“One more session for practice and she shall be as proficient as any lady at the dance, don’t you think, Ferddie?”
“Lovelier, I’ll wager.”
Basking in such praise, Miss Bethingame could not be offended when arrangements were made for another lesson in two days’ time. She was serving tea and conversing easily with Lord Milbrooke about the other guests to be expected at Margaret’s affair, for he would be one of the few strangers present. Talk turned to some of the region’s more colourful citizens, with Carleton and Miss Bethingame trading stories for Ferddie’s amusement. The hour passed pleasantly enough, until a table was cleared for cards. Miss Bethingame admitted to a sad lack of skill at yet another art, but it was seen to be more from lack of interest than slowness of wit. She played a great deal better when sides were switched and Carleton was her partner, yet had to struggle to keep her concentration on the cards. Lady Burke made the gentlemen promise a return match when they declared it was time to leave, so she was well satisfied. Once again she invited her guests to visit the stables before leaving—this time with a degree of curiosity—and once again Carleton refused with some polite pretext. Miss Bethingame began to feel a prick of irritation, that his show of indifference might betoken disdain for the Folly’s puny efforts. She did manage to thank him with genuine sincerity for his instruction, though, and Ferddie for his patience: “I do hope I did not scuff your boots too badly, Lord Milbrooke.”
“Not at all, ma’am. It was my pleasure, I’m sure. You’ll see, next time will be real dancing.”
The next lesson began the same, Elizabeth and Ferddie waltzing while Carleton looked on, giving praise or blame to either indiscriminately. Lady Burke gamely played on.
A short interlude passed this way before the Marquis announced that now Miss Bethingame must waltz as a woman, not a schoolgirl. She must be able to relax, to carry on a conversation with her partner, not minding her feet or the count, or Ferddie may as well be dancing with the chair. Ferddie made her laugh at this, with his nonsensical description of the various styles of chairs he had partnered at debutante balls. Before she was aware of it, Miss Bethingame had overcome her first nervousness and found herself gliding without conscious effort, feeling the music while hearing and joining Ferddie’s gay repartee.
The fun stopped when the Marquis laid his hand on Milbrooke’s shoulder and quietly asked, “May I?” Miss Bethingame’s insides gave a lurch, and a shiver twinged at her spine as he bowed before her. She returned an uncertain curtsey, surprised to see Ferddie changing places with her aunt at the piano bench.
“Now you must learn to waltz as it was meant to be danced,” Carleton told her softly as Ferddie turned pages in the music book, “elegantly, romantically ... seductively. The waltz was wickedly improper once, and you must dance the why of that.” He spoke in a low voice, to her alone, as Ferddie began to play surprisingly—astonishingly—well. What embarrassment she might have felt at his words, what offense even, vanished as they began to dance. He held her closer than Ferddie had, more firmly, not letting her lower her eyes from his as the magnificence of Ferddie’s music surrounded them. Carleton danced effortlessly; she could never be awkward in his arms. They swirled around furniture she was not aware of, and a part of her mind finally understood why the waltz was banned for so long in polite society.
“When you waltz,” the Marquis was saying, “really waltz, you must look at your partner as though he were the only man whose arms you ever wished around you. He must look at you as ... as I am.”
The rest of the dance was a dream Elizabeth only awoke from at her aunt’s applause. Elizabeth blushed furiously, then covered it by turning to Ferddie.
“Why, Lord Milbrooke, how marvelously you play! I had no idea!”
“Oh, I am out of practice now,” he discredited the praise. “Don’t get much opportunity, you know.” Still, he beamed under their combined approval, especially the ladies’ exclamations when Carleton told them what a rare treat they’d had, as Ferddie generally refused to play in public.
Tea was called for, with a discussion of music happily continuing. Ferddie turned out to be the most knowledgeable, though Carleton and Miss Bethingame found their tastes more similar. Lady Burke had to be apprised of the latest composers finding patrons among the London ton, pleased to agree with his criticism of the dilettante set though she had not the slightest understanding of his disdain.
A card table was again prepared, but three hands found Miss Bethingame guilty of her second bidding error.
