by Mary Balogh
Without waiting for their answer, he maneuvered his horse around vehicles and pedestrians and other horses until he was clear of them and could close the gap with the other rider.
“Kersey,” he called when he was within earshot, “well met.”
Viscount Kersey turned his head sharply, a slight frown between his handsome brows, and then smiled. “Ah, Thornhill,” he said, “you are back in England, are you? Facing the music and all that?” He laughed. “Sorry about your father. It must have been a shock to you under the circumstances.”
“He had been ill for several years,” the earl said. “Your daughter is going to be blond like you, though she does not have much hair to speak of at the moment. Did you know, by the way, that it was a daughter, not a son? So much better, I always think, when the child cannot be acknowledged as one’s heir anyway.”
It was as if a curtain came down just behind the blue eyes, he noted with interest.
“What are you talking about?” Viscount Kersey asked, his voice both chilly and haughty.
“Lady Thornhill is now established comfortably in Switzerland with her daughter,” the earl said, “and is in a fair way to recovering her spirits. I do not suppose you are much interested in hearing about her, though, are you?”
“Why should I be?” Lord Kersey frowned back at him. “Beyond the fact that I met the countess once or twice while I was attending my uncle during his sickness. I rather gather that you are the one who should be most concerned with her well-being, Thornhill.”
The earl smiled. “I have no desire to prolong this exchange of civilities,” he said. “And I am not about to slap a glove in your face. Suffice it to say that I know and that for the rest of your life you will know that I know. If I can be of any disservice to you, Kersey, it will be my pleasure to oblige. Good day to you.” He touched his whip to the brim of his hat and turned to ride unhurriedly away in the opposite direction from that taken by Kersey.
He was satisfied, he thought. He had accomplished what he had always planned to do. Perhaps Kersey would suffer some discomfort from the knowledge that his secret was not quite so secret after all.
And yet, the earl thought, there should be more. His father had been cuckolded and his stepmother dishonored and he himself had had his reputation ruined. A child was to grow up unsupported and unacknowledged by her real father.
There should be more.
For the first time in a long while the urge really to hurt Kersey burned in him. He should be made to suffer—just a little. He could not be publicly exposed without stirring up the old scandal for Catherine again. Lord Thornhill would not do that to her even though she was far away. No, he would have no satisfaction from hurling mud at Kersey and watching him as like as not ducking out of its aim.
But there should be some way.
He would watch for it, the earl decided. If there was anything he could do to see Kersey suffer, then he would do it.
Without the slightest qualm.
3
ALTHOUGH HE HAD BROKEN THE ICE, SO TO speak, by riding in the park and facing the ton, two weeks passed before the Earl of Thornhill attended his first social function. He considered not doing so at all. He had proved a point to both himself and them, and he had confronted Kersey with his knowledge. He was very tempted to leave London and go home to Chalcote. But he supposed that since he had made his stand, he might as well complete the process. Riding in the park was not quite the same as attending an entertainment of the Season.
He decided to attend a ball. He had plenty of invitations to choose among. It appeared that his title and wealth were of greater significance after all than his notoriety. Every hostess during the Season liked to grace her ballroom with as many men of fortune as possible and as many titled gentlemen as could be persuaded to attend. Young, unmarried gentlemen were particularly courted, especially where there were young daughters or nieces or granddaughters to be brought out and married off. The Earl of Thornhill, being twenty-six years old, had every required attribute.
He decided on Viscount Nordal’s ball in Berkeley Square for the simple reason that both Sir Albert Boyle and Lord Francis Kneller were going there. Nordal had a daughter and a niece he was bringing out—though it would be more accurate, probably, to say that his sister, Lady Brill, was doing the bringing out. She was one of Society’s dragons. But the earl, seated in his carriage on the way to Sir Albert Boyle’s rooms to take him up before proceeding to Berkeley Square, shrugged his shoulders. Her brother had invited him, and if she chose to snub him, then he would put on an armor of cold haughtiness and make free with his quizzing glass.
