The Waltzing Widow

by Gayle Buck

  When at last the waltz ended, Lord Kenmare did not immediately release her. There was something spellbinding in her wide eyes, perhaps the hint of a question, that held him. She swayed toward him and his arms of themselves gathered her closer. He reached up to touch her face. For several seconds they stayed thus, caught in a poignant, intimate moment that teetered on the brink of passion.

  He ached to kiss her, to crush her to him and possess her. Lord Kenmare took a shuddering breath and gently set her from him. Lady Mary stared up at him, wondering at the earl's distracted air.

  He looked distantly at the pretty cap that graced her soft hair. “Why the devil do you wear the silly things at all?” he said. Without another word, afraid of what he might betray to her, he walked off.

  Lady Mary stood abandoned in the middle of the walkway. A fiery blush suffused her face. She pressed her palms against her hot cheeks.

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  Chapter 14

  Lady Mary never spoke of that evening to anyone. She did not need to, however. For days afterward, Abigail was full of exclamations over the Comte l'Buc's abrupt disappearance from her mother's circle of admirers.

  "Say what you like, Mama, but I think it incredibly rude of a gentleman to pay assiduous court to a lady and then without explanation simply forget her existence!” She was affronted not so much by the comte's desertion as by his bad taste in losing interest in the pursuit of her attractive mother.

  Lady Mary did not appear in the least put out. “My dear Abigail, what would you have me do?” she asked dryly. “If I had known how much you liked the comte, perhaps I would have looked upon him with a kindlier eye."

  Abigail grimaced. “Pray, Mama! As though I would wish such a hypocrite for my stepfather! I was never in my life more shocked!"

  "Indeed, Miss Abigail! Such manners are those of a ragdog,” Miss Steepleton said. She was quite prepared to believe any scurrilous tale told of the comte. His handsome features and black mustache had always reminded her of the dangerous heroes in the romantic novels to which she was addicted.

  "Yes, we have had a singular escape indeed,” Lady Mary said. She directed her companions’ attention away from discussion of the comte's perfidy to the incredible tapestry before them. “Is it not stunning? I had no notion that such artistry could survive the centuries so perfectly intact."

  The ladies were touring the galleries of the Chateau de Boloeil.

  The visiting British, in unending pursuit of amusement, had been fascinated by distant glimpses of the huge and beautiful edifice of the chateau. Upon inquiry, the owner had graciously agreed to open a portion of his home to parties interested in seeing the inside of the sixteenth-century chateau, which was known as the “Belgian Versailles” for its 240 windows and extensive gardens