“I am sorry, my Lords, Aunt Claudia; I simply do not have a head for cards!” she apologised. She really felt she needed some fresh air. “Perhaps if we conclude the game early this afternoon you might wish to visit the stables with me, if you are interested.” She directed this last to Carleton, testing him, yet she was unsure what answer would have pleased her most.
He gave her that same beguiling, lopsided smile which she was learning was half-irony, half-true amusement. “If you wish us to come, I would be honoured,” he answered, reflecting her own uncertainty back at her and dismaying her by seeming to read her mind.
“I’ve seen the stables, Miss Bethingame,” said Milbrooke. “Perhaps I’ll just have a hand or two of piquet with Lady Burke, if that is all right with you, ma’am?”
Lady Burke was delighted, although she could not help feeling a trifle guilty over this lapse in chaperonage. Jackson would be there, however, and the entire stable crew, and it would only be a hand or two...
Elizabeth led Lord Carleton down the rear hallway, and would have simply left the house but for the Marquis’s reminder that she would need a wrap. He glanced at her teasingly, at her flimsy gown with its short, puffed sleeves. He knew she was disconcerted enough to forget the spring chill, and she knew that he knew, and was only more uncomfortable. Happy for the excuse, no matter how temporary, she asked him to wait in the nearby library while she fetched a shawl. She spent a few minutes in her room, arranging the shawl on her shoulders and trying to settle her thoughts. Was the Marquis trying to fix her attention or not, she wondered. She had so little experience with these matters she could not tell. He knew how she felt about surrendering the Folly to a stranger or allowing herself to be married off in some land transaction, so why was he flirting with her? Most likely because it was in his nature, she decided; but why, she asked herself furiously, must something in her respond to him?
The Marquis had been surprised at the library, at first. One long side of the large room was indeed stocked floor to ceiling with all manner of books, though whole shelves were reserved for horse-oriented volumes. The shelves on an adjoining side of the room held all sorts of trophies, cups, ribbons and certificates, attesting to Lord Bethingame’s accomplishments. The other short side of the room held the large stone fireplace, with a superb jade horse on the mantle. T’ang Dynasty probably, Carleton thought approvingly. The same deep green was tastefully matched in the heavy brocade draperies, the worn leather of the chairs. The room was comfortable, masculine, familiar, except for the other long wall. This was hung with every odd size, shape and style of painting—all of horses! He was admiring some, chuckling over others, noting that each was by a different, unknown artist, when Miss Bethingame returned, much composed.
“Oh, you’ve discovered the family portrait gallery, have you?” she said with a laugh. “Papa always felt so sorry for the young artists hoping for a commission that he would let them paint his horses. Word got out, and every so often one would appear with a sad tale. Some of them had never painted a horse before, as you can see, but Papa was always willing to let them try and he, at least, was never disappointed.”
Carleton laughed. “And did he never commission any to paint his daughter?”
“Oh, no, he felt it would be a waste until I grew up! I think he was afraid, also. You see, we do have one fine miniature upstairs. It is of my mother, but she took a fever shortly after it was completed and never recovered. I was about six at the time but reme
mber Papa feeling the portrait was bad luck, although he cherished it greatly.”
“And you have been alone since then?” he asked curiously.
“Alone? Why, no, Papa was here, and Bessie, and my old governess. And Aunt Claudia came, and of course I had all the horses. Come, I’ll show you.”
The stables were well built, airy and dry. The dirt underfoot was neatly swept, the straw in the stalls fresh and sweet-smelling. Carleton had time for a look around while Miss Bethingame greeted the rambunctious spaniel; a whole crew of young men smiled and tipped their hats to her before continuing their chores. There was no stinting here, Carleton noted. Horses were being led in and out for grooming and exercise. Some were mares brought in for foaling, Elizabeth explained, others boarders for breeding to the Bething stud. There was no uncertainty about Miss Bethingame now as she led Carleton to the end stall to view the stallion, Beth’s Moonlight, a direct descendant of Darley’s Arabian, through Eclipse. He was a huge animal, dark bay with black points, steady and intelligent looking. He came to the gate to have his muzzle stroked and wuffled until a piece of sugar was found.
“He is magnificent,” Carleton agreed. “But why don’t I know his name? He must have a formidable racing record, to base the stud on, but I cannot place him.”
