“Well, you may return home to Brynwood assured that 1 have kept my word,” Meg snapped. “I, my lord, have never behaved toward you in a mean-spirited fashion. Nor shall I in future, though you give me provocation.”
The music concluded at that fortuitous moment. Angrily she removed herself from his grasp and stalked away, leaving Lord Bryn standing in the centre of the floor.
Meg’s fury surprised her. When she first saw the marquis this evening, she had felt shame, longing, sorrow, and the awareness of a deep abiding affection. But that he would come into the bosom of her family and seek to humiliate her was outside of enough.
Taking refuge in a bower of potted palms, she clenched her fists and forced her temper under control. She could not, must not, disgrace herself this evening. No sooner had the heat of her anger abated, than misery took its place. The man she loved purposely misinterpreted her every action. He sought only blame and revenge. No possibility existed now for reconciliation.
She must not cower here, giving fodder to idle speculation. As a hostess, she must maintain composure. Struggling to put on the false face required by society, Meg remembered that Angela’s happiness lay in the balance. In a few hours, the engagement would be announced and her sister’s fate sealed.
Edward. If only he could be brought round somehow. He might be, to her, almost as unworthy as Sir Manfred, but Angela loved him. Could he be made jealous? Might that serve to awaken his finer feelings?
Meg took three deep breaths, a trick her mother had taught her for controlling the emotions. Yes, she must turn her attentions to the haughty Mr. Cockerell. It would distract her from her own sorrow, and perhaps show a way to win him back for Angela.
A survey of the room found Edward dancing stiffly with his sister, nodding to acquaintances and casting not a single glance at his former love. The very manner in which he ignored Angela bore mute testimony to his attachment, for only with deliberate intent could he avoid her so completely.
Meg gazed about. Sir Manfred, wearing a self-satisfied expression, was swapping tales with an earl and a viscount. He clearly saw no need to woo his own fiancée at their engagement ball.
Courage, Meg counseled herself, and moved into the trio of men. Immediately the talk halted as they acknowledged her courteously.
“May I speak with you a moment, Sir Manfred?” she asked after returning the men’s greetings. Laying her hand on his arm, she drew aside her future brother-in-law.
“Nothing wrong, I hope?” he said. Not a bad man, Meg reminded herself, but his hair had an oily glaze, and red veins showed in his eyes.
“Not precisely.” She forced herself to gaze earnestly into those puffy eyes. “It’s my sister.”
“Angela? What the devil! Not ill, is she?” The fellow bristled with concern. Had he not smelled so strongly of the brewery, Meg might have felt more sympathy.
“No, but—this is merely a suspicion of mine, nothing that she’s spoken of outright—I think she may be having second thoughts,” Meg said. “The normal sort of thing among young girls. I think it best that you reassure her of your affections.”
“Eh? Oh, right, right you are.” Sir Manfred tossed back the last of his sherry, handed Meg the glass, and set out in search of his prey.
Forgive me, Angela, Meg begged silently. She turned to greet a party of latecomers, trying to ignore the painful sight of the marquis dancing with one of the season’s Incomparables, a giddy girl whom Vanessa and Tom would have routed from the nursery inside of five minutes.
The image of that gleeful pair brought a fleeting smile to Meg’s lips. Oh, she did miss them! But she must attend to what an elderly dowager was saying, or risk insulting her guest.
She certainly did not wish to give offence to anyone. Her sins toward the Beau might be forgiven, but it would not take much to sully her reputation once more.
Edward was relieved to finish the dance with his sister. “How soon can we leave?” he murmured.
“Not for at least another half hour,” she replied imperiously, and smacked him on the arm with her fan.
Another partner claimed Helen, and, left alone, Edward surveyed the room. He caught Lady Darnet’s eyes upon him. Dash it, she was splendid in silver gauze over a blue underskirt, and never before had she exposed so much of her creamy bosom. On any other woman, the gown would have been brazen, but despite the décolletage, the countess still resembled an ice queen.
