The Bridal Season

by Connie Brockway

  He straightened, smiling calmly though his pulse had begun racing. She returned his smile with equal aplomb and equal duplicity; the thin material covering her breasts shivered and his body reacted instinctively. It had been years since a woman had had such a physical effect on him.

  Then he and Atticus were moving down the line and from there out onto the lawn toward where Paul and Catherine Bunting stood. Atticus was silent, and for this Elliot was glad. Was Lady Agatha the lady she claimed to be or an imposter? He did not trust his own judgment.

  “Lady Agatha is a most handsome young woman,” Atticus said as they approached the Buntings. “Quite lively. It’s the red hair, you know.” His father nodded sagely. “It invariably decries an ardent nature.”

  “I suppose.”

  “I suspect it’s why she’s unmarried. Too volatile.”

  “Hm.”

  Atticus glanced at him in surprise. “You take a different view?”

  “I suspect it has more to do with a lack of ready than a superfluity of passion.”

  “Superfluity? Passion?” Atticus’s brow furrowed.

  “Vivacity, then. And I was being ironic, Father. One could hardly be too alive, could one?”

  His father smiled. “You’d be surprised at the odd notions some men entertain regarding the fairer sex. I have little doubt that there are men who would consider Lady Agatha’s, ah, joie de vivre disreputable.”

  “Then they’d be fools,” Elliot said shortly.

  He made his obeisance to Catherine, kissing her hand before shaking Paul’s. Catherine, warmhearted and affectionate by nature, linked her arm through his.

  “Who’s a fool, Elliot?”

  His father answered. “Men who do not understand Lady Agatha’s charm.”

  Catherine looked surprised. “You think her charming, Elliot?”

  He had never been the sort of man to easily disclose his feelings, and he wasn’t even sure what they were in regard to Lady Agatha. “The Bigglesworths obviously find her entirely delightful.”

  “Ah!” Catherine said, smiling kindly. The Bigglesworths are such dear, undiscriminating people.”

  Before Elliot could answer, she’d tapped him playfully on the cheek. “And you are entirely unworldly where women are concerned. Come, Elliot. Let us find a glass of punch and I shall explain to you about the wiles of the average woman.”

  She’d secured his arm and he had no choice but to escort her to where a servant was dispensing punch.

  Paul watched them go without any appreciable interest, as Lady Agatha approached him in company with Dr. Beacon and his wife. She greeted Paul and Atticus, looking about with unfeigned interest.

  “Ah, drat,” Beacon said. “I missed Elliot.”

  “I suspect he’ll be back shortly,” Paul said. “Went off on some errand of Catherine’s making.”

  Atticus glanced at Lady Agatha. Should he, or shouldn’t he? He should.

  “Does that a lot, doesn’t he?” Atticus said mildly.

  “All the time,” Paul answered. “Still feels something of the old tenderness I should imagine,” he added proudly, “and Catherine always goes out of her way to make sure she shows him a little extra attention. She’s so tender-hearted.” He glanced at Atticus. “Not that I’m suggesting that Elliot’s feelings aren’t entirely honorable.”

  “Of course not,” Atticus agreed at once, and noted with satisfaction the chill expression on Lady Agatha’s face. “It’s fortunate for Elliot that Catherine doesn’t feel uncomfortable being at the center of an old swain’s as well as a loving husband’s attention.”

  “She always says it’s important that Elliot feel welcome,” Paul said.

  “Perhaps she enjoys the attention?” Lady Agatha suggested.

  Paul shrugged. “Maybe.”

  His answer, as well as his obvious unconcern, had the effect of making Lady Agatha’s eyes flash with annoyance or disapproval. She smiled brittlely. “Dr. Beacon, isn’t that your lovely sister over there? I would so like the opportunity to know her better.”

  Somehow Atticus kept from grinning until after Lady Agatha and Jim Beacon were gone. But it was an effort.

  Having gotten Catherine her punch and returned her to her husband, Elliot was about to join Lady Agatha’s party when he noted Elizabeth Vance and her father sitting by themselves at a table under an awning. He went to them at once.

