by Jane Ashford
Susan gazed up at him, her anger forgotten in astonishment and confusion. The other girl smiled slightly, her own amusement returning. Georgina simply stared. Her low opinion of the haut ton gave this intervention the quality of miracle. Why, she wondered silently, should one of the leaders of society exert himself on their behalf? For even she had heard of Baron Ellerton’s vast fortune, his elegance, and his political influence. She could see for herself that he epitomized the Corinthian, his evening dress severely perfect, his manner supremely assured. Yet he had taken it upon himself to defuse a situation that was threatening to rouse a storm of malicious laughter. Georgina defined the ton by its malice; what could the man be about?
“I hope you’ll pardon my intrusion,” he went on, blue eyes dancing. “I could not resist complimenting you on your refreshing jest. Many women would have feared to try such a game, yet it is just the sort of diversion we need. Do you know that there are women, and men too, who would be livid to meet another in the same ensemble.”
“No, Baron Ellerton!” exclaimed the tall girl in mock astonishment.
“I assure you.” They exchanged a smile. “At least, Lady Marianne, I am not guilty of pushing in where I am wholly unknown. Will you introduce me to your friends?”
“Er, Baron Ellerton, this is…” Lady Marianne turned to the others, perplexed. The baron’s eyes twinkled anew.
But Georgina was too grateful to feel embarrassment. “Georgina Goring,” she said. “And this is my cousin Miss Susan Wyndham.”
Ellerton bowed slightly. “I have not seen you in town before, I think.” And as he got a full view of Georgina, his manner shifted slightly. This was no silly chit, nor even a sensible girl, like Lady Marianne. Baron Ellerton took in the distinctive character of Georgina’s gown and expression, and smiled in appreciation.
“No, we have come for the Season.” Georgina responded automatically to his smile. She could see no mockery in it.
“I don’t understand,” declared Susan, her tone indicating that she was fully prepared to resume hostilities.
Georgina hastened to reply, “Lord Ellerton perceived your joke at once, Susan. He saw that you and, er, Lady Marianne had devised a scheme to amuse everyone. I’m certain they’ve all noticed by this time how clever you were.” She put heavy emphasis on this last phrase, trying to convey a great deal more in her look.
Susan gazed around the ballroom appraisingly. She had feared being laughed at, but if these Londoners thought she had done it on purpose… She contemplated this prospect for a moment. She was quite eager to be noticed, as long as the scrutiny was favorable.
Three pairs of eyes watched the shift of emotion so visible on Susan’s face—Georgina anxiously, Lady Marianne quizzically, and Baron Ellerton biting his lower lip to keep from laughing.
Susan took a deep breath. “Yes, well, it was a good joke, wasn’t it?”
Georgina couldn’t restrain an audible sigh of relief.
“Capital,” agreed Lady Marianne, then laughed.
“I can see that you two young women are very enterprising,” added the baron. “You will be a definite asset to society.” He glanced at Georgina as if to share a joke with her.
Susan looked up, truly seeing him for the first time now that her rage had dissipated, blinked, and looked again. His attractiveness and air of fashion seemed to register all at once, and she took another breath.
“And now, if you will excuse me,” he said. “I have promised to open the dancing, and I believe they are waiting for me.” With another small bow, he turned away. All three women watched him approach their hosts and lead the daughter of the house onto the floor to open the ball.
“What a complete hand he is,” murmured Lady Marianne.
This brought Susan swinging around again. “Who is he?”
“Randal Kenyon, Baron Ellerton, one of the acknowledged leaders of the ton,” she replied. “And a true gentleman, as you saw. People will ask him about this incident, you know, and what he says will be taken up and repeated.”
Georgina nodded, her gratitude welling up again. How would she have managed to smooth things over without his help?
“You mean, if he says we did it on purpose, everyone will believe him?” asked Susan.
“They will,” answered Lady Marianne, “as they never would have if we said it.” She smiled again. “And so, since we are to be talked of as great friends, perhaps we should become better acquainted. My name is Marianne MacClain. This is the start of my second Season in town.”
“It is my first,” responded Susan a bit grudgingly. She had not gotten over her envy of the other’s poise.
“Well, you have made a fine start. Not every newcomer is noticed by Ellerton. I daresay you will be showered with invitations after this.”
Susan turned to look at the baron once again, with this delightful prospect filling her head. He really was the handsomest man she had ever seen, and evidently a great catch. “Is he married?” Marianne shook her head. Susan smiled a little, then frowned as a dreadful suspicion entered her mind. “You are well acquainted with Lord Ellerton?” she asked.
Lady Marianne was also watching the dancers. “Not particularly. But I should not object to furthering my acquaintance.”
“He helped me,” snapped Susan, relieved.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Well, it must have been me. You were here last Season; he might have spoken to you anytime.” Her tone implied that Lady Marianne had practically been left on the shelf.
“Susan!” said Georgina.
But Lady Marianne was smiling. “I had certain, er, other concerns last year.”
“Lady Marianne MacClain,” gasped Georgina. “You refused Lord Robert Devere!”
