by Julia Quinn
“Who wouldn’t?”
“Who, indeed.” Persephone made a few awkward jerking motions with her head.
“Still kissing,” Belle said, interpreting her signal correctly.
“Their behavior is not exactly, er, polite. Especially with a young unmarried lady in the vicinity.” She looked over at Belle and smiled. “I’ve never been a chaperone before. How did I sound?”
“Not nearly stern enough.”
“Was I not?”
“No, but I much prefer you this way. And don’t worry about them.” Belle flicked her head over her shoulder at the passionate couple on the second floor landing. “They are usually much more circumspect. I expect it is just that they missed each other. They’ve been apart for a week, you know.”
“Well, I suppose we will have to excuse them. They certainly do love each other.”
“Yes, they do,” Belle said softly, and then she knew that she was doing the right thing about John because she really wanted someone in her life who loved and desired her so much that he would kiss her for five minutes straight in front of eight witnesses. And it stood to reason, of course, that the man in question would have to be someone she would also want so desperately that she would return the kiss, onlookers be damned.
Belle sighed. It would have to be John. She suddenly realized, however, that she hadn’t yet told Emma about the plan. “Oh dear,” she blurted out. She had to find a moment alone with her before Alex dragged her off to Westonbirt, and at the rate they were going, they would be joined at the lips the entire way back.
“Is something wrong?” Persephone inquired.
“Oh dear.” Belle darted up the stairs and grabbed Emma’s hand out of Alex’s hair. “So sorry, Alex, it looked like fun, but I’ve got to speak with Emma. It’s quite important.” She gave Emma a rather vigorous tug. Alex had fallen into some kind of passion-induced haze, and it was probably this weakness which allowed Belle to pull Emma out of his embrace. Within seconds, the two women were ensconced in Emma’s bedroom. Belle quickly locked the door. “I need you to do something for me,” she said.
Emma just stared at her blankly, still quite dazed from Alex’s passionate kiss.
Belle snapped her fingers a couple of times in front of her cousin’s face. “Hello? Wake up! You’re not being kissed anymore.”
“What? Oh, sorry. What do you need?”
Belle quickly laid out her plan. Emma wasn’t certain that it would work but said that she’d play her part. “Just one thing,” she added. “Is he really going to believe that you’ve gotten over him so quickly?”
“I don’t know, but if he does come to London, he’ll soon learn that I have not been sitting here like a sad lump. Dunford’s been making sure that I’ve been introduced to any number of eligible bachelors. Three earls last week and one marquess, I think. It’s really quite surprising how many people are here in London during the offseason.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Belle confessed with a sigh. “But I don’t know what else to do.”
John threw himself into his work at Bletchford Manor, overseeing renovations on the house, and even helping out on one or two of them. The physical labor was oddly soothing; occasionally he even managed to think about something other than Belle.
The work on his house and the surrounding lands kept him busy during the day, and he tried to devote his evenings to financial matters, eager to rebuild the funds he had used to purchase Bletchford Manor. But as evening melted into night, he found that his thoughts strayed to the blond maiden who was presently residing three hours away in London. She certainly had wasted no time in getting as far away from him as possible.
He couldn’t stop himself from recalling every moment he’d spent in her company, and each scene he played out in his head was like a small dagger to his heart. He woke up nearly every night hard and aroused, and he knew that he’d been dreaming about her. He thought briefly about heading to a nearby village to find a woman who could satisfy his ache but gave up the idea, realizing that no woman could make him feel better. No woman besides Belle, at least.
He was surprised when Buxton announced that the Duchess of Ashbourne had arrived. You will not ask her about Belle, he told himself as he went to the blue salon to greet her.
“Hello, your grace,” he said politely. Emma looked in fine spirits, and her hair seemed especially bright.
“I thought I told you to call me Emma,” she scolded.
“Sorry. Habit, I guess.”
“How have you been?”
“Fine. How’s Belle?” If he could have kicked himself without the duchess noticing, he would have done so. Hard.
Emma smiled slyly as she realized that Belle’s plan was going to be a resounding success. “She’s doing quite well, actually.”
“Good. I’m happy for her.” And he was, he supposed, although it would have been nice if she had pined for him just a little bit.
“She’s thinking about getting married, actually.”
“What?”
Emma found herself wishing that she had some way of capturing John’s expression, for truly it was priceless. “I said she’s thinking about getting married.”
“I heard you,” John snapped.
Emma smiled again.
“And who is the lucky man?”
“She wouldn’t tell me, actually. She just said that it was someone she met in London last week. An earl, I think, or maybe it was a marquess. She’s been going to quite a number of parties.”
“Obviously.” John didn’t even make an effort to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
“She seems to be enjoying herself.”
“She certainly wasted no time in finding herself a man,” he said peevishly.
“Well, you know how it is.”
“Know how what is?”
“Oh, love at first sight and all that.”
“Yes,” John said darkly.
“Actually,” Emma said, leaning forward.
“What?”
I’m brilliant, Emma thought. Absolutely brilliant. “Actually,” she repeated. “She said he reminded her a little of you.”