  “Miss Vance, would you and the Colonel mind terribly if I joined you for lunch? There are some matters about the current Boer situation that I would like the Colonel’s opinion on.”

  “Of course. Of course, m’boy!” Colonel Vance thumped the empty chair next to him with his cane. “You’d best go off to some of your women friends, Elizabeth. Sir Elliot wants my advice. Nothing of interest for you here, I’m sure.”

  “I’m afraid not,” Elliot agreed apologetically. Elizabeth all but leapt to her feet and, after making a breathless promise to return soon, fled.

  Elliot settled in to listen. Though he was usually content to hear the old man’s tales, today his gaze kept straying to the lawn outside, where the sun danced between newly minted leaves and women and men strolled beneath the branches, laughing, chatting, and flirting.

  He was thirty-three years old. At one time he’d been as easy and careless as those around him, but then obligation had required him to don a mantle of authority and purpose.

  Bad luck, a horrific miscarriage of military justice, and a dervish’s blade had aided that transformation. In a zariba seven miles from the Nile, he’d caught a sword in the leg but, made oblivious to pain by the sheer fury he’d felt at a dishonorable and spurious piece of injustice he’d stumbled into the night before, he’d managed to keep his company together. They’d rewarded him by shipping him home and giving him a knighthood. He’d vowed never again to presume justice was available to all men, and to henceforth do all in his power to see that it was.

  Since then, he’d subordinated everything in his life to fighting to make the legal system a viable and honorable one. Now it looked as though the care with which he’d led his life and the scrupulousness with which he performed his legal duties would be rewarded in the premium he had sought. The Prime Minister himself verified it; come New Year’s Honors, Elliot would be made a peer.

  He should be elated. He should be taking this opportunity to prioritize a laundry list of reforms and concerns. But his attention kept wandering. Lady Agatha sat on a large rug, finishing her luncheon along with a group of picnickers that included John and Rose Jepson, Jim Beacon and his sister Florence, and Squire Himplerump’s scion, Kip.

  “Don’t you agree, sir?” Colonel Vance’s voice grew steadily in volume.

  “Most definitely, sir,” he avowed, not having a clue as to what he was swearing.

  John Jepson hadn’t said a word since Lady Agatha sat down. He kept grinning at Rose, both of them pink-faced with pleasure over finding themselves in such august company. Jim sat beside Lady Agatha, chivalrously plucking daisies for the necklace she was weaving for her dog’s necklace, while Kip lolled on his stomach, his broody good looks marred by an insolent smile.

  As Elliot watched, Lady Agatha called out for Angela to join them. Angela started over, but abruptly changed her mind, begging off and turning away. Kip pushed himself to his feet and hurried to catch up to the girl.

  Elliot wished the boy luck. Perhaps he could find out what was troubling Angela. The two had been friends since the cradle. Indeed, Angela was one of the few people—besides Kip’s doting parents—who insisted the boy was good at heart.

  Like a magnet, Elliot’s gaze had returned unerringly to Lady Agatha, when a sudden lull fell on the conversation. Into that brief stillness Colonel Vance’s voice boomed like a foghorn, “I’d be staring, too, if I could see half as well as I used to! Quite an eyeful, by God! Makes one’s mouth water.”

  Elliot closed his eyes and wished himself a thousand miles away. Someone tittered nervously. He opened his eyes. Archibald was leaning a
cross the table, regarding him with insistent inquisitiveness, his eyes as bright and black as a malevolent crow’s and just as oblivious to the commotion he’d caused.

  “Well, Elliot?” Archibald demanded. “Ain’t that toothsome? Or have you no appetite for a fancy piece of work like that?”

  Dear God, could it get any worse?

  “Father!” Elizabeth, arriving just in time to hear her sire’s comments, covered her mouth. Her face bled of all color. “Oh, Sir Elliot!” she whispered from behind her hand. “Please, I pray, forgive him, us. Me. I should know better than to leave—”

  She was near to sobbing. And her father was regarding her in hurt befuddlement. And if Elliot didn’t do something immediately, Elizabeth, whose social life was already as severely curtailed as genteel poverty and dutiful daughterhood could conspire to make it, would never be able to bring herself to accept another invitation. If she ever received another one.