He did not really want to be attending this ball, but it seemed the wise thing to do.
“What do these girls look like?” he asked Sir Albert when the latter had joined him in the carriage. “Does Nordal have a difficult task on his hands?”
Sir Albert shrugged. “I’ve never seen ’em,” he said. “They must have made their curtsy to the queen this week and it is Society’s turn this evening. Five pounds say they are not lookers, though, Gabe. They never are. Every maidservant in sight tonight will have oceans of beauty, but every lady will look like a horse.”
The earl chuckled. “Unkind, Bertie,” he said. “Perhaps they will not like the look of us either. One is supposed to look beyond outward appearance, anyway, to the character within.”
Sir Albert made an indelicate noise, rather like a snort. “Or to their papas’ pockets,” he said. “If they are well lined, the girl’s looks are insignificant, Gabe.”
“You have become a cynic in my absence,” the earl said as his carriage slowed to join the line of carriages outside the house on Berkeley Square.
The hall, when they entered it, was brightly lit, and both it and the staircase were crowded with guests and humming with sound. The two gentlemen joined the line on the stairs. The earl fancied that several raised lorgnettes and several poker faces and outright frowns and whispers behind hands and fans were occasioned by his arrival. But there was nothing openly hostile.
Viscount Nordal, at the beginning of the receiving line, was affable, and even Lady Brill, playing the grand lady as her brother’s hostess, nodded graciously before presenting her nieces. Lord Thornhill had an impression of two young ladies of ton dressed in virginal white, as was to be expected. The white gown was an almost obligatory uniform for unmarried young ladies.
And then he recognized the one standing beside Lady Brill. Miss Samantha Newman. Looking tonight more the personification of English beauty than ever. She positively sparkled with blond loveliness and was refreshingly free of the pretense of ennui that so many young ladies affected in order to make themselves appear more mature.
The Earl of Thornhill bowed to her and murmured some platitude before turning his head expectantly toward the other young lady. The Honorable Miss Jennifer Winwood.
Yes. Oh, yes, indeed. He had exaggerated nothing in memory. He was a tall man, but her eyes were on a level with his chin. And fine dark eyes they were too, more amber than brown. All the glorious dark red hair he had merely glimpsed beneath her bonnet in the park was now piled on her head with cascades of curls over her neck and temples. And she was as shapely as a dream, though he did not lower his eyes from her face to confirm the impression. Her coloring and her figure made her look as vivid as if she were dressed in scarlet. And every bit as enticing.
He bowed over her hand, murmured that he was charmed, looked deeply into her eyes to be sure that she had recognized him—how mortifying if she had not!—and moved on into the ballroom.
“Well, Bertie,” he said, coming to a pause inside the doors and raising his quizzing glass to his eye to survey the scene about him, “you owe me five pounds, my dear chap. The Season has at least two lookers to offer.”
“I had convinced myself,” Sir Albert said, “that they must have been a figment of our imagination, Gabe. I am smitten to the heart.”
“By the blonde, I suppose,” the Earl of Thornhill sai
d. “I intend to dance with the other. We will see if I have been invited merely as an aristocratic ornament, Bertie, or if I am to be allowed within striking distance of one of Society’s daughters.”
“Five pounds say you will be allowed close, Gabe, and encouraged to stay close,” his friend said. “I’ll win my money back easily.”
“Ah,” the earl said. “Here comes Kneller. Wearing lavender. You look too gorgeous to be real, Frank. You are out to slay the ladies, not singly, I see, but by the dozen.”
IT HAD BEEN AN exciting and a frustrating fortnight. Exciting in the sense that they had prepared for their presentation at the queen’s drawing room and, amidst great trepidation, had accomplished the task. And exciting too in that there had been their come-out ball to look forward to and a dizzying number of invitations to read and choose among—though that had usually meant agreeing to the events that Aunt Agatha approved and rejecting others that they might have found more tempting. And there had been fittings to enjoy and newly delivered garments to try on and exclaim over.
