If Ferddie’s good looks put the other men to shame, Carleton made them look like farm hands, with his coat of blue superfine stretched across his broad shoulders, his white knee-breeches fitting just so, diamond stickpin accenting the gleaming white folds of his cravat. Even with her limited experience, Elizabeth knew the Marquis would be outstanding in any crowd of men. His eyes were so blue, his nose so straight, his chin so strong—he could be dressed in rags and still hearts would flutter, hers for one.
The figures of the dance were changing; they had hardly exchanged “good evenings” when they separated, but Carleton did ask for the next dance.
He was waiting for her at the sidelines and made a low bow as the supper dance was announced. A girl’s partner for this set was obliged to escort her through the buffet. Elizabeth wondered if the Marquis had known it would be this dance, remembering how just last week he had fled to the library rather than face it. He did not seem disconcerted by the announcement, and she could think of no graceful way to excuse him from the dance without leaving her to go to supper alone, so she merely smiled, returned a curtsy and allowed him to lead her to the floor.
“I must apologise, my Lord,” she began, “I did not thank you for the lovely violets you sent.”
“Didn’t you?” he asked, looking at the nosegay nestled against her breasts, somehow making her feel the bouquet was the only thing she had on! As if he could sense her embarrassment, he went on in a different tone: “I hope you appreciate them fully. I had to go pick them myself, in the rain!”
“What, couldn’t you send someone?”
“And have the whole estate know how romantic I was being? No, it would ruin my reputation!”
“Did you really go in the rain? It was unnecessary, I’m sure...”
“So am I, but it was worth it!” he answered. “Tell me, are you enjoying yourself?”
His tone was serious, as if he honestly cared. She had no hesitation in answering that yes, indeed, she was having one of the most pleasant evenings of her life. They sat with Ferddie and a Miss Faversham, a frothy blonde damsel who chattered through the meal. It did not pass anyone’s notice that Lord Carleton and Miss Bethingame were on easy terms; they were a topic of interest which became a Thing as the Marquis led Elizabeth to his mother at the conclusion of supper. Luckily Miss Bethingame was unaware of the connotation of the honour, for she was able to converse with the Duchess unaffectedly. She was pleased at the likeness the Duchess saw in her to her mother, and proud when the Duchess noted that the Duke had always thought highly of her father. Whatever else Miss Bethingame might be, she was not shy and did not merely stand gawking at the exquisite beauty of Lady Carlyle, who was equally pleased that her old friend’s daughter had turned out so charmingly. Somehow they had become the centre of a group of laughing young men—the Marquis had excused himself—and peculiarly enough, the Duchess nonchalantly undertook to sort them out and make introductions—the functions of a chaperone. Elizabeth was worrying over this when Millbrooke came for their second dance together.
“Oh, think nothing of it, Miss Bethingame; didn’t she say she knew your mother? I am sure she won’t mind all your beaux, especially with the Duke not present.” Milbrooke laughed. “He said Carleton and I were all the escort any woman could want ... Incidentally, I’ll be saying goodbye, leaving for London in the morning, you know.”
“No, I hadn’t known. I’m sorry to hear it; you’ve been so kind.” She meant it, and Ferddie was touched. “I’ll be seeing you shortly, at any rate.”
“What a peculiar notion, Lord Milbrooke. How could you be seeing me? I do not go to London.”
“No?” He looked a little confused. “Well, um, Carleton is staying on, so I shall likely be visiting again soon. I’m down often, you know.”
Elizabeth gave an immediate invitation to call on his return, meanwhile wondering how much longer the Marquis was planning to remain in the country, away from all the entertainments of London. She also wondered if now, having had two dances with Milbrooke, she could expect Carleton to ask her again also. He was not among the crowd around the Duchess, however, when Ferddie led her there without any hesitation after the dance. She was overwhelmed at first at the compliments waiting for her and the number of young men wishing to dance. The Duchess laughed at her confusion over the clamour, then kindly intervened.
“Come, my dear, you must get used to being the belle of the ball! Here, I’ll decide. Mr. Rivington, you shall have the honour of this dance with Miss Bethingame, only because your father was a beau of mine.”
After two or three partners, pleasant, friendly young men from the neighbourhood, were selected for her in such a fashion, Elizabeth began to feel a little uncomfortable. The other girls were chatting among themselves between dances, flirting with a few young men and accepting their own partners. The only explanation she could think of was the suspicion that she was to be kept busy—away from the Duchess’s own son. But no, he was standing with a group at the other side of the room and had not even approached her, or the Duchess. Besides, her Grace was truly being kind; perhaps it was just her sense of propriety, knowing Elizabeth’s aunt to be such a slipshod chaperone. Still, Miss Bethingame was uneasy, especially when the Duchess’s manner underwent a change at the next introduction.