Fury, jealousy, outrage, and a hundred other nasty emotions raced through John in exceedingly unhealthy proportions. “How nice for her,” he bit out icily.
“I knew you’d be pleased,” Emma said in a breezy tone. “After all, you two were such good friends.”
“Yes, we were.”
“I’ll make sure that you get an invitation to the wedding. I’m certain that it will mean a lot to Belle to have you there.”
“I’ll be busy then.”
“But you don’t know when the wedding will be. She hasn’t set a date.”
“I’ll be busy,” John repeated, his voice hard.
“I see.”
“Yes, I’m sure you do.” John wondered if Alex’s wife was uncommonly cruel or just exceedingly naive. “It has been very kind of you to stop by with news of Belle, but I’m afraid I have business I must attend to immediately.”
“Yes, of course,” Emma said, standing up with a sunny smile. “I shall convey your best wishes to Belle.” When he made no comment, she offered him an innocent look and asked, “You do wish her the best, don’t you?”
John only growled.
Emma stepped back and smothered a laugh. “I shall tell her you said hello, then. And please do come and call soon. Alex would love to see you, I’m sure.” As she walked down the steps to her carriage, it occurred to her that she’d better send Belle a note saying that John would be arriving in London very, very soon.
John watched Emma disappear down the drive from his front steps. As soon as she was gone from view, he swore viciously, kicked the side of his house for good measure, and strode back to his study where he poured himself a tall glass of whiskey.
“Goddamn, good for nothing, fickle female,” he muttered, taking a healthy swig. The liquor burned a trail down
his throat, but John could barely feel it.
“Getting married?” he said loudly. “Married? Ha! I hope she’s miserable.” He drained the rest of the glass and poured a new one. Unfortunately the whiskey did not dull the pain that was squeezing at his heart. When he had told Belle that she’d be better off without him, he’d never dreamed that it would be this excruciatingly painful to think of her in another man’s arms. Oh, he’d figured that she would get married someday, but the image had been hazy and unfocused. Now he couldn’t get the picture of her and this faceless earl or whoever he was out of his mind. He kept seeing her smile in that impish way of hers and then lean up to kiss him. And then once they were married, oh God, it was awful. He could see Belle, nude in the candlelight, holding her arms out to this stranger. And then her husband would cover her body with his and...
John drained his second glass of whiskey. At least he didn’t know what this man looked like. He certainly didn’t need to picture the scene in any more vivid detail.
“Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn,” he muttered, punctuating each “damn” with a kick to the side of his desk. The desk won the battle handily, being made of solid oak, and John’s foot would no doubt show bruises the next day.
Was it going to be like this for the rest of his life? He had gone into the village the other day, and every woman had reminded him of Belle. He’d bumped into one who had eyes that were almost as blue. Another had been just about her height. Would his heart lurch every time he saw a blond woman across a crowd?
He sank down to the floor, leaning against the side of his desk. “I’m an ass,” he moaned. “An ass.”
And that litany sounded in his mind until he finally fell asleep.
He was walking through a house. It was lush, opulent. Intrigued, John walked further.
What was that strange thumping sound?
It was coming from a room at the end of the hall. He walked closer, terrified by what he thought he might find there.
Closer. Closer. It wasn’t thumping, after all. John felt the fear begin to drain from his body. It was...dancing. Someone was dancing. He could hear the music now.
He pushed open the door. It was a ballroom. Hundreds of couples whirled around in effortless waltzes. And at the center...
His heart stopped. It was Belle.
She looked so beautiful. She threw back her head and laughed. Had he ever seen her so happy?
John moved closer. He tried to get a good look at her dance partner, but the man’s features were always blurred.
One by one, the other couples dropped from view until there were only three people left in the room. John, Belle, and Him.
He had to get away. He couldn’t bear to watch Belle with her lover. He tried to move, but his feet were glued to the spot. He tried to look away, but his neck refused to twist.
The music grew faster. The dancing couple whirled out of control until...they weren’t dancing.
John narrowed his eyes, trying to get a better look. What was happening?
The couple was arguing. Belle looked as if she were trying to explain something to the man. And then he hit her. The back of his hand slammed across her cheek, his rings leaving red welts across her pale skin.
John yelled out her name, but the couple didn’t seem to hear him. He tried to go to her, but the feet that had just refused to carry him from the room wouldn’t take him in the opposite direction, either.
The man hit her again, and she fell to the floor, her arms rising up to shield her head. John reached out, but his arms weren’t nearly long enough. He called her name, over and over, and then, blessedly, the couple faded from view.
The next morning John woke up feeling not quite so sorry for himself, although he did have a headache distinctly worthy of pity, self or otherwise. He wasn’t at all certain what he had dreamed about last night, but whatever it was, it had left him with the conviction that he wasn’t going to sit around and watch Belle throw her life away on some dissolute earl.
That he did not know for certain that her possible fiance was an earl or that he was dissolute did not enter the picture. What if he beat her? What if he forbade her to read? John knew that he wasn’t good enough for her, but he was no longer certain that anyone else was, either. John, at least, would try to make her happy. He would give her everything he had, give her every piece of his soul that was still intact.