  He looked directly at Colonel Vance. He must take the onus for the Colonel’s words but, if he was to pull this off, everyone must think he was unaware that they’d become the center of attention. He smiled—though he doubted the stretching of his lips bore much resemblance to anything remotely pleasant—and in a loud, distinct voice said, “Ah. Then you did hear me, sir. As I remarked earlier, she is, indeed, most delectable.” A female gasped. He steeled himself and plowed on. “Not the usual find at a country picnic. You retain an excellent eye.”

  Well, Elliot thought, so much for becoming better acquainted with the mysterious Lady Agatha now. She’d shun him like the swine he’d acted. For him to speak of her as if she was some consuma—

  “Well, really, Colonel Vance,” a throaty voice cut across his thoughts. “It is Colonel Vance, is it not? And Sir Elliot.”

  He froze upon hearing her voice, but his training stood him in good stead and he rose to his feet and turned. She’d every right to personally deliver the set-down he so richly deserved.

  “Lady Agatha.” He inclined his head, his voice betraying none of the self-disgust he felt.

  Her clever, angular face was tilted to the side, one brow cocked, her wide mouth ripe, richly amused, her eyes dancing in perfect comprehension. In her hands she held a glass bowl filled with cake and strawberries.

  “I could not help but overhear your conversation,” she said, glancing at Archibald. At least the old roué had grace enough to avert his eyes. Her gaze released him and swung back to Elliot.

  “Your entire conversation,” she said in a voice that, though carrying clearly, somehow gave an impression of intimacy so that anyone listening—which nearly everyone within shouting distance was—would think she spoke to him alone. Nice trick, that, and for a second he wondered where she’d learned it, but then she moved closer.

  “Forgive me for eavesdropping, but that is how I learned how delectable both you gentlemen find strawberry trifle. I also noted that your table doesn’t seem to have been set with one, and so confided to my fellow diners.”

  She gestured graciously to the doubtful-looking group behind her. “Generous souls that they are, they simply could not enjoy this one knowing you were without, Colonel Vance. Oh,” she batted her eyelashes innocently, “and you, too, of course, Sir Elliot.”

  He stared.

  She knew full well they hadn’t been speaking of any cake. It was there in her eyes, in the teasing tilt to her smile. She also knew that since she’d claimed to have heard their conversation, no one could say they hadn’t been speaking of cake without calling Lady Agatha a liar.

  He smiled, grateful for her generosity, but on seeing the amused arch of her brow, realized, as she already had, that he was also now in her debt.

  Chapter 11

  Charm is getting people to say “yes”

  without ever having to ask them a question.

  “Here,” said Lady Agatha, offering him the bowl.

  “You are too generous, Lady Agatha,” he mumbled.

  “Aren’t I just?” she replied smoothly.

  “I thought you disliked strawberries, Elliot,” Catherine said from beside him. He hadn’t even seen her approach.

  “Perhaps at one time; not anymore,” he said, looking across Catherine at Lady Agatha. “Quite recently I’ve developed a veritable passion for them. Amazing the things one can discover about oneself. And under the most unusual circumstances.”

  Lady Agatha stifled a laugh.

  “Piffle,” Catherine said severely. She took the trifle and placed it in front of Archibald Vance who, in a rare instance of prudence, had decided to stay mute.

  She linked her arm through Elliot’s and gave it a little hug.

  “Remember when we were young and Cook used to give us bowls of strawberries as a treat? You always gave me yours. Come to think of it, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that you have always liked them. You have always been chivalrous to me.”

  “Chivalrous? Not I,” he said, directing his comments to Lady Agatha. “Though I am most recently reminded that chivalry is not dead.”

  Lady Agatha colored the faintest bit.

  “But you were always kind to me, weren’t you, Elliot?” Catherine said with a touch of insistence. He looked down at her pretty, expectant face.

  “You were an easy girl to spoil, Catherine,” he said.

  She laughed, hugging his arm tighter as she leaned toward Lady Agatha. “I’m afraid I still am. Paul and Elliot and…well, I’m shamefully overindulged.”

