarity. All the young ladies were present with Lord Gresham, but there was no sign of Mr. Delevan. Major Barton, whose useless arm prevented him from engaging in this activity, though he was still a bruising rider, inquired for Mr. Delevan and was told by Lucy that her brother could be found in the duke’s library.

  “He had several business letters that needed answering,” she explained, cue stick in hand. When the major stated his reluctance to disturb Mr. Delevan under the circumstances, she was firm in disabusing his mind of any such notion. “I am persuaded he will be glad of company by now, sir, for the letters have occupied him for the best part of two hours. In fact, it is my opinion that John invented the letters as an excuse to avoid teaching me to play billiards,” she confided with a smile in her smoky-grey eyes, “though he put on his most heartrending wounded expression when I dared to suggest that he might be guilty of such ignoble conduct.”

  For just a second, the major’s hard eyes reflected an answering gleam of amusement. “I see you know your brother very well, Miss Delevan. There are no illusions left.”

  “I have always preferred the truth to illusions, no matter how comforting the latter might be,” she responded in a more serious vein than his light rejoinder would have called for.

  Those cold eyes studied her with more interest than he had yet manifested in any of the female residents of the hall before he replied, “I too prefer the unvarnished truth, but I find few females are of like mind. My compliments, ma’am.”

  Though noting the bitter curl to his lips, Lucy could not resist entering an objection to this sweeping condemnation. “The folly of cherishing illusions, sir, can scarcely be regarded as strictly, or even primarily, a feminine failing.” Her tone was deceptively soft and did not match the challenge in her eyes and tilted chin.

  Major Barton acknowledged this by a deepening of his ironic expression but deferred his acceptance of the challenge. “It seems we have a difference of opinion that might prove … instructive … to explore at a more convenient time,” he allowed, adding outrageously as he eyed the cue stick in her tightened grip, “at a time when you do not have a weapon in your hand. But I am interrupting the game. With your permission, I’ll retire and seek Mr. Delevan.”

  He bowed and was gone before Lucy could close her surprised mouth. She stared after him for a moment, digesting this provocative utterance. When the others demanded her attention to the contest in progress, she was still undecided as to whether or not she had received a snub.

  Miss Delevan speedily found herself in the unenviable position of having a surfeit of teachers. There was no problem in grasping the principles of the game, but the acquisition of the skills required to direct a little ball at the desired angle was another matter entirely — a matter for a lifetime of practice, based on the talent she had thus far displayed, she decided privately. In any case, it was with a sense of relief that she eventually relinquished the cue stick to Miss Fairmont, who had challenged her cousin Gemma to a game of one hundred up.

  In the next fifteen minutes, the expression of unholy glee that had enlivened Lord Gresham’s features at this challenge was amply explained. After stringing, Coralee had first play and promptly put her ball behind the balkline to make matters difficult for her opponent. It was an admirable strategy but totally ineffective as Gemma methodically set about racking up a nearly unbroken string of winning and losing hazards and cannons that left everyone but her brother gasping in astonishment. Captain Godwin, who had offered to mark for the contestants, couldn’t contain his admiration at one particularly difficult shot off the side cushion.

  “My God, Gemma, where did you learn to play billiards like that?”

&nb
sp; Gemma looked a trifle sheepish. “I was used to sneak in here when I was a little girl and practise by the hour when I should have been practising my music,” she confessed. “Only when Papa was in an especially indulgent mood would he allow me to play with him and Peter, so I was determined to become adept enough to be a worthy opponent.”

  “Well, I would say you have succeeded,” Captain Godwin laughed. “I don’t mind admitting that I shouldn’t care to take my chances with you if any very large sum of money was at stake. That last shot was a beauty!”

  Lucy stole a look at Coralee, whose initial surprise at Gemma’s prowess had rapidly turned to chagrin. She had been watching Captain Godwin through narrowed eyes, but now she addressed her cousin with a gaiety that sounded genuine.

  “I am willing, nay, anxious to concede this game to you, Gemma dear. You have me totally outgunned. It must be comforting to know that you have at least one accomplishment, even if it is rather an unfeminine one.”

  “Oh, I would not agree that skill at billiards is Gemma’s sole accomplishment,” said Lord Gresham, coming to his sister’s defence with a considering air and a bland smile calculated to infuriate his cousin. “She can’t sing or play as well as you, but she’s a very graceful dancer, and the horse she can’t ride don’t exist. Which is more than can be said for you, cousin.”

  “Peter,” said Lady Gemma warningly.

  “Oh, dear me, I never meant to imply that dearest Gemma had no feminine accomplishments. I have often remarked on her talented performance on the dancefloor, have I not, Gemma?” Without waiting for a response from Gemma, who was looking acutely uncomfortable by now, Coralee faced her male cousin with a glint in her eye that gave the lie to her silky tones. “I would not dream of evaluating my own performance on the dancefloor, but riding is another matter. I consider myself quite as accomplished in the saddle as Gemma.”

  “Hah!” was her cousin’s inelegant but expressive retort.