by Mary Balogh
“It was a huge embarrassment,” he said, “to be waiting at the front of the church with the whole ton in attendance for a bride who never came.”
“I hope you felt more than embarrassment,” she said, “when you knew what had happened.”
“Of course,” he said, making her another slight bow. “I have been frantic with worry about you, Elizabeth.”
“Well,” she said, “that is something at least.”
If she had expected, and perhaps hoped, that he would sweep her into his arms as soon as she crossed the threshold of the room, then of course she was being grossly unrealistic, she told herself. Manley’s feelings for her were not strongly emotional ones, just as hers for him were not. He had chosen her because she was a duke’s daughter and wealthy and respectable despite the past scandal.
They were to have an amicable and civil relationship. That was what she had wanted and still wanted. It was foolish to be disappointed at the undemonstrative way he was greeting her return from a kidnapping.
“His grace thinks we should continue with our plans to wed,” Lord Poole said. “I agree with him, Elizabeth. If we do not do so, there will be whispers that you jilted me by going off with that masked man, and that will do neither of our reputations any good. It will make me look like a fool and you like a—”
“—slut?” she said.
He frowned. “Hardly that,” he said.
“I was taken away by force, Manley,” she said. “But you are doubtless right that the whole situation must be smoothed over by our continuing with our plans.”
“I think we had better plan a summer wedding, though,” he said.
“I cannot agree with his grace that we should marry now in haste before the foreign dignitaries arrive from the Continent. Everyone is too preoccupied with that event to be interested in a wedding.”
It was perhaps a strange reason for postponing the event, but Elizabeth was relieved and thankful. If he had wanted to marry immediately, then she would have had to tell him without delay that there had been no kind lady to take her up after she banged her head and lost her memory, but only the kidnapper himself, who had turned out to be her divorced husband.
Now she could delay the telling. It must be done before their wedding, of course, but she was cowardly enough to welcome delay.
And she could persuade herself that it was best to leave matters just as they were for the moment. Manley seemed to feel that it would be best for them all—himself included—if their betrothal went unbroken.
And so she said nothing about the identity of her kidnapper. And nothing about the two-week idyll she had enjoyed with him before she recovered her memory. She should have been enjoying a honeymoon with her new husband during those weeks but instead had honeymooned with her old husband.
“I like the idea of a summer wedding, Manley,” she said. “It will give us both a chance to recover from the ordeal of the past few weeks. It is good to be back home again. I was overjoyed to see Christina yesterday, and am very delighted to see you today.”
“That is settled, then,” he said, taking one of her hands again and raising it to his lips. “It is important that we be seen together in public as soon as possible, Elizabeth. That will silence any gossiping tongues. Lady Drummond is giving a ball three evenings from tonight. Word has it that the Grand Duchess Catherine will be there. It would be the perfect occasion for us.”
“Then we must go,” she said. “Shall I order tea? You must tell me what has been happening in London since I went away and what you have been busy about.”
“Some other time, Elizabeth,” he said. “I have a meeting to attend. The poor Princess of Wales is being shabbily treated by that apology for a husband, the Regent, and my fellow Whigs and I are trying to decide what we can do about it.”
“Oh,” she said. She did not approve of the very vulgar princess.
But then she did not greatly approve of her estranged husband, the Prince Regent, either. She thought they were a sorry couple to be at the very head of government. “I will not keep you, then. Thank you for calling.”
“Yes, well,” he said, “there were matters that had to be settled. I think everything will be smoothed over quite satisfactorily. You must not worry.”
“No.” She walked with him out into the hallway and saw him on his way. “I shall see you before the ball, then, Manley. You will come to dinner and escort me?”
“My pleasure,” he said, bowing once more and taking his leave.
He had not asked any questions about the weeks of her absence, she thought, standing in the hallway after he had gone and staring absently at the front doors. And none about her health or well-being.
Perhaps he was being tactful? Doubtless Papa had given him all the details of the story she and Martin had told him.
Anyway, she thought, she was glad he had not asked. She did not want to pile lie upon lie. He was going to have to know the full truth before their summer wedding. She was glad he was not demonstrative. She did not want him in love with her or even overly affectionate toward her. She wanted a mild friendship. A relationship of mutual respect and civility.
She had had enough of love. Too much. Altogether too much. She wondered what he was doing at that precise moment. Standing on the headland at Penhallow? Walking along the beach? Working with his steward? Thinking about her? She wondered if he had been laughing at her throughout the time when her memory was gone. Or had he loved her just a little during those weeks? Had he felt any remorse at all for what he had done to lose her in the first place? Or had he merely reveled in the fool he was making of her?
They were among the questions that teemed in her head almost constantly. But she was learning to be patient with herself. She must concentrate on replacing those questions with concerns of the present and future. Her betrothal with Manley was still on. They were to be married during the summer. They must decide exactly where and when. They must discuss whether to try to duplicate the wedding they had planned the first time or to have a smaller, more private ceremony. And there was Lady Drummond’s ball to attend. It was an evening to be looked forward to, Elizabeth thought. She must decide what gown to wear.