“Miss Bethingame, here is Sir Edwin Harkness, who swears his night would be ruined without a dance with you.” Her voice was an icicle dripping disapproval. Elizabeth would have asked for an explanation, fearing she had committed some social blunder, but Sir Edwin made such a laughable picture in his exquisitely flourished bow that all her attention was drawn to him. Here was a true Tulip of fashion, and proud of it, right from his neckcloth, tied so high he could barely nod, to the rhinestone buckles on his shoes. In between was a checked velvet waistcoat crossed with enough fobs to keep an entire village from losing its timepieces! There were rings on every finger and lace dripping everywhere Elizabeth looked. She was amazed no, dumbfounded. She could only murmur slight appreciation as Sir Edwin began a strain of flattery as elaborate as his dress. Right there in front of the frowning Duchess and a handful of young men from the country, he likened her brown curls to the rivulets in a stream, flowing in the sunshine. Her skin became gardenia petals, her eyes those of a gentle doe. This was becoming ridiculous, she thought, comparing these inanities to Ferddie’s sweet compliments, Carleton’s smiles of approval. The music was beginning, and she heard snickers from James Rivington, for one; Miss Bethingame was growing embarrassed, indignant and in danger of losing her temper. “Sir Edwin,” she began hurriedly when he had finished a description of her swanlike neck and was staring intently at the cleavage her gown revealed, “I am neither a dumb animal nor a babbling brook. Incidentally,” she added mischievously, looking him straight in his watery blue eyes, “I am not an heiress either. Do you still wish to dance?”
It was Sir Edwin’s turn to be embarrassed as he quickly led her to the dance floor to escape the laughter bubbling up around him and the bravos shouted for Elizabeth’s wit. The Duchess looked across the floor to her son, who was glaring furiously, out of hearing. The Duchess smiled at him confidently. There was no need to worry about Miss Bethingame on that score; she was well able to take care of herself!
Nevertheless, Carleton was at the Duchess’s side at the completion of the dance, when Elizabeth returned. He did not offer for the next set, though, nor the following, but only chatted amiably with the new beauty’s admirers. Elizabeth could not help but note that most of the others were younger than Carleton and seemed more subdued in his presence. In fact, they no longer seemed so anxious to stand up with her! No one said one nice thing about her dimples or her turned-up nose! Perhaps Carleton sensed the effect he was having, for he soon wandered off, saying that perhaps now it was safe to meet the chit Robert was interested in.
The last dance was announced shortly, a waltz. Since this was a country ball where the guests had to travel some distance to get home, it would end much earlier
than the grand London fetes, which often went on till dawn. As Elizabeth sadly looked to the Duchess for her last partner, she told herself she was only regretting the last dance of her first real ball; she knew very well that she was disappointed not to have a last dance with the Marquis. She had hoped he was waiting for the waltz after making sure she would dance it this time, but he was not among those clamouring for the honour. The Duchess was talking to an older man, not aware of Elizabeth’s difficulties. Where Elizabeth had almost resented having her partners chosen for her, she now realised what a relief it had been. She did not wish to slight anyone, but she was determined not to miss her very first waltz out in company. She was just about to select the nearest gentleman when a deep, mellow voice spoke at her back: “I believe this dance is mine, Miss Bethingame?” Elizabeth looked quickly over to the Duchess for any hint of disapproval, but Lady Carlyle nodded reassuringly, perhaps recalling the last dance of the week before. With a radiant smile, Elizabeth turned and almost floated into the Marquis’s waiting arms.
If they had been a topic of interest before, they were now an established Fact, as far as anyone watching them dance was concerned. In truth, the only one not hearing wedding bells was Miss Bethingame herself, who was too happy to consider tomorrow!
TEN
Tomorrow came quickly, before the dawn. In fact, it was waiting for Elizabeth at home in the form of an unannounced, uninvited visit from the present Earl of Bething, her Uncle Aubry. That gentleman had been conducting business in London, where some interesting tidbits of gossip had reached his ears. He had immediately altered his plans in order to pay a visit to his niece and sister. His usual communication was through the mails or solicitors, but this time he felt a personal call was in order to discuss some matters with his ward and to find out from his sister if there was any truth to the gossip. Luckily he was already asleep in a guest bedroom when Miss Bethingame arrived home so was saved from a rather terse, unlady-like but unmistakable expression of his ward’s opinion of his arrival, right there in the front hallway.
“Elizabeth!” cried her aunt, hurrying her upstairs, away from the servants. “He is your uncle and your guardian!”
“Yes, and he was content to ignore my very existence here for two years until the Folly turned a profit. Never once has he offered to help us in any way, except to find fault!”
“But he did bring you the kind offer from that gentleman in Lancashire, remember?”
“Oh, yes, I remember. I remember how my value went up as soon as I reached breeding age! Do you recall how he threatened to cut off my allowance when I refused—an old man I had never seen and would have to give up my home and all I loved to marry. No, Uncle Aubry has never cared for my welfare, you can be sure of that. Just look around you; see all the things we need, and where is the money? My money. He refuses to give me any but an allowance till I am wed, he says. Well, I shall reach twenty-one before that day, and then we’ll see.”
“Oh, dear, you know it is no great sum of money. Your father simply did not have enough to leave you. He put it all into the horses, you know.”
“I also know he meant for me to feed those horses without having to beg some solicitor for Uncle Aubry’s consent. Uncle would only love me to fail so he could sell the Folly at a profit, just as he is trying to sell me!”
