The Waltzing Widow

by Gayle Buck

  Lady Mary saw instantly what was transpiring. “It is not at all necessary to put yourself out for Abigail's come-out, Mother. I have already set all the arrangements in motion."

  "Mama! You never breathed a word to me,” Abigail exclaimed, astonished and pleased.

  Lady Mary was aware of her father's cynical smile and she silently cursed her quick falsehood. She managed a credible smile. “I had wished to surprise you, Abigail. I know that this first party is of great moment to you, and I wanted it to be my present to you,” she said. Abigail jumped up with a squeak of excitement and ran over to embrace her, causing Lady Mary to laugh in mock protest. “Abby, my cap! Pray...!"

  Abigail released her mother and helped to readjust Lady Mary's lace cap. “I am so very happy, Mama. And I shall not badger you for a single detail of the arrangements, I promise you. Only, may I please have a new gown? All of my evening gowns are so shabby and old and—"

  "Yes, yes, of course,” Lady Mary said, giving way without even a pang for the expense to be involved. It would not hurt to have Abigail occupied with a seamstress while she whipped together the arrangements for an instant ball and supper. She only hoped that she could pull off an evening to meet her daughter's undoubtedly giddy expectations.

  The viscountess regarded Lady Mary with a somewhat brittle look about her mouth. “Well! It appears that you have not lost any time sitting about since your arrival, Mary. I assume that you have already had introductions to enough suitable partis to make up a proper guest list.” She raised her thin brows in interrogation.

  "Why, Mama and I have already met scores of personages, and all of them are ever so nice. We have received invitations to dinners and balls, and ever so much more, have we not, Mama?” Abigail said, completely oblivious of the undercurrents about her.

  "Indeed, I believe that we shall be quite busy in the next several weeks,” Lady Mary said, smiling across at her daughter's shining eyes.

  Viscountess Catlin smiled also, but with a shade of petulance. The air seemed to have been somehow taken out of her sails. She had envisioned herself as generously bestowing upon her exiled daughter the necessary caveats to reenter polite society. Though she would never admit it, the news that Lady Mary and Abigail had already begun to establish themselves was not altogether welcome to her. She gave a small superior smile. “Oh, I imagine that the invitations are for very genteel amusements, to be sure. But perhaps, with my influence, you shall be presented with the more illustrious sort of invitations that one must have for a truly successful Season,” she said.

  Abigail was a little awed. “Do you think so, Grandmama?"

  Viscount Catlin laughed. He was hugely enjoying himself. The verbal sparring between his wife and his daughter reminded him of nothing less than spitting flames in feud over a particularly nice piece of kindling. He added his own contribution of oil to the fire. “You may rest assured that your grandmother will leave no stone unturned in her ambitions for you, my dear child.” He had the satisfaction of seeing a flash of irritation in Lady Mary's eyes and he deemed it the right moment to take leave of her and his granddaughter. He rose, saying, “We have a few other calls to attend to yet. Abigail, pray be good enough to call for our carriage."

  Despite the flurry of her parents’ departure, Lady Mary did not forget what she had promised Abigail. Immediately after the viscount and viscountess were seen off and Abigail was safely ensconced in the drawing room with the latest fashion plates, Lady Mary called Miss Steepleton to her. When that lady entered with a timid knock, she said, “Agatha, I have gotten myself in a coil and I hope that you might help me out of it. I have promised Abigail a come-out party that must take place in just a few days. I will be so appreciative if you will aid me in the arrangements."

  "Of course, Lady Mary. I shall be delighted to do so. I am wholly at your disposal,” Miss Steepleton said, gratified to be called upon. It was so lovely to be necessary from time to time in the rendering of her employer's comfort, she thought.

  * * * *

  The ball and supper to mark Abigail's come-out was an unqualified success. Lady Mary had consulted with Lady Cecily and Madame du Bois for the names of young officers and of young Bruxellois misses to add to the guest list, so that the company was a varied one, with as many illustrious personages as Viscountess Catlin could wish, as well as a good number of the younger set, which Abigail was certain to enjoy.

