by Cindy Anstey
On that thought, Spencer glanced once again at the door. His stomach plummeted. Bobbington was standing across the street from the carriage, staring up at the windows in a most indelicate and obvious way. Adoration was written all over his face. He was about to call attention to himself. And he would be seen as a fool.
Spencer sprang into action. He dropped his paper to the ground and then stooped to pick it up. When he rose, his upper lip was no longer covered with hair, although it did sport a red splotch and his eyes were tearing.
Spencer rubbed at the spot unintentionally, making it redder. He swallowed, straightened his shoulders, and tilted his top hat back so that it no longer shaded his eyes. He stepped away from the fence and quickly approached Bobbington from behind.
The tap on the shoulder brought a jerk of surprise, and then his friend whirled around with a look of apprehension on his face. It relaxed upon recognition.
“Northam, why I never—what brings you here?”
“Just passing, old boy.” Spencer glanced up at the still-empty stairs of the town house across the street. “Wish I could say the same for you.” He had to get Bobbington away before the grand exit.
“I am merely … merely taking in the air.” Bobbington nodded toward the park. “Lovely area for a stroll, is it not?”
Spencer snorted. “Rot. You are here to see Miss Pyebald. It is patently obvious. You really must learn to control these urges, you know. They are going to make you look completely spoony.”
“Well,” Bobbington blustered, “I will not be the first. History is full of great tales of the foolish antics that young men go through to win the hearts of their fair maidens.”
“Yes, but standing outside her house ogling is nothing like climbing a mountain or scaling a tower. You only look foolish. You do not want Miss Pyebald to look at you with amusement or pity or even apathy. You want to impress her with your manly qualities.” It was not that Spencer wanted to give Bobbington advice on how to win Miss Pyebald, quite the opposite; however, it was all that he could think of to remove Bobbington from the area. “Let us away to the boot-maker. I do believe he said they would be done by today.” In the corner of his eye, Spencer could see the door opening. He took a step and gestured Bobbington to his side. Now even if the ladies saw them, it would be as if they were, indeed, merely passing.
Bobbington sighed and fell into step. “Yes, you are right, of course. It is always thus. I am just finding it enormously difficult to wait. The ball is not until the day after tomorrow. Such a very long time to—”
“Mr. Northam,” called a high, excited voice from across the street.
Spencer looked around Bobbington in time to see Mrs. Reeves and Lady Pyebald waving as they descended. The three girls and Mr. Pyebald followed closely behind them.
Spencer’s look of astonishment was not feigned.
Bobbington gave him a smile that smacked of righteousness. It also gave Spencer the sudden desire to plant a fist—“Mrs. Reeves, Lady Pyebald, what a pleasant encounter.” The two men crossed the street as he called out his greeting.
Bows were made all around, and Spencer was satisfied to see that Miss Telford looked none the worse for her forced confinement. In fact, she looked rather lovely, even more so than he had recalled. Her eyes were clear, and the way she looked at him—
“So happy to receive your reply.” Lady Pyebald talked directly to him, seemingly oblivious to Bobbington’s presence. “We are going to have quite the gathering. There will be no room to breathe. Crush, crush, crush.”
It took Spencer a moment to bring to mind the invitation to the post-presentation ball. “Yes, I … we are greatly looking forward to it.” Spencer glanced around at the young ladies and noticed that Miss Pyebald had something stuck in her eye. She was valiantly trying to bat it away with her fluttering eyelashes. Miss Reeves on the other hand seemed to be having problems with her neck as she kept tilting her head first to one side and then the other. Only Miss Telford had any semblance of normality, although her eyes kept wandering to his lips.
Then Spencer recalled the mustache and hoped that there was no glue stuck to his face. He might have known she would notice such a thing. Observant, just as she had said. She would make a fine agent, if she weren’t always getting herself into sticky predicaments. Perhaps after this … Spencer tried to refocus on the situation at hand.