She turned toward the stairs, her mind fully occupied with present concerns—except for that one corner of it that was picturing a certain cave on the beach at Penhallow with a cloak spread on the sand inside it and herself lying on it against a man’s body and in his arms, warm and comfortable and smiling into his very blue eyes.
“You see?” Christopher said to Nancy when she joined him in their sitting room for breakfast two days after their arrival in London. “All those calls we have been making have had their reward already, Nance. This morning’s delivery has brought no fewer than five invitations.”
“Oh, what?” she asked, seating herself beside him at the table.
He had been interested to notice that the past two days had also brought back the Nancy of seven years ago. She was behaving more like an eager girl than a mature woman. He had teased her the day before on Bond Street that she had ordered more evening gowns and other clothes than she could hope to wear in two years of entertainments and that she had bought enough fans to raise a storm over London. She had merely laughed at him.
“A soirée, a literary evening, a private concert, and two balls,” he said, picking up each invitation in turn and setting it down in front of her. “With which shall we open the campaign, Nance?”
“Oh, one of the balls, I think,” she said.
“Lady Drummond’s is tomorrow evening,” he said, “and Lady Elgard’s five evenings from now. Perhaps we had better choose Lady Elgard’s. None of your gowns will be ready by tomorrow, will they?”
“Oh, but, Christopher,” she said, leaning eagerly toward him, “Winnie heard from some of the servants here that the Grand Duchess may be going to Lady Drummond’s ball tomorrow evening. And if I send to the modiste’s and can succeed in sounding imperious enough, I do believe they could finish one of my gowns
in time. The green, I hope.”
“If the Grand Duchess is going to Lady Drummond’s,” he said, “or is even rumored to be going, then everyone will be there. Elizabeth too in all likelihood.”
“Yes,” Nancy said. “But what if she does not go, Christopher?”
“Then we will keep accepting every invitation in sight,” he said.
“We know she is in town. Mrs. Monk-ton could not resist dropping that tidbit of gossip when we called on her yesterday. I just hope Elizabeth has not heard we are here. If she has not, she will soon. Another reason for not waiting until the Elgard ball. I’ll accept the invitation for the Drummond affair, then, Nance?”
She nodded.
Lady Drummond’s ball was pronounced a great success before it was even half over, for the ballroom and the public salons were so filled with guests that movement was restricted. And the unpredictable and temperamental Grand Duchess did indeed put in an appearance even if she did leave early with a headache brought on by the heat and the crowds and the loudness of the music. The Drummond ball, however, could boast something in addition that no other London hostess would be able to match, even in June after the state visitors arrived.
A few days before, Lady Elizabeth Ward had returned to London with her stepbrother after an absence of three weeks following her spectacular abduction outside St. George’s on the morning of her wedding. The story of those three weeks that she had brought back with her had been told and retold in the drawing rooms of London, and while no one believed such a bizarre tale for a single moment, one had to find it intriguing nonethless. After much speculation it was found—to the disappointment of some—that the lady arrived at the ball on the arm of her betrothed. It seemed that he had not after all been jilted.
But if their arrival added a pleasant spice to Lady Drummond’s ball, another arrival ensured that it would be remembered as one of the foremost entertainments of the year. The other arrival was the Earl of Trevelyan, Lady Elizabeth’s divorced husband, who had left England before the divorce, presumably forever.
When he arrived—late—with his sister, Lady Nancy Atwell, the guests waited almost with bated breath for the first encounter between the estranged couple. At least, they all assumed and hoped that it was the first encounter. They wondered if either of the two knew that the other was to be there. The presence of the Grand Duchess was almost overshadowed.
It was almost a relief to be at Lady Drummond’s ball at last, Elizabeth found. She had not been much from home since her return to London and she had been dreading her first appearance in public.
Not that she would show her fears to anyone, of course. She had smiled at her father’s nod of approval when she appeared before dinner in a new ballgown of shimmering golden silk, and at Martin’s compliments and John’s wink. And she had greeted Lord Poole graciously and had conversed with everyone at dinner.
But inside she had quailed. She hated the thought of appearing before the ton for the first time since she had failed to appear before them at her wedding. She knew very well that she would be the focus of all attention when she arrived at Lady Drummond’s. And she was, of course. Everyone in the receiving line had special words of sympathy or welcome home and sharpened glances that seemed to see right.beyond her social smile to the truth. And when she stepped into the ballroom on Lord Poole’s arm, there was an unmistakable buzz of conversation shifting to a different topic.
But it was almost a relief, anyway. At least she would no longer have to imagine what it was going to be like. And soon enough people would grow tired of looking at her and would return to looking at one another.
“It is not quite pleasant to be notorious, is it?” she said, smiling at Lord Poole.
“When you become a politician’s wife, Elizabeth,” he said, “you will grow used to being stared at. You have nothing to be ashamed of. You may keep your head high in such company.”
If he only knew, she thought, looking determinedly about her, resisting the temptation to avoid meeting people’s eyes. Martin and John had come along the receiving line and had also stepped into the ballroom.