  William had naturally made an appearance, having solemnly sworn that Bonaparte himself would not have been able to keep him from the scene of his sister's triumph. He brought with him a friend from his division, the Honorable Ferdinand Huxtable-Taylor. “A good chap to have about,” William said with his flashing grin. “Wherever he is, Ferdy knows just where one may buy all the best meat pies and beer one could wish."

  Mr. Creevey had brought the Misses Ord and their brother, Charles. When Lady Mary had greeted them all and seen that the young ladies and Charles were well occupied, she asked after Mrs. Creevey, whom she knew to be something of an invalid.

  Mr. Creevey thanked her for her kind inquiry. “Mrs. Creevey will be most appreciative when I relay it, my lady. Mrs. Creevey is much in pain and moves with the greatest difficulty to herself, but she remains in cheerful spirits for all that,” he said.

  "I shall be certain to call upon her one day next week,'’ Lady Mary promised. Mr. Creevey bowed his appreciation and moved on so that Lady Mary was free to greet Lady Georgianna Lennox and her parents, young Lord Hay, and several others who were kind enough to attend and make of Abigail's ball and supper a truly memorable affair.

  Lady Mary was extremely gratified by how well the impromptu affair was turning out. It spoke much of her own organizational ability and of Miss Steepleton's indefatigable loyalty that it was so, she thought with a shade of complaisance. The supper that was yet to be served was particularly superb. She had trusted her instinct and relied entirely upon her Belgian cook. The result would be a delectable sortie of the country's cuisine: irreproachable mussels redolent of garlic; silken slices of Ardennes ham; eels lovingly encased in aspic; and succulent roast poulet de Bruxelles.

  Lady Mary's gaze was caught by the sight of her laughing daughter, and she smiled. Abigail appeared enchanting in a pale pink round gown trimmed with a quantity of blond lace at the modest décolletage, on the small puffed sleeves, and about the hem. Her small matching satin slippers peeped from beneath, discreetly tapping each time the musicians struck up.

  Lady Mary was gratified when she saw that her daughter never lacked for a partner and had already danced with a score of gentlemen, including the young Prince of Orange, whom Lady Mary had already learned could be counted upon to amuse himself despite his royal dignity and military responsibilities.

  Abigail was at the moment going down a set with a young cavalry officer named Sir Lionel Corbett. The couple made quite a pretty picture, as Abigail laughed gaily up at her partner, a handsome gentleman whose carefully disordered locks glinted gold in the blaze of candlelight and neat uniformed figure owed no debt to buckram padding.

  The sight brought back pleasant memories for Lady Mary. She smiled, recalling for a moment herself as a young girl, wildly excited at the prospect of her coming-out party. She had danced all night, she remembered, and had then risen early the following day so as to be sure not to miss the arrival of countless invitations that ensured her of a successful first Season.

  Undoubtedly Abigail would spring awake with just exactly the same sort of anticipation, she thought with a hint of rueful amusement for her own dismay. She did not think she would be able to rise nearly as early after this evening, which promised from all the signs to be a drawn-out affair.

  With a rustling of train, Viscountess Catlin bore down on Lady Mary. “My dear! Such a triumph, to be sure. I had no notion that you were so well-connected. You have obviously inherited a measure of my own talent for hostessing. Why, it is almost as fine an evening as I could have provided for my dearest granddaughter,” she said.
>
  Lady Mary was amused by her mother's backhanded compliment. “I am glad that you approve, Mother. I hope to see Abigail well-launched after tonight."

  The viscountess was not paying attention. She had spied a tall figure who immeasurably interested her. “Lord Kenmare ... I had not thought of him before, but certainly he has potential. Only look at how attentively he listens to Abigail's bright chatter. He is just young enough to spoil her a little and yet of a sobriety that must command her respect. And it goes without saying that he has the pocketbook to enable her to live just as well as she ought. Yes, I think that his lordship is a definite possibility!"