The other raised her russet eyebrows.
“I beg your pardon,” said Georgina. “My aunt wrote me about it. I thought I had heard your name, and it suddenly came to me…” She trailed off, once again conscious of her clumsiness with strangers.
“It doesn’t matter. It is true, after all.”
“Who is Lord Robert Devere?” asked Susan sharply.
Marianne looked around, then nodded toward the far corner of the ballroom. “There he is.”
Susan looked, and saw a man as fashionable as Ellerton, though somewhat older and not, she thought, nearly so handsome. But it infuriated her that this confident girl should have actually received an offer from such a polished-looking nobleman, and rejected it! She felt bested again, a thing she hated above all else. “I don’t see how that signifies,” she said, tossing her head. “Lord Ellerton was clearly coming to my rescue.” She looked at him again, calculating.
“I imagine he was simply amusing himself,” corrected Marianne. “He is reputed to love oddities.” She too directed a speculative gaze at the dance floor. “But he was very kind.”
“To me,” insisted Susan.
Marianne met her smoldering eyes, and her lips curved upward. “Well, we shall see about that, shan’t we?”
Susan did not look away, for a long moment they faced one another like duelists. Then Susan nodded once abruptly. “Yes. We shall.” And without taking leave, she turned and walked toward the row of gilt chairs against the wall.
“Oh dear,” murmured Georgina. She looked from Susan to Marianne. “I beg your pardon. She did not mean…” She stopped, aware that Susan had meant various rude things.
Marianne MacClain laughed. “It doesn’t matter. I know precisely how she feels. I daresay we really will be great friends in the end, as Lord Ellerton has christened us.”
Georgina looked doubtful. “I hope so.”
A young man came up then, full of reproaches. “Lady Marianne! I have been searching everywhere. You promised me the first set.”
With a smile and nod to Georgina, she allowed him to lead her away. Georgina turned to follow her cousin, a
worried line remaining between her pale brows.
Two
Lady Marianne MacClain spent the first part of the next morning alone in the drawing room of her family’s town house wishing for callers. She was not a great reader, or indeed fond of any sedentary pursuits, and the lack of company soon began to wear on her patience. A year ago, such solitude would have been most unusual. Marianne could have been certain of the companionship of her mother and confident that her brother would appear at some time during the day. But both of these had married recently, her mother after a long widowhood, and now each was engrossed in personal concerns. Her brother Ian, Earl of Cairnyllan, was abroad visiting his new wife’s father, the Duke of Morland, and her mother seemed to have become a different person since wedding a long-ago suitor. Marianne understood, and applauded, her mother’s efforts to erase memories of her first, unhappy match, but it was unsettling to see one’s mother behaving like a girl newly married. Though they still lived in the same house, Marianne often felt as if they had separate establishments. And there were moments when she came near to resenting her new stepfather, Sir Thomas Bentham, though in fact she liked him very much.
Thus, the sounds of an arrival in the front hall caused Marianne to jump up and run to the landing, straining to hear the exchange taking place at the door.
“I’m not certain Lady Marianne is in either,” the butler was saying in the tone he reserved for doubtful callers.
“You mean everyone’s out?” responded a youthful male voice. “Dash it, they had my letter a week ago.”
The voice was unfamiliar. Marianne frowned as she tried to place it.
“Lady Bentham must have left instructions,” insisted the visitor.
“Not to my knowledge, sir.” But the butler sounded less discouraging.
“She and my cousin settled it all between them.” The visitor sounded aggrieved. “I know no one in London. What am I to do? Kick up my heels in the street until Lady Bentham comes home?”
“If you will wait in the library, I will make inquiries.”
The young man agreed reluctantly, and Marianne retreated to the drawing room as she heard the butler coming upstairs. In another moment he appeared. “I beg pardon, Lady Marianne, but a young gentleman has called. Or perhaps I should say, arrived. It seems that he is to stay with us.” Hobbs looked reproachful. “I was not informed, or I should, of course, have ordered a room prepared.”
“I don’t know anything about it either, Hobbs.” Marianne was intrigued. “Who is he?”
“His name is Brinmore, my lady.”
She shook her head, perplexed. “I don’t know anyone named Brinmore.”
“He claims that Lady Bentham has corresponded with his cousin.”
Since Marianne had overhead this, she was already puzzling over the connection. But she couldn’t recall any mention of this man, or his family. It was an engaging mystery. “I suppose Mama forgot to tell me. She is…very busy lately.” The butler ventured a commiserating look. Lady Bentham had always been gentle and absentminded rather than incisive, but since her marriage she seemed almost scatterbrained. “You had better bring him to me,” concluded Marianne, concealing her pleasure in this unlooked-for diversion. “I’ll find out what it is all about.”
Hobbs looked doubtful. “Shall I send for your maid, my lady?”
“I don’t think this young man can be dangerous. But if Mama comes in, send her up at once.”
The butler hesitated, not quite approving this decision, then turned away. “Very well, my lady.”