Belle belonged with someone who would appreciate her wit and wisdom as well as her grace and beauty. He could just imagine her having to sneak books into the house behind the back of her disapproving aristocratic husband. He probably wouldn’t even consult her on any important decisions, feeling that a woman could not be intelligent enough to offer a worthy opinion.
No, Belle needed him. He had to save her from a disastrous marriage. And then, he supposed, he’d simply marry her himself.
John wasn’t unaware that he was about to pull one of the greatest about-faces in history. He could only hope that Belle would understand that he had realized she’d had been right all along. People made mistakes, didn’t they? After all, he wasn’t some infallible storybook hero.
“No, Persephone, I think you should stay away from lavender.”
Belle and her companion had gone shopping. Persephone was eager to part with some of the ample funds given to her by Alex.
“I’ve always liked lavender, though. It’s one of my favorite colors.”
“Well, then we shall find a gown with lavender accents, but I fear that the color does not suit you as well as some others.”
“What would you suggest?”
Belle smiled at the older woman as she fingered a bolt of dark green velvet and held it up under her chin. She was quite enjoying her time with Alex’s maiden aunt, although it did at times seem that their roles were reversed. Persephone constantly asked for her opinion on all matters, from food to fashion to literature. She rarely left Yorkshire, she’d explained, and had no idea how to go about in London. Still, Persephone had a quick wit and an understated sense of humor which entertained Belle to no end.
But it wasn’t Persephone’s companionship which was bringing such a ready smile to Belle’s face that afternoon. She had just received an urgent message from Emma instructing her to be ready for John’s arrival any day now. Apparently he had not taken the news of her impending marriage well.
Good, Belle thought with not a little smugness. She shuddered to think how she would have reacted had someone brought her similar news of John. She probably would have wanted to scratch the offending woman’s eyes out. And she was not normally a violent person.
“Do you really think this green will do the trick?” Persephone asked, frowning at the fabric.
Belle snapped out of her reverie. “Hmmm? Oh, yes. You’ve got such nice green flecks in your eyes. I think it’ll bring them out.”
“Do you think so?” Persephone held up the bolt of velvet and looked in the mirror, tilting her head in a decidedly feminine manner.
“Oh very much, and if you are so partial to lavender, perhaps you would be willing to substitute this deep violet color. I think it will look lovely on you.”
“Hmm, maybe you’re right. I do adore violets. I’ve always worn violet scented perfume.”
Persephone’s interest sufficiently engaged, Belle wandered over to Madame Lambert, the not entirely French proprietress of the shop.
“Ah, Lady Arabella,” she gushed. “Eet eez so good to see you again. We have not seen you for many months.”
“I’ve been out in the country,” Belle replied congenially. “But if I might ask you a private question?”
Madame Lambert’s blue eyes sparkled with excitement, and, undoubtedly, the prospect that Belle’s request would somehow make her a mint of money. “Yes?”
“I need a gown. A very special gown. Two very special gowns, actually. Or perhaps three.” Belle frowned as she contemplated her forthcoming purchase. She needed to look ravishing when John came to London. Unfortunately, she had no idea whe
n he would arrive, or even—banish the thought—if he would arrive.
“Zat should not be a problem, my lady.”
“I need a different sort of gown than I usually purchase. Something more...alluring.”
“I see, my lady.” Madame Lambert smiled knowingly. “You perhaps wish to attract a particular gentleman. I will make you ravishing. Now when do you need zese gowns?”
“Tonight?” Belle’s answer was more of a question than a reply.
“My Gawd!” Madame Lambert shrieked, completely forgetting her accent. “I am good but I cannot perform miracles!”
“Will you be quiet?” Belle whispered urgently, looking nervously around. She liked Persephone, but she didn’t think that she needed to know that her charge was planning a seduction. “I only need one of them tonight. The rest can wait. At least until tomorrow. It shouldn’t be that difficult. You have all my measurements. I assure you I haven’t grown fat since our last meeting.”
“You ask a great deal, my lady.”
“If I weren’t absolutely convinced that you could do it, I wouldn’t have asked. After all, I could have gone over to Madame Laroche.” Belle smiled and let the words hang in the air.
Madame Lambert sighed dramatically and said, “I have a gown. Eet was for another lady. Well, not a lady exactly.” At Belle’s horrified expression, she hastened to add, “But she had exquisite taste, I assure you. She, er, lost her source of funds and could not pay for eet. With a few minor alterations, I think eet will fit you.”
Belle nodded and called over to Persephone that she was going to the back room for just a moment. She followed Madame Lambert, who led her to a closet door. “Eef you want to attract a man without appearing vulgar,” the dressmaker said, “then zees is what you need.” With a flourish, she pulled out a gown of midnight blue velvet which was startling in its simplicity. Free of adornment, it let its elegant cut show its style.
Belle fingered the soft velvet, admiring the way the bodice was shot through with silver thread. “It’s lovely,” she said. “But it isn’t very different from what I already own.”