  Lady Mary had listened to her mother's cataloging of Lord Kenmare's virtues with appalled dismay and some other emotion that she could not quite name. “Mother, pray do not embarrass me in his lordship's eyes. I consider Lady Cecily a friend, and by extension must include Lord Kenmare in that category."

  "Embarrass you!” The viscountess was amazed by the very idea."What an idiotic thing to say, Mary! I hope that I am more subtle than to catch his lordship by the ear and demand a proposal of him!” She would have said more, but the gentleman in question was making his way to them. She wreathed her face in smiling welcome. “My lord! How good of you to come to my granddaughter's come-out. Abigail is undoubtedly flattered by your kind attention. Certainly I am most gratified."

  Lord Kenmare bowed to the elderly lady even as he regarded her quizzingly. The viscountess was exuding the sort of friendliness that he was all too familiar with, having been the object of matchmaking dames several times before. After a glance at her daughter's carefully unreadable expression, he wondered whether it was for Lady Mary's benefit or for that of her granddaughter that Viscountess Catlin was making such an effort.

  "I have escorted my sister, Lady Cecily Wilson-Jones, who particularly wished to convey her congratulations to Miss Spence upon her entry into society. It is an event that every young miss anticipates, I am told,” he said, feeling his way. His unasked question was swiftly answered, when Viscountess Catlin made a point of directing his attention to Miss Spence's grace on the dance floor. Obediently he observed the couple going through the country dance, and said, “Yes, Miss Spence is quite accomplished. I say, Mademoiselle du Bois is particularly graceful, isn't she? She appears to excellent advantage with that young officer. Viscount Callander, is it not?"

  "That is Lord Randol, yes,” Lady Mary said, a quiver of laughter in her voice. She had been very nearly able to read Lord Kenmare's thoughts by the way he had regarded her mother's face. Subsequently his adroit shitting of attention from Abigail to Mademoiselle du Bois greatly amused her.

  Viscountess Catlin was not amused. It offended her fond sensibilities that another young lady would be thought to overshadow her own granddaughter's exquisite performance. Quite accomplished, indeed, she thought indignantly. With a sniff for the earl's impertinence, she excused herself by saying that she must greet a close acquaintance.

  When the viscountess had moved away, her back held stiff in outrage, Lady Mary dared to look up at the earl's expression. He was smiling, and when he caught her glance, he winked. Lady Mary was taken completely off-guard and she gurgled on a laugh. “The very audacity, sir!'’ she scolded. “I am the proud mother, after all!"

  Lord Kenmare swept a bow. “Forgive me, my lady. I had for a moment forgotten the fact."

  Lady Mary shook her head. “Perhaps it is I who should apologize, since it is so obvious my parent has high hopes of you."

  The earl smiled and his mouth quirked in the way that Lady Mary found so fascinating. His eyes were warm with humor. “My dear lady, I hope I am sophisticated enough not to take offense at a dash of matchmaking. Indeed, I am quite resigned to being the object of such plotting, for my sister is fiercely committed to pushing me to the altar in the company of some unfortunate lady."

  "Is she, indeed?” Lady Mary regarded him with open curiosity. “Forgive me, my lord, but I cannot help asking whether your acknowledged resignation implies that Lady Cecily will be successful in her object."

  Lord Kenmare laughed. “One must await the outcome of any such scheme to be certain of success. But certainly I have no intention of falling tamely into line."

  When Lady Mary laughed at his wry declaration, he thought that he had rarely been so comfortable with a woman, and he wondered at it. He studied Lady Mary's face, her pleasant features, and the warmth of her expression. She appeared in particularly fine looks that evening, attired in a slim crepe silk gown that fell gracefully about her trim hips. Her only adornments were the pearls about her neck and in her ears and the gold cameo brooch pinned to the center of her discreet décolletage. But he thought that it was something in addition to Lady Mary's physical attributes that he found attractive. There was a complete lack of flirtation or posturing about her that was decidedly different from other ladies of his acquaintance. He decided that it was that lack of artifice which inspired one to confide in her. He found himself to be fascinated by that facet of her character, and for that reason the earl remained near Lady Mary Spence most of the evening.