Marianne couldn’t help grinning at his back, stiff with offended propriety. If their stuffy London butler, recently added to the household, had any notion how she had grown up in Scotland, wholly unsupervised, he would no doubt expire from shock.
Though she loved London and the amusements of the haut ton, its restrictions had been difficult for Marianne at first. Only her brother had ever tried to curb her before they left home, and she had resisted with all her strength, rightly concluding that the notorious excesses of their father had made Ian too strict. It had required personal experience, along with the far more understanding and tactful guidance of the woman who had later become Ian’s wife, to show Marianne that certain restraints were necessary, and even desirable. She had come close to making a number of mistakes, but Marianne was remarkably levelheaded, as well as intelligent, and she had learned quickly and well. This Season would be far calmer than last.
A reminiscent smile curved her lips; what rows she and Ian had had. If anyone had told her that she would actually miss them… She shook her head.
Thus, the visitor entered the drawing room to find a very beautiful girl smiling pensively at the carpet. He was momentarily transfixed. Though liking to think himself at ease in any situation, Mr. Brinmore was in fact not yet one-and-twenty, and this was his first visit to the metropolis. Moreover, his dealings with the fair sex had not so far included a girl as lovely and fashionable as Lady Marianne MacClain. He swallowed, very conscious of her status as daughter and sister of an earl. “Er, hello.”
Marianne started, brought back from a great distance. “Oh, I beg your pardon. How do you do? Come in.” He moved a bit further into the room. “I am Marianne MacClain, you know. Hobbs tells me you’ve come to stay with us?”
Her tone was perfectly amiable, but Brinmore flushed. “I understood it was all settled, but no one here seems to know anything about it. I don’t know quite what—”
“I think you had best tell me the whole story,” interrupted Marianne, seeing his discomfort. “My mother is a little…forgetful sometimes. And let us sit down.”
She did so, and Mr. Brinmore followed suit, leaning forward in his eagerness to justify his presence. “It all began with my cousin Elisabeth,” he said. “She’s great friends with the Fermors, in the country.”
It took Marianne a moment to place the name. “Oh, yes, Sir Thomas’s sister.”
“Right.” He looked relieved. “So when I thought of coming up to town, they determined to write to Sir Thomas and his new wife.” Brinmore paused, as if uncertain how Marianne would take this reference to her mother’s remarriage. She nodded encouragingly. “We knew no one else, you see, and I didn’t like to come without any acquaintance.”
“Of course not.”
Brinmore looked further relieved. “Well, Lady Bentham replied that they, er, you, would be happy to make introductions. Indeed, she invited me to stay here.” He looked slightly reproachful. “I have the letter in my bag.”
“And when you arrived, no one seemed to know anything about it. How dreadful for you.” Marianne shook her head sympathetically, but her vivid blue eyes were dancing.
“Well, it was,” the young man agreed. Had anyone told him that Marianne was actually some months his junior, he would have scoffed. “If Lady Bentham has changed her mind, I can—”
“No, no. Mama simply forgot to mention it, I’m sure. I’ll have the servants prepare a room. It won’t take a moment.” Privately, Marianne gave thanks for this addition to their household. Now, at least, she would have someone of her own age to talk with.
Brinmore rose as she did, uneasy. “I don’t wish to put you to any trouble. Are you sure that—”
“Nonsense! I’ll just tell Hobbs.”
She went out, and he sank slowly onto the sofa again. This arrival was far different from the one he had imagined. He had seen himself sweeping into an elegant London town house with perfect aplomb, and greeted with gratifying deference roused by this assurance beyond his years. Instead, he’d felt like a clumsy schoolboy. Indeed, Lady Marianne reminded him strongly of his cousin Elisabeth, several years his senior and very much in charge of their household. It was almost too much.
“There,” said Marianne bracingly, coming back into the room and startling him out of his reverie. “All settled. Now we can get better acquainted. Do you know you
have not even told me your full name?”
Feeling an unaccountable trepidation, he said, “It’s Tony. Anthony Brinmore, that is.”
* * *
Strangely enough, a very similar scene was in progress less than a mile away, in the town house of Lady Sybil Goring, where Susan Wyndham was confronting an open-faced young man with brown hair and blue eyes. Her approach, however, was more direct. “Well, I don’t see why you’ve come. It was quite unnecessary.”
The newcomer smiled, the shifting planes of his face suggesting a sunny temperament combined with familiarity with Susan’s habits and a certain ability to deal with them. “Mama thought it a good idea, when she heard Grandmama was ill.” His smile became a grin. “She thought Cousin Georgina might want some help.”
“Nonsense!”
“We’ll see what Georgina says.” He continued to gaze at Susan with quizzical amusement, and after a valiant attempt at offended dignity, she finally let an answering smile show. In another moment, the two were laughing together.
“Well, but, William, it is too unfair,” protested Susan after a while. “I have been a model of propriety since I arrived in town. That is, except for…” She paused, biting her lower lip.
“Just so,” replied William. “I expect Mama thought you would benefit from the guidance of the head of the family.”