But it had been frustrating too. At long last they were in London and the Season had begun and all around them the ton were enjoying themselves with furious determination. Yet they must remain in seclusion until they had been presented and then until their come-out ball. It was enough to give even the cheeriest of mortals the dismals, Samantha had declared on more than one occasion.
It had been frustrating for Jennifer in another way too. Viscount Kersey had been to tea once. Once! He had come with his mother and had sat drinking tea and conversing for half an hour—with Jennifer, Samantha, and Aunt Agatha. He had smiled just for Jennifer as he took his leave and had kissed her hand.
But that was all she had had of the first two weeks of her official betrothal. Yes, it was all very frustrating. And all very proper, of course. And there had been the excitement of everything else that was happening.
But at last the evening of the ball had arrived and Jennifer felt almost sick with excitement. She despised herself heartily since she was twenty years old and long past the age for such girlish reactions. But she was excited and there it was. She was not going to pretend otherwise.
She had not realized there could be so many people in all London as the numbers who passed along the receiving line into the ballroom in a seemingly endless stream. Young ladies all in white, like Samantha and herself, older ladies in brighter colors with turbans and nodding plumes, older men who bowed and smiled and paid lavish compliments, younger men who bowed and murmured all that was proper and looked assessingly. Oh, she could understand why all this was known as the marriage mart, Jennifer thought, and was glad anew that she was not really a part of it. Lord Kersey had arrived early and was already in the ballroom. He had solicited the opening set with her as was only right and proper.
There were very few people Jennifer recognized. A few of the girls and ladies who had been at the queen’s drawing room. One or two of her father’s friends who had called at the house during the previous two weeks. Two younger gentlemen—the two who had ridden past them and greeted them in the park that first afternoon.
Yes, he did indeed look like the devil, she thought when her eyes alit on the dark gentleman and she recognized him instantly. He was very dark and very tall and, unlike any other gentleman she had seen, he was dressed in black—coat, waistcoat, and knee breeches. His shirt and neckcloth and cuffs and stockings looked startlingly white in contrast. He made a perfect Lucifer to Lionel’s Gabriel, she thought, remembering her conversation with Samantha in the park.
He was the Earl of Thornhill. A very exalted personage indeed. He looked at her very boldly with his dark eyes—as he had done that other time. Perhaps gentlemen of his rank felt justified in taking greater liberties than other gentlemen did. She felt doubly grateful for Lord Kersey’s presence in the ballroom and for the official nature of their betrothal. The Earl of Thornhill made her feel—uncomfortable.
The gentleman who had been with him in the park—Sir Albert Boyle—came after him. He smiled and bowed and went on into the ballroom. He behaved as all the other gentlemen guests had done.
But Jennifer quickly forgot about the only two young gentlemen who had been familiar to her. For actually they were not the only two. There was Viscount Kersey, who surely outshone every other gentleman in the ballroom enough to make it seem that the light from the hundreds of candles in their chandeliers shone only on him while every other gentleman stood in the shade.
It was a fanciful and ridiculous thought, she knew. She smiled at it and at him as he bowed finally over her hand and led her onto the empty floor to signal the formation of the opening set. Lord Graham, one of her father’s younger acquaintances and one who had received a nod of approval from Aunt Agatha, was leading Samantha out, Jennifer knew, but she had eyes for nothing and no one except her betrothed.
He was all ice blue and silver and white. And blond. He made her heart turn over and beat with uncomfortable rapidity. She savored the moment with all her heart. It was the moment she had so long awaited. She would remember it for the rest of her life, she decided quite deliberately.
“You look extremely lovely tonight,” he murmured to her as they waited for the sets to form around them and the music to begin.
“Thank you, my lord.” She smiled, realizing that she had been about to return the compliment and stopping herself just in time. Though the thought struck her that she should be able to say such a thing to her betrothed. But she had seen so little of him. They would grow more comfortable in time. Now that she was out and could move freely in society, they would be together almost daily. Soon they would be comfortable together. They would be friends. She would be able to speak her thoughts to him without having first to stop to consider if they were proper.