  She was constantly involved in her duties as hostess, of course, greeting her guests and facilitating their enjoyment. But nevertheless Lord Kenmare managed to command much of her time, particularly since he was fortunate enough to claim the honor of escorting her in to supper.

  When it came time to take leave of his hostess, Lord Kenmare did so with a measure of regret. He had thoroughly enjoyed his several abbreviated conversations with Lady Mary, and his original good assessment of her had not suffered. She was a lady of intelligence and sense and did not give way in every instance to his opinion. He liked that about her, he thought as he handed Lady Cecily up into their carriage and swung in after her.

  He signaled to the driver and shut the carriage door. As the carriage jerked into motion and he sat back against the squabs, he recalled with a faint smile something Lady Mary had said.

  He was startled when his sister's voice came out of the shadows. “A penny for them, Robert."

  Lord Kenmare turned his head to Lady Cecily, who was seated beside him. “I beg pardon, Cecily? I was not attending.''

  Lady Cecily laughed. “That is precisely when I meant, dear brother. You have not vouchsafed a word to me since we left the hall. In fact, you have hardly spoken to anyone all evening except Lady Mary Spence.'’ She paused, allowing her expectant silence to speak volumes to him.

  Lord Kenmare grimaced. “Pray do not think it, Cecily. I found Lady Mary to be excellent company this evening. But that is hardly the stuff from which a romance may be woven whole."

  Lady Cecily smiled. Her eyes gleamed faintly in the shadows of the carriage. “Whoever said anything about romance, Robert?” When her brother swore a good-natured curse at her, she hummed a bright little tune under her breath.

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  Chapter 9

  After nearly a fortnight of great suspense, the city of Brussels finally learned the result of Bonaparte's escape and subsequent landing in France. On March 24 word was brought by various individuals that Bonaparte had passed the preceding night at Lille and might be reasonably expected to be in Brussels in two days’ time.

  The news spread like wildfire through the British community and set off a panic. The whole day of the twenty-fourth, the English were flying off in all directions, while others arrived who had fled from Paris.

  Mr. Creevey and the two Misses Ord came to call on Lady Mary and Abigail late that afternoon. Lady Cecily Wilson-Jones was already sitting with them and she renewed her acquaintance with Mr. Creevey and the Ords. After the quick exchange of greetings, Lady Mary said, “I know that you will forgive me when I immediately broach that topic so prominent in all our thoughts. We have heard such rumors all day, but we have not been certain what to believe. Tell us, Mr. Creevey, have you any news?"

  Mr. Creevey's round face looked grave. “It is as bad as you have heard, my lady. Colonel Hamilton, who, as you kno
w, is aide-de-camp to General Barnes and the elder Miss Ord's fiancé, visited us earlier today and confirmed that Bonaparte could indeed be in Brussels in two days’ time. I have myself seen the arrival of several personages who have fled Paris, among them the old Prince de Conde and all his suit, as well as Marmont, Victor, and Berthier.” At the exclamation of the ladies, he sighed heavily. “Indeed, Lady Cecily, it is very bad. I was sitting earlier today with Lady Charlotte Greville when the Due de Berri came to call upon her. He expressed his great astonishment to me that any English should remain here, as Bonaparte was certainly at Lille and will no doubt be here on Wednesday, and that he himself was going to Antwerp, there to catch passage to England."

  "But we shall stay,” one of the Misses Ord put in.

  Lady Mary glanced at her and then looked at Mr. Creevey, her brows rising. “Indeed! May I inquire why, sir?"

  Mr. Creevey shook his head. “Mrs. Creevey's state of health is such that removing her would cause great pain and difficulty to herself. I have consulted some people as to the supposed conduct of the French if they should arrive, and I am encouraged by what I have heard, so that we have resolved to stay."

  "That is something, at least,” Lady Cecily said.

  "It is so prodigiously exciting, but frightening as well,” said Abigail with a shiver. She looked at her mother, whose brows had knit in a slight frown. “Shall we stay too, Mama?"