“No, he never raced. He came up lame at the Ascot trials.” She told it simply, not revealing the death blow it had seemed to her father, who had sold off his acreage and everything he had to meet the purchase price. “But you would have won, wouldn’t you, boy?” She turned back to Carleton again: “He would have, too. Everyone said so. They would have destroyed him right there, but Robbie convinced Papa he could stand to stud, even if he never raced again. And enough people had seen him at the trials to be interested in his offspring. His breeding helped, of course.”
Carleton could not help marvelling, while she continued, at the chance Lord Bethingame must have taken, marvelling further at this beautiful girl with shining brown eyes talking of stud fees and consistently productive breedings. Most young ladies would blush just to hear the words. And knowledgeable? If he had thought her stable manager to be totally in charge here, he silently acknowledged the fault. Miss Bethingame knew more about the lineage and points of every horse in the stable—only possibly barring his and Ferddie’s—than he ever hoped to, and he was considered an extremely proficient and learned horseman, if not an absolute Corinthian. He followed meekly behind the slip of a girl and her dog as she paused at various stalls, describing the mares to him.
“This is Princess,” she said fondly, holding out an apple, “another of our thoroughbreds. This will be her last foaling, and then she will be retired. She’s earned a rest.” Elizabeth looked up at the Marquis happily. “She is the Pride’s dam.”
“The Pride?” Carleton asked, not having seen any such horse.
“Folly’s Pride, and our hope, too! He is from Princess and Moonlight, the match my father kept trying for and kept getting fillies! The Pride will take over the stud in a few years, after he has raced—and what a record he’ll have! Robbie says he is better than Moonlight ever was and has stronger bones besides. We have him entered in the Ardsley Cup in a few months. Even a good showing will be enough, for his maiden race, to show everyone Papa was right. And if he wins, the price for Moonlight’s service goes up, and the price of Princess’s new foal! Oh, I wish you could see him,” she said excitedly, all awkwardness between them forgotten for the moment. “Robbie has to keep him over by the cottage because it upsets Moonlight to have him nearby. We train him in the morning—we have our own practice oval; you can’t see it from here. Perhaps some morning next week you would—” She caught herself, but it was too late. “That is, perhaps you might be interested in seeing him.”
There was no chance for the Marquis to reply as Ferddie entered the stables with Lady Burke just then; there was no need, either, for his pleased smile was answer enough.
NINE
The weather on the day of Margaret’s second engagement party was not promising. Rain had fallen heavily the entire day and night preceding and was only now subsiding to a steady drizzle. The roads would be mired, difficult for horses and coach, uncomfortable for passengers. Fearing that her niece would use this as an excuse to stay home, Lady Burke kept herself out of Elizabeth’s way. She did not come down to luncheon, sending a message that she wished to be well rested for the evening, and Elizabeth would do well to follow suit. She was relieved when her maid returned with a tray and a reply, merely Elizabeth’s wishes for her undisturbed relaxation and the thought that perhaps they should be ready somewhat earlier than planned to allow extra time for the trip. Now Lady Burke’s rest could indeed be peaceful; nor did she have qualms over meeting her niece at tea.
Elizabeth was totally resigned to attending the dance, with no intention of backing out. The thing she had dreaded most about the ball at Carlyle itself, being up for appraisal by some profligate son, had already occurred. The second worst thing which could have happened—and did—appearing backward over the waltz, was now resolved. Any resentment which might still linger was overshadowed by the promise of pleasure that the evening brought. She saw no reason why she could not simply enjoy herself as other girls her age did. She might have single-mindedly determined to remain unmarried for the Folly’s sake, but she was learning to appreciate male company for her own! She was woman enough to take pride in the compliments, and girl enough to desire friendships among her own age group, something sadly lacking in her day-to-day life. If she would not admit to actual eagerness, at least she was not showing the defiant anger of a week ago, her aunt was pleased to see. Lady Burke was further reassured when Elizabeth dimpled prettily over the parcels just delivered from Carlyle Hall. One was a small nosegay of tiny wild violets, to match her lilac gown. The card simply read, “Yrs., Carleton.” The second package was a satin-covered program book, with “As promised, F. Milbrooke” written in for the first dance. Lady Burke was too busy delightedly opening the third, a lovely orchid corsage with both gentlemen’s compliments, to pay further attention to her niece. Elizabeth was turning the pages in the program and finding them curiously empty, as though Carleton was not going to ask her to dance. Perhaps the roads would be too treacherous for travel, after all, she thought.