Now, at this moment, she was in awe of him and despised herself for being so. She was being gauche and rustic. She was behaving like a seventeen-year-old fresh from the schoolroom. She consciously put on her cloak of quiet dignity, and decided to enjoy the moment for what it was worth. Everything else that she longed for would come in its own time. She must not spoil the present by longing for what would come if she but gave it time.
They danced the steps of the opening country dance in silence. Jennifer was partly glad of it. Although she had attended numerous assemblies at home and was an accomplished dancer, nevertheless she had never before danced in such surroundings and in such company. And she felt eyes on them, as was only to be expected since this was her come-out ball, and Samantha’s. She was thankful for the absence of conversation so that she could concentrate on her steps. And of course the intricate patterns of the dance separated them frequently so that any sustained conversation would have been impossible.
As she became accustomed to the steps and relaxed a little, her eyes sometimes strayed beyond the confines of the set in which she danced. All these grand and richly clad lords and ladies were gathered in her honor and Sam’s. It was a heady thought. And a wonderful one. At last. At last she was in London and out and officially betrothed. Her betrothal would be publicly announced in two weeks’ time, and in six weeks’ time she would be married.
She glanced again at the splendid blond god who was to be her bridegroom. How all the other young ladies must envy her. She wondered how general was the knowledge that they were betrothed and guessed that it was very general. Not many things remained secret for long in London society, she had heard. And this was no little thing.
And then beyond her betrothed her eye was caught by that one point of incongruity in the ballroom—by the black-clad figure of the Earl of Thornhill, who stood alone on the sidelines. No, not really alone, she saw when she focused her eyes on him. Two other gentlemen were standing with him, including Sir Albert Boyle. He just appeared to be alone because he looked so different from everyone else around him. So tall and so dark. He was watching her quite steadily, she realized. She lowered her eyes hastily and returned her attention to the dance.
He wa
s the very antithesis of Lionel. It was so remarkable that she wondered foolishly why others were not exclaiming about it. Day and night. Summer and winter. Angel and devil. She smiled again and again wished that she was comfortable enough with her betrothed to share the joke with him.
KERSEY! THE EARL OF Thornhill noticed him a few moments after he had finished teasing Lord Francis Kneller about his lavender and silver evening clothes and then could not understand why he had not noticed the man immediately. His eyes narrowed on the viscount and he felt an unexpected surging of hatred for him.
Perhaps, he thought, he should have left London for the North and home after all. Perhaps London was not big enough for the two of them. But he would be damned before he would allow himself to be driven away by the likes of Kersey.
He forced his attention away from the man and continued his light, bantering conversation with his friends.
But his attention did not remain diverted for long.
“The devil!” he muttered when the whole assembly seemed finally to be gathered and the members of the receiving line entered the ballroom and the orchestra began its final tune-up. The first set was about to begin and the two young ladies whose come-out ball this was were being led first onto the floor by their partners. He spoke another obscenity beneath his breath.
“I could not agree more, Gabe,” Sir Albert said, mock gloom in his voice. “Graham has cut me out and broken my heart. But that is not what ails you, is it? Kersey has done the like for you. Perhaps we should go home and put bullets in our brains.”
Viscount Kersey was leading out the delicious redhead—Miss Jennifer Winwood. The devil himself, looking rather like an angel in his pale splendor, was bending over innocence, murmuring something into her ear. Lord Thornhill found that he had clamped his teeth together. He wondered what Nordal would do if he knew. Probably nothing. It was, after all, merely a dance, even though Kersey had been chosen to partner Nordal’s daughter in perhaps the most important dance of her life. Anyway, there were not many men who would condemn another for making sport with someone else’s wife. To say it was common practice was hardly to exaggerate. It was not even uncommon for one man to impregnate another man’s wife. The only unpardonable indiscretion would be to do so before the wife had presented her husband with a legitimate male heir. Kersey had not been that indiscreet, although Catherine herself had borne no other child. And of course, far more unpardonable was to make sport with one’s own father’s wife. Kersey had not done that either.