“You see, Elizabeth?” John said. “You have your own private court. Three gentlemen to one lady. It is odds I do not much relish myself, especially when the lady is my sister. We must look about us, Martin, and see if we can arrange the situation more to our liking. Who is new this year? Anyone ravishingly lovely or fabulously wealthy? Or both, dare I hope?”
“No one,” Martin said. “Just the usual crop. We had better stay close to Lizzie. This might be a difficult evening for her.”
“Nonsense.” John grinned down at her. “There are doubtless several dozen ladies in this room who would give a right arm to enjoy the attention Elizabeth is drawing at this moment. Of course the fact that she is the loveliest woman inside the loveliest gown in the room must help.”
“Flatterer!” she said, laughing. “Is this what you have been learning on the battlefields of Spain and Portugal?”
“Of course,” he said. “You cannot imagine what a dismal proportion of women to men there was, Elizabeth. A ready tongue became as important a weapon as a sword if one was not to be left quite womaniess.”
She wondered if he was deliberately making her laugh and setting her at her ease and guessed that he was. Manley was being stiff and dignified; Martin was looking rather tense. John was grinning and looking endearingly handsome in his scarlet-coated dress uniform.
Without a doubt he was drawing many female eyes that would otherwise have been on her.
“You are dancing the opening set with Poole?” John asked. “Make the second one mine, then, Elizabeth. It is a waltz, I do believe. In the meantime I am going to stroll about to try to prove that there must be another lady here who is at least as lovely as you. If there is not, it is a crying shame, you know. Are you coming, Martin?”
“I’ll stay with Lizzie,” Martin said, stationing himself at her left so that she had a gentleman at each side to protect her.
Dear Martin, she thought. He was so worried that she would not have the strength to cope with the developments of the past few weeks. And he was so determined to be there at her side to lend his support and protection if she should need them. She knew that she must make a very special effort to prove to him that she could take command of her own life. Then perhaps he would start thinking of himself for a change. It was time he started looking about him, as John was doing, stopping in his promenade about the room to greet old acquaintances and shamelessly eyeing the ladies as he did so.
Martin should be doing that too instead of worrying always about her.
The musicians were tuning their instruments and the first sets were forming. Elizabeth set her arm on Lord Poole’s, smiled at him as he led her forward, and prepared to enjoy herself. It was good to be back in her own world again, she thought, her mind slipping unwillingly to a sandy, windblown beach. Oh, yes, it was.
“I feel like a young girl making her come-out again,” Nancy murmured to Christopher as they climbed the wide staircase from the hall of Lady Drummond’s town house and turned at the top toward the ballroom. They were late. There was no receiving line to pass along. “The orchestra is tuning up. It must be the second or third set already.”
“Yes,” Christopher said. It seemed as if word of his arrival had not spread all over town despite the fact that he had left his card at several homes during the past few days. The hall and stairway and the corridor outside the ballroom were crowded with people, several of whom gave him both first and second glances and then turned hurriedly to share the moment with friends and acquaintances.
He had been expecting to arouse attention. So had Nancy. That was why she was prattling at his side. He only hoped that the definite interest his presence was arousing was a sign that Elizabeth had indeed come. It seemed almost too much to hope that he would be fortunate first time. And yet, he thought, if she were there, it might take him a while to find her. Half of fashionable London must be inside Lady Dr
ummond’s home.
She was in the ballroom. He saw her almost immediately when he stood in the doorway with Nancy. How could one not see her?
She drew the eyes like a magnet, her slender shapely figure shown to great advantage by her shimmering gown, her hair drawn back elegantly from her face and curled intricately on the crown of her head. His eyes found her and watched her just as they had done at his very first meeting with her. She was far more lovely now than she had been then.
Curious eyes were on both of them, he knew, and he was aware that people who had been outside the doors or even on the stairway were coming into the ballroom— all eager to enjoy the show, he did not doubt. She had not seen him yet. She was beginning to dance a waltz with her elder brother. Aston had come back safely from the wars, then. They were smiling at each other.
Christ, but it felt strange to see her again. The last time he had seen her she had been asleep in his bed, grumbling sleepily as he withdrew his arm from about her shoulders so that he could get up to spend the day with Archer. By the time he had come home she had gone. It was hard somehow to believe that she was that same woman.
“Nance.” He looked down to find his sister pale and trembling at his side. “If I wait until the end of the set, she is going to refuse to exchange a single word with me. And she will be surrounded by her watchdogs. She is already with Aston, and Poole and Martin are in conversation close to the orchestra. Chicheley might be prowling somewhere on the premises too. Dance with me, and when we get close to them, we will change partners.”
“Christopher!” she exclaimed as he took her by the arm and drew her toward the dancers. “No!”
“It is a waltz,” he said, taking her hand in his and setting his other hand behind her waist. “Have you never danced it?”
“Yes,” she said. “At the assemblies at home. Don’t dance close to them, Christopher. Don’t do it this way.”