The rains stopped, the sun broke through just long enough, and the ladies from Bething Manor arrived in good time. Lady Burke was swept off to the card room where earlier arrivals were waiting to make up a hand. Elizabeth was greeted warmly by Margaret with a kiss on the cheek, then drawn upstairs to freshen herself. Other young ladies were already there, laughing and gossiping happily. They hurried to Elizabeth, begging to know if rumours were true, if she really was on friendly terms with two such Nonpareils. Margaret laughed at her blushes and told the other girls not to tease. Elizabeth knew almost all of the young women, but none closely. They had attended each other’s birthday parties at an earlier age, until most were sent off to be educated and only had school holidays in which to keep up with old friendships. Later they were all taken to London for their debutante balls and Seasons, widening the gap even further. Elizabeth had started out with them, even attending a fashionable seminary for young ladies, but she had missed her father terribly, and he was lonely without either his wife or his daughter, so she returned to be educated at home. Then came all the horses and more to interest the Bethingames at home than out visiting, and less money for entertaining, until Elizabeth hardly knew her childhood friends. She might have rekindled some old friendships when she reached the age of dances and parties, but her father’s death and the year of mourning only isolated her more. She had found that she had very little in common with other young women her age when they did happen to meet—until tonight, when they were all exclaiming over each other’s gowns and hair styles and beaux. She was delighted when her gown was complimented and gave Ellie’s—Mademoiselle Elena’s—direction to anyone who was interested with the highest recommendation. The gown itself would have bee
n reference enough. Of pale lilac in a soft crepe, it had the same elegant simple lines which molded Elizabeth’s figure so becomingly. The décolletage was daringly low, with Carleton’s violet nosegay pinned at the V, lending a curious touch of innocence to the gown’s sophistication. It was the envy of the other girls, all in beribboned, sequined confections. They glittered, but Elizabeth glowed! In fact, between her dress and the attention of the two most eligible bachelors in the neighbourhood, it seemed as though some old-time acquaintances would not develop into new-found friends. Others managed to hide their jealousy, hoping that some of Elizabeth’s luck, as they called it, would rub off. One girl even asked if Elizabeth could introduce her to one beau or the other, for it was not fair for her to monopolise both! Miss Bethingame laughingly denied any rights of possession to either gentleman, gave a final pat to the curls piled luxuriously on the top of her head and descended the stairs with the rest.
Margaret’s mother welcomed her kindly, telling Elizabeth that they must see more of her. Then there was Ferddie, waiting to claim her for the first dance. He looked marvelous in his evening clothes, putting all the local boys to shame trying to be fashionable with their ridiculously high shirt collars and glaring waistcoats. When Milbrooke told Miss Bethingame how enchanting she looked, she could only say, “And so do you!” which had them both smiling.
Margaret and Captain Hendricks took the floor and so the dance began. Elizabeth could not help glancing around to see if she could spot Carleton, but if he was present, he was not dancing. At the conclusion of the set, having bespoken the first dance after supper, Ferddie returned Elizabeth to her hostess, where Robert Carleton instantly asked her to stand up with him. She had vaguely known Robert all her life, too, so conversation was not difficult. He even recalled a visit to the Folly with his father once and remembered a tomboy in pigtails, to her embarrassment. She had a quick glimpse of blond curls atop a broad back—Margaret’s partner—and had to have Robert repeat his question about the stables. Her next partner, also waiting at the hostess’s side, was Captain Hendricks, so Elizabeth was able to congratulate him on his engagement and ask about plans for the wedding. She had the odd feeling that since this was such an informal party, the other girls were not being so strictly chaperoned, yet there was nothing she could say. Next came a country dance, with each successive partner only having a few minutes to introduce himself and utter a polite phrase. As Elizabeth turned to meet the next gentleman on her right in the rearranged figures, she looked up to see glittering blue eyes laughing down at her surprise.
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