  “Don’t worry, m’dear,” Lady Agatha said. “I can assure you, you do a splendid job of masking any character flaws such pampering oft engenders.” She paused. “Besides, I’m sure you’ve exaggerated your situation.”

  Elliot glanced at her sharply, not quite trusting her innocent expression. Though the words themselves were reassuring, the tone was mildly sardonic. And, as disloyal as he felt it to be, he couldn’t help but feel Catherine deserved it.

  For whatever reasons, since the moment she’d met Lady Agatha, it had seemed like Catherine had been set on making her ladyship feel like an outsider. Already today he’d heard her make several casual remarks about Lady Agatha’s “interesting fashion sense” and “peculiar—albeit charming—conversation.”

  Of course, he was probably misinterpreting what was going on. Catherine had no reason to feel any animosity for Lady Agatha. Nor Lady Agatha for her.

  Still, Catherine’s voice was decidedly frosty when she murmured, “You are too kind.”

  Lady Agatha didn’t demur. She simply smiled sunnily and said, “So I’ve been told.”

  Elliot damn near burst out laughing. She’d make a formidable opponent would Lady Agatha. She’d turned the tables on Catherine right enough, and though he should be supporting his one-time fiancée, he found himself too busy trying to keep from grinning.

  Into this mire of tension sailed Eglantyne, Grace Poole at her side and young Hobbs from the stable bringing up the rear. He was pushing a wheeled cart filled with croquet equipment

  “See, Grace? More than enough food,” Eglantyne said. Her gaze fell on the abandoned trifle. “But what is this doing here? Don’t tell me you haven’t had your dessert yet, Colonel Vance! Miss Vance? Elliot? Well, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to delay enjoying it until later or you’ll miss the croquet, and I do so need you, Elliot, to make an equal number of ladies and gentlemen.”

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you. Now, then—” She clapped her hands, drawing the attention of the rest of the picnickers. “If you please! We’re going to have a croquet tournament this afternoon with prizes for the winners,” she announced. “So please divide yourselves into teams of one lady and one gentleman. The only requirement is that” she wagged her forefinger playfully at Catherine, “you must not pair up with your spouse.”

  “Oh, Elliot!” Catherine exclaimed. “Remember how we won the lawn tennis tournament at Tumley?”

  “I do,” Elliot answered. He knew where this was going, yet he was reluctant to ask. Beside him, Grace
Poole whispered urgently in Eglantyne’s ear. He glanced at Lady Agatha. She’d turned in another direction, her expression a little bored.

  Catherine regarded him with confident expectation. He cleared his throat. “Catherine, it would be—”

  “I’ll tell you what it would be,” Eglantyne cut in abruptly. Grace Poole folded her hands at her waist, her expression supremely complacent. “It would be a great favor to me, Catherine, if you would partner Anton. You know how shy he is about his lack of athletic abilities, and what with your talent, you might just keep the pair of you in the game beyond the first round. If you would be so kind, my dear?”

  Catherine’s smile wavered. “Well, of course, Eglantyne dear. If you think he really wants to play…”

  “Oh, I am certain he does.” She raised her voice. “Yoo-hoo, Anton!”

  Anton, who’d been in conversation with Atticus and the vicar, looked around.

  “Grand news,” Eglantyne called with strenuous cheer. “Catherine has just been telling me how much she would like being your partner!”

  “She has?” Anton asked.

  “Yes! Come on, then. Don’t keep her waiting.”

  Anton, his florid face bemused, hurried over. Eglantyne turned to Elliot. “Oh! I have just had a grand idea, Elliot! Perhaps you might partner Lady Agatha.”

  “I would be delighted,” he said promptly.

  “Oh, no!” Lady Agatha exclaimed. “I mean, I am certain Sir Elliot is an ace player. Indeed, that’s the problem. I’m not. In fact, I’ve…I’ve never played croquet before.”

  “Never?” Eglantyne echoed disbelievingly.

  “I’m…very busy, and when I was a child we didn’t play many games. Not that sort of game.”

  “Well,” Eglantyne said, “it’s high time you learned. You’ll enjoy it. Capital game. Elliot will have you flying through wickets in no time.”