Might as well dance with the woman, he supposed, and set off toward her. No point the evening’s being a complete waste.
The crowd kept him dodging, and occasionally bowing, and so it was that despite his best intentions, his vision swept across the figure of Angela Linley talking to that fop Sir Manfred. Edward halted. What the devil did that fat fool think he was doing, laying his arm about Angela’s waist in such a familiar manner?
None of my concern, he told himself, and resumed his journey. With a modest curtsey, the countess agreed to join him in a gavotte.
Remembering Bryn’s interest in the widow, Edward looked for his friend. Ah, he stood across the room, swirling his wine and staring fixedly at Meg Linley as she darted to and fro exchanging pleasantries.
The opening strains of the music floated through the air, and Edward turned to the impatient countess. Bryn could jolly well straighten out his own life without anyone’s help.
Now how had Sir Manfred and Angela come to join this set for the gavotte? Oh, yes, the chap was Lady Darnet’s cousin. Damned annoying, these relationships and entanglements, thought Edward. The rotund fellow was making a cake of himself over the ashen-faced girl. Not that Mr. Cockerell cared in the least, but he did think the man might have the good breeding to refrain from publicly squeezing the chit’s hand and whispering in her ear.
Edward performed the elaborate movements of the dance out of habit. How sad and lost Angela seemed. Why did she allow that Manfred chap to take such liberties? Instead of protesting when he patted her shoulder or fingered one of her curls, the girl merely lowered her eyes in resignation.
Someone ought to plant the cad a facer!
Lady Darnet could not help but notice her partner’s preoccupation. Edward was far more besotted with that simpering Angela than she had imagined. Well, the marquis presented a superior prospect, she decided, and shifted her attention to him as she wove through the dance.
The tall figure across the room stood aloof from the merriment, but one could not mistake the way he followed every gesture Meg Linley made. How could he be so fascinated by a girl who had played a scandalous jest at his expense? the countess wondered. I shall put him off her quick enough.
When the gavotte ended, Sir Manfred tugged at Angela’s hand and led her out into the garden. With a disbelieving stare, Mr. Cockerell followed. The countess, free to pursue her goal, made her way through the crowd to Lord Bryn.
A large purplish matron and a thin pinkish girl had the marquis cornered and from the trio’s facial expressions, Cynthia concluded that the women were seeking, and failing, to impress him with the chit’s attractions.
“My lord, how pleasant to see you so soon after you called on me,” she said, letting her words drop like a blanket across the conversation.
“Ah. Lady Darnet.” As she had hoped, the marquis disengaged himself, and asked her to dance.
Yet another of her wishes was granted. The dance proved to be a waltz.
“London has sorely missed your presence,” she said as they whirled about the room together. He danced correctly but without emotion, as if partnering a broomstick. Having never encountered such a response, she did not know what to make of it.
“I find that difficult to credit.” The marquis’s lip curled. “The ton is an animal which, unlike the fox or hare, can replace a missing limb without any but the most superficial discomfort.”
“Perhaps I should have phrased my statement differently.” Though mildly vexed, Lady Darnet was determined to redirect this conversation. “While I cannot account for the inconsta
ncy of others, I meant you have crossed my mind from time to time, and I hoped you were well.”
She caught a spark of response in his gaze. Yes, there were few as skilled as she in engaging a man’s interest when she wished to.
To the best of the marquis’s recollection, he and the countess had known each other only slightly at best before her marriage and before he succeeded to his title. On the other hand, why should he cavil at her compliments? Hadn’t he been considering only the previous day that he might take her as a wife? True, she was shallow, but so were most women he had encountered.
The countess leaned closer in what many men would consider an enticing manner, although her natural coldness precluded any physical response on his part. “Did you notice that gown Meg Linley is wearing?” she asked in a confiding tone. “It formerly belonged to Helen Cockerell.”
“Did it indeed?” The marquis recalled his companion’s remarks of the previous day about the Linleys’ lack of funds. Why should Lady Darnet think that of interest to him?