“Oh, Elizabeth,” her aunt fretted, “you mustn’t talk like that. You know what Aubry thinks of free-spoken females. I’m sure that if you are pleasant to him and show a little respect, he will be more understanding. Do try not to get so riled up; you know how these scenes are so disturbing to everyone.”
Elizabeth did know, indeed. Her uncle’s last visit—with his clear intention of seeing her engaged to his widower friend—had gone so badly poor Aunt Claudia had had a headache for three days. This time, Elizabeth vowed as she undressed in her own room, she would prove to her uncle that she was a mature woman, able to conduct her own affairs in a rational, unemotional manner. There would be no raised voices or accusations this time, she swore to herself, only steadfast logic—and a desire to see him gone. She unpinned the violets from her gown and set them in a glass of water next to her bed. With Uncle Aubry settled in her mind, she was able to go to sleep thinking of pleasanter thoughts, like laughing blue eyes.
When she awoke in the morning, later than usual, the violets were drooping miserably, but Elizabeth’s determination to impress Uncle Aubry with her poise still held firm.
She called for Bessie and hurriedly dressed in a demure muslin morning gown, then went to the breakfast room, instead of to the stables first, which was her usual custom. Her aunt was dressed and down, also out of the ordinary, for Lady Burke seldom left her rooms before noon, preferring not to know how her niece spent the time. Today, however, she felt her presence was necessary, little though she enjoyed being the buffer between these two rock-hard temperaments, having learnt from experience that is was the soft buffer who inevitably suffered.
Elizabeth greeted her uncle surprisingly cordially, and enquired of him about her aunt, a devout, disapproving lady, and her dear young cousins, a pack of runny-nosed brats. She even asked about Bething, the family seat, a ramshackle old mansion Elizabeth had had to visit with her father once a year. Uncle Aubry had always lived there, managing the property for his brother even before he came into the title. Elizabeth’s father had bought the Folly property before his marriage, knowing the dreary northern estate was no place for his lovely bride, nor the grim spinster aunts and retired soldier uncles suitable companions. Aubry and his wife had never minded the whole flock living there until, of course, they had to pay the bills themselves. By now most of the old relations were passed away and Bething was simply a moldering, drafty old building, which only Uncle Aubry could take pride in claiming. His pride was enormous, even more so now that he was its rightful, titled owner, not just its steward. He expounded all through breakfast over crops and tenants and structural improvements. Elizabeth and her aunt listened attentively until he digressed to his neighbours, one Lord Cedric Barnable in particular. Having heard enough about Lord Barnable on her brother’s last visit, Lady Burke was sure this was not a safe topic for conversation. She quickly interrupted:
“Forgive me, dear Aubry, but I have to ask how long you will be visiting with us; our pleasure, of course, but Cook must be told so we might be sure of having things just as you like them.”
Elizabeth was toying with the fringes of resentment. It had not escaped her notice that Uncle Aubry had not asked about their welfare or the improvements being made here. Though she was determined to be polite, she felt her aunt was going too far in trying to appease him, in making him feel actually welcome. She only hoped he would say whatever unpleasantness he had come for and leave this morning.
“Four or five days, I think,” was her uncle’s unfortunate reply, at which Elizabeth excused herself to some business at the stables to mask her disappointment. Before she reached the door, however, he stopped her with a summons to meet in the library in an hour’s time. Elizabeth did not like his tone of voice, nor his peremptory orders to her in her own home. She merely nodded, figuring to get this over quickly so perhaps he would leave earlier, without making an issue of it.
Her business in the stables consisted mainly of sending a groom with a hurriedly written note to Carlyle Hall, requesting that Lord Carleton not call at Bething’s Folly this week as was planned due to unfortunate circumstances. She regretted having to send the message—though a meeting between the Marquis and Uncle Aubry could only be trouble—and the regret simmered in the back of her mind as another black mark against her uncle. The looks of commiseration she received from the stable hands did not help at all, nor the “Lovely morning, Miss Bitsy” greeting from Jackson. It was a fine morning, clear and crisp after all the rain, but she was not to enjoy the freshness of the sunshine. No, she would be kept in like a child with lessons to hear some odious lecture.
Her uncle, meanwhile, was using the time to gather information. Th
e talk in London was of some brown-haired Unknown capturing Carleton’s fancy at a ball in the country last week. The house guests had returned from Carlyle Hall full of the tale, but not the young lady’s name. She was said to be slight and quite good looking, if in an Original way, with a style all her own. Having been notified by his sister of the ladies’ invitation to attend the ball, he dared let himself consider that for once his niece might have accomplished something worthwhile. Their very presence at another Carleton do last night reinforced his hopeful interpretation of the London gossip. Claudia was only too happy to satisfy his curiosity as long as it got Lord Barnable off his mind. She couldn’t see the harm in expressing her own hopes as far as the Marquis was concerned, such a nice young man who even brought treats for her dog. She told about the dancing lessons and the violets, but she was unable to relate details of the dance last night, as she had been in the card rooms all evening. This brought censure down on her own head, for her deplorable gambling habits and her lackadaisical supervision of Elizabeth.
Bething's Folly Page 8