Lady Pyebald was talking and shepherding the group toward the carriage. “So until then, we must say our good-byes. As you can imagine, there is much to do to make our girls’ coming out as successful as possible. I am sure Vivian will be the belle of the ball. Do you not agree, Mr. Northam?”
Spencer could feel the noose of a scheming mama, but he was not so easily led. “I am sure it will be a great success for all concerned.” He made a point of glancing at Miss Telford. He was pleased to note the upturn of her lips and the slight flush of her cheeks.
“Yes, well, I am sure it will.” Lady Pyebald was less impressed with his retort.
Mr. Pyebald, who had up to this point been quietly standing as an observer, stepped toward the carriage to assist the embarkation. He moved directly between Spencer and Miss Telford.
When Spencer shifted, so did Pyebald. To the casual observer, it was merely a mistake, but to those involved in the posturing, it was a highly charged situation. Pyebald was staking a claim, and Spencer was going to have none of it.
“We, as well, must be off.” Bobbington nudged Spencer none too gently on the back. “Well met. Be seeing you all soon.” He grabbed at Spencer’s arm and left him no choice but to follow.
“What are you about?” Spencer asked when they had put enough distance between the shopping party and themselves.
“Old boy, I seldom have the opportunity to rescue you. I was not about to miss my chance.”
“What are you on about?”
“Please, Northam, we have known each other for eons. That devil-may-care attitude only works on strangers. I know when you are about to take umbrage. That blighter was begging you to make a scene, and I did not think it was in your best interest or mine.”
Spencer felt his blood cool. He was surprised to realize how quickly it had come to a boil. And then to add insult to almost injury, Bobbington had saved him instead of the other way around. Had the world tipped over? The only thing that could be worse than the damage now done to his ego was if his usually unobservant friend had discerned his true interest in the Pyebalds.
“I have never seen you so taken before.”
Spencer frowned. “With what? Whom?”
“Miss Telford.”
Spencer let out the breath that he didn’t know he had been holding. The game was still on. “I do not take your meaning.” He had to protest to make it seem real. Bobbington would not be taken in if he acquiesced too easily. Without meaning to, Spencer glanced behind. The ladies were pulling away, setting off on their jaunt, and the three youngest turned as one to look at him.
Spencer felt uncomfortable, like a beetle under a microscope. He swallowed deeply, smiled mildly, and bowed with no great flourish. He didn’t want the complications; Miss Telford was quite enough.
Just before Spencer turned back, he saw that Pyebald was still waiting by the curb, waving amiably at the disappearing vehicle. However, when Pyebald turned, his eye met Spencer’s, and it was anything but amiable.
CHAPTER
8
In which the glorious glamor of the beau monde is fully realized in all its delightful elegance … and surprising intrigue
“WILL YOU MEET ME IN THE GARDEN?” Pyebald whispered ardently into her ear as he stepped closer in the second figure of the country-dance.
Juliana stifled the resounding no that almost flew from her lips and smiled. She waited until the next figure to speak, when she was able to utter more than a one-syllable answer.
“Mr. Pyebald, you, more than any man here, know the answer to that question. Were you not in the room when your lady mother admonished us to deco
rum? I believe you were, for I saw Vivian glance your way when Lady Pyebald insisted that a reputation, and all possibility of a good match, could be lost on something as seemingly trivial as a tryst in the garden.” She was not going to mention that she was not after a match, good or otherwise; it was a moot point.
“Yes, but such conventions do not apply to those living under the same roof. I am your protector. No one would see it as an impropriety. Besides, you look overwarm. You must be in need of a breath of air.”
Juliana sighed and shook her head slightly. Mr. Pyebald skipped away from her before she could reply. She caught Carrie’s eye as the girl danced by with her head held high and a grin on her face that stretched from ear to ear, every step a study in perfection. Juliana smiled back.