“They say the Linley girl is hanging out for a rich husband.” Cynthia appeared to be doing her utmost to blacken Meg’s reputation. “Likely to take the first man she can bring up to snuff, or so they say.” At that moment Meg was chatting with an elderly baron, and the countess nodded meaningfully.
Bryn regarded at the pair with distaste. Surely his Meg wouldn’t leg-shackle herself to an old wrinkle-face merely to obtain money.
Lady Darnet persisted. “Lady Mary will have scarcely a feather left to fly with after this ball, shabby as it is. Plans to sell off her daughters, I’ve heard.”
Her words altered the complexion of Lord Bryn’s thoughts. Meg, forced into a marriage of convenience in order to save her mother from poverty? That was a different matter than trading oneself off for baubles and carriages.
Could his own wealth have accounted for her conduct at Brynwood? Unbidden, an image sprang to mind of her imploring face as she declared her love for him. She must be a good actress to have played the role of heartbroken maiden so convincingly. Yet she hadn’t hesitated to rip up at him this evening when she learned of his ignoble intentions. Was that the conduct of a chit seeking a wealthy match? The girl was certainly a puzzle.
The marquis felt a surge of relief when it came time to relinquish Lady Darnet to another gentleman. Her malicious chitchat had been sorely trying.
The countess watched him go, her face pinched sourly. Then he caught a glint of pure malice, before she turned to her new partner with a strained smile. What a peculiar woman she was, indeed.
In the garden, Angela was astonished to find herself at the center of scene that might have enlivened a Covent Garden melodrama. In a shadowed arbour, Sir Manfred had attempted to press his mouth to hers. As an involuntary shudder wracked her, a second gentleman burst upon them, shouting, “Unhand her, you cad!”
Sir Manfred retreated a step and uttered a feeble protest, before the fury of his opponent drove him reluctantly toward the house. Edward appeared ready to give chase, then swung round to scowl at Angela.
“You don’t understand.” She gazed through tears at the man she loved. “I’m required to marry him. He came to call one day while I was alone. He accidentally knocked me to the floor just as his cousin came in and caught us compromised. Besides, there’s Mother—”
“Hang it all, Angela, you can’t marry that windbag!” Edward caught her in his arms, and pressed her trembling form against him. “If you have to marry someone, it might as well be me.”
With her faint remaining strength, Angela wrenched free. “I can’t, Edward. I love you too much. How can I accept a loveless marriage, always longing for the affection you cannot give me? I’d be better off with Sir Manfred.” She began to weep.
“A loveless marriage?” Edward nearly choked on the words. “But I adore you, my sweet. It was only... my duty required... that is, how could I indulge my own happiness, at the expense of... What the devil am I talking about?”
He dropped to one knee, and pressed his suit with ardent words that thrilled his listener. Nearly afloat with joy, Angela agreed to resume their engagement.
Sir Manfred was not by nature a coward, no more than any other gentleman who has always lived comfortably off inherited money and devoted himself to his own entertainment. He had relinquished Angela not from any serious fear of injury—although he had a healthy respect for Edward Cockerell’s fists—but from a knowledge of his own guilt. It was he who had broken the loving couple apart, with his stratagem of trapping the young lady into an engagement. He could scarcely claim that he’d been wronged. Well, Sir Manfred would show the pair that he suffered from no pangs of unrequited love.
Inside the ballroom, his gaze fell upon Meg Linley standing beside her mother. With a bow, he requested her company and was granted it. The lively country dance gave way to yet another waltz and, with reckless disregard for propriety, Sir Manfred insisted upon two dances in a row.
“Going to be family and all,” he muttered, taking advantage of the sister’s ignorance to demonstrate his heart-wholeness to Angela, who had reentered the room on Edward’s arm.
Let the chit see how little he cared for her. Indeed, Sir Manfred reflected, he had had a narrow escape.
As he had been following Meg’s movements throughout the evening, the marquis did not fail to observe Sir Manfred’s breach of etiquette. What was wrong with the girl? the marquis demanded silently. Meg couldn’t actually mean to marry that fop for his money, could she?