It really was a wonderful night, despite the endlessly ridiculous entreaties of Mr. Pyebald. A mere two hours had passed of this glorious merriment. And Mr. Northam had yet to arrive.
Juliana felt immeasurable relief that the worst part of the entire Season was over, the dreaded presentation. It had gone rather well. Perhaps “without calamity” would be a better description, for two young ladies had fainted in anticipation, and one patroness required assistance at the end of the long ceremony. However, the incidents did not overly affect the Pyebalds or the Reeves family, for as much as they might cluck and express sympathy, the afflicted were strangers.
To Juliana, the ceremony earlier that day had been nothing more than an abyss of possible embarrassments. All those lurking disasters, such as tripping, stepping on someone’s dress, or forgetting to curtsy, were gone. Her new court gown had been finished on time and to Juliana’s mind looked remarkably like the first. Fortunately, this one was declared adequate. Juliana thought it charming and felt rather elegant in the large, outdated hoops. She did, however, find the numerous ostrich feathers a little over the top. She was also quite aware that adequate was a euphemism that meant she would not put anyone to shame or detract from her companions.
Juliana did not mind. She was more than happy to have been adequate at court when her ball gown this evening went far beyond adequate, even without her mother’s locket. It was the essence of grace and style, and Juliana could almost imagine herself to be beautiful. The dress had not been her aunt’s choice.
Juliana had already been flattered, complimented, and introduced to more people than she had ever known. The beau monde was not as daunting as she had expected. In fact, London was friendly in a stifling, formal manner.
While Juliana had expected Vivian and Carrie to attract most of the young male attention, she found an equal share doled out in her direction. She had no idea how Vivian felt about it, but Carrie had shown she was vastly pleased with her raised eyebrows and disguised winks. There were more than enough bachelors to go around.
Juliana tripped lightly through the last figures of the dance, thinking that all she needed now was the arrival of Mr. Northam. He would change the complexion of her evening.
This was the beginning of their ruse, and Juliana was full of anticipation. She knew she would have to hold her growing affection in check, but when it did show through, Spencer would think of it as part of the charade. She need not be overly concerned about a betraying word or glance. He would merely think her a highly skilled actress, which, of course, she was not.
Suddenly, the air felt charged. She turned slowly toward the doorway and swallowed. The noisy chatter of the multitudes of glittering women and elegant gentlemen muted to a whisper; the inane banter of couples and strangers disappeared in the warmth of Spencer’s eyes.
The music seemed to swell and the jewels in the room seemed to flash brighter. Juliana laughed heartily at Mr. Pyebald’s comment as he passed—not that he was witty, for, in fact, she heard not a word, but it was an expression of her happiness.
At last she had traversed the room, and they were alone in a sea of undulating souls. She waited with bated breath for Spencer’s first clever, engaging words.
“Good evening, Miss Telford. You look enchanting.”
Well, perhaps what they lacked in originality, they made up for in heat. Or was her imagination running rampant?
“Good evening, Mr. Northam. I have been looking forward to your arrival, as have the rest of my family and friends.” She was not going to win any poetry prizes, either.
Juliana watched Spencer glance around, and while she did not bother to check, she knew by his expression and the direction of his look that the nod was leveled at Vivian, the smile to Carrie, and the puckered brow to Mr. Pyebald. He had undoubtedly met her aunt and uncle as well as the Pyebalds at the entrance. The older couples were lying in wait … ready to inform any eligible bachelor of the obvious—that their daughters were worthy and eager for attention. It would have been humiliating if it were not amusing.
A figure on the periphery of her vision hovered at Spencer’s side. “Good evening, Lord Bobbington,” Juliana added quickly, almost forgetting her manners in the excitement of the moment.