Lord Bryn had only a slight acquaintance with Sir Manfred, but he did recall that the gentleman was comfortably fixed. While not a great catch, he remained an adequate one in view of the Linleys’ difficulties.
His heart turned over at the sight of Meg smiling tensely up at the portly fellow, no doubt forcing herself to be polite. At that moment, Cynthia strolled by and murmured, “Do you expect them to make the announcement this very evening?”
Although perhaps she intended to arouse the marquis’s disdain, her words had the opposite effect. Andrew saw of a sudden that he loved Meg desperately, and that to the best of his knowledge she loved him. The only thing standing in their way was his own damnable pride.
The same pride had led him to ignore his trusted Harry that tragic day on the Peninsula, with results that would haunt the marquis as long as he lived. He was making the same mistake again, but in such a different form that he had almost failed to recognise it. He had allowed himself to wallow in self-righteousness, without a care for Meg’s future.
Her marriage to that unpleasant excuse for a man would be, in its own way, a death of all that was bright and free in her spirit. She had told Bryn that the reason she failed to correct the mistake in her identity at Brynwood was because she wanted to stay close to him. Yet he had gone on brooding and doubting her motives until it was almost too late.
If he continued this show of indifference, the future stretched ahead, a long empty staircase of years, without Meg to warm his household. There would be endless breakfasts with some tedious woman pouring coffee and chattering inanely across the table, endless evenings filled with polite phrases and reproaches at his coldness, endless nights of tossing and aching for the scent of her hair across his pillow. He must take action now.
Without further hesitation, the marquis strode across the room.
Sir Manfred felt a hand clamp onto his shoulder. He saw a dark glowering face, and heard a voice command him to relinquish Miss Linley. Had the world had turned upside down? Dash it, no man deserved to be accosted in this manner twice in one evening!
Snatched without warning from the dance and marched out-of-doors, Meg had no inkling that Lord Bryn meant her anything but further reproach. Well, she would not wait for him to strike first.
“Have you uncovered some other imaginary scheme of mine?” she demanded when they were alone in the garden. “Have two more ruffians come to call for their cousin, who is not me?”
“Prickly lass,” said the marquis.
Meg glared at him. “This may be sport to you, my lord, but I have serious matters to attend to.” Even now, Sir Manfred might be raising a hue and cry over Angela’s defection. Meg had not missed the sight of her sister and Edward Cockerell entering the room together, oblivious to all but each other.
“So I observed.”
“What do you mean?” She folded her arms, bracing for some new insult.
“Lady Darnet informs me that you are forced to marry for money,” said the marquis gently. “If you must do so, then I am considerably richer than Sir Manfred.”
“Is that meant to be a proposal?” The man was mocking her. How cruel, when he must know that she loved him. Well, Meg had thrown herself at his feet once and would not do so again. “Hardly my idea of a romantic address.”
“Shall I go down on one knee?” His handsome mouth twisted wryly. “It’s a bit damp for that this evening, but I shall if you wish it.”
How adorable he was when he smiled! Some other time, under some other circumstance, she might have laughed and touched his cheek. But now she must disabuse him of this nonsense about a forced marriage. “Well, you’re quite safe, because I have no intention of marrying Sir Manfred or anyone. So you needn’t sacrifice yourself.”
“Dash it, Meg, I love you!” The words seemed to explode from Lord Bryn’s heart. “It’s taken me a while to see it, and I don’t mean to waste time begging for dances and conjuring rides in Hyde Park. Just say yes, and be done with it.”
She slanted a dubious look at him. “You really wish to marry me?” How improbable that seemed, yet how else to explain his behaviour?
“I’ve just said so.” He took a deep breath. “I need a wife, and you’ll do as well as any. Damn it, that’s not what I mean. I need you. The children need you. The house needs you. If you don’t marry me, I shall carry you off to Scotland and force the matter. Is that clear?”
A Lady's Point of View Page 19