“This is a splendid display, Miss Telford. Quite a change from the first time we met—”
“Yes,” Juliana interrupted. “So good of you to recall the quiet gathering at Ryton.” She feared he would mention the cliff-side if she allowed him to reminisce too long. “Have you had a chance—?” Juliana felt herself propelled forward as two bodies collided with her, none too gently. Spencer caught her arm until her feet were steady beneath her once more. The warmth of his touch permeated their gloves and lingered when he pulled away. It took a concerted effort for Juliana to draw her eyes from his to see who had jostled her.
Vivian and Carrie jockeyed for position beside her. “Good evening, Mr. Northam,” they simpered in unison. Carrie added, “and Lord Bobbington.”
“The ball is a grand success, is it not?” Vivian’s question was rhetorical. “Why, the room is fair to bursting. I have never seen such a spectacle.”
“One would assume not, in that you have only just come out.” Bobbington, unfortunately, stated the obvious.
Vivian didn’t blink or acknowledge his comment. It was as if he hadn’t even spoken. She pouted prettily and continued. “The music is entrancing, the cadence so very tempting. One cannot help but sway and move with the rhythm of the orchestra.” She began to demonstrate her appreciation of the music, gracefully bumping Juliana as she rocked from side to side. “Do you dance?” Vivian directed her question to Spencer, excluding Bobbington by the slight turn of her body.
It was apparent that Spencer had been placed on the list of possible good matches but Bobbington had not. This charade was not going to be without its share of difficulties.
“Indeed,” Spencer answered smoothly. “Miss Telford has just consented to be my partner in the next set.” He touched the dance card hanging from her wrist, implying that, if anyone cared to look, they would find his name neatly printed inside. He held his arm out in Juliana’s direction, and she laid her glove gently over his.
She couldn’t help but smile at the sour line of Vivian’s petulant face and the pleased surprise of Carrie’s. All knew that no such request had been made, but that his choice had.
Spencer turned Juliana toward the other dancers. They crossed the room with the required display of indifference, and they positioned themselves in the ready for the dance.
* * *
“I HOPE YOU ARE ENJOYING LONDON, Miss Telford,” Spencer commented as they waited, knowing it was expected of him. He stared at the couples on the dance floor as if enthralled by the final steps of the country-dance. His formal words were meant to suppress the heated sensations coursing through his body. He was acutely aware of Juliana’s proximity.
Juliana laughed. “Really, Mr. Northam. And when would I have done that? You know me to have been in the company of my aunt for the better part of the week.”
Spencer felt a hint of discomfort. “We have not had a chance to talk since St. Ives Head.” He wondered if his disguises had been penetrated. “I would not hazard a guess about
your occupation during these past days.” He did not need to guess; they were in his report.
“I am sure you could surmise that I was not out and about doing anything that I would consider of worth. When you saw me last, I was on my way to Oxford Street—shopping yet again.”
Spencer turned to face Juliana and was pleased to see that her eyes were sparkling with humor, not the self-pity implied by her words and tone. “Ah, no time to walk unfettered by a large body of water.”
“Worse, I was subjected to the most excruciating torture. We were shopping, visiting dressmakers and the like.” Her hand touched lightly just above her modest décolletage as if expecting to find something hanging around her neck. It was done without any obvious conscious thought, as if it were a habit.
“Now that would be a most unusual statement coming from any other lady.”
“Granted. But believe you me, this country miss was about ready to solicit a chaperone back to Hartwell, posthaste.”
“Well, I must say, on behalf of all the gentlemen here tonight, we are delighted that you suffered the torture—for you are a very lovely sight.” Spencer wondered if his words were a trifle too warm, for Juliana was flying her colors and staring at the floor. She was the very picture of maidenly modesty.
Lawks, she was a marvelous actress.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, then, almost under her breath, added, “but there is no need for such flattery in private conversation.”
“There is no such thing in a crowded room, Miss Telford.”
When Juliana straightened, she nodded, but her expression was a little wistful; and Spencer realized that he had unintentionally implied that his words were feigned for effect. “However, be that as it may, my comment was not flattery but merely the truth.” The wistfulness was still there. She did not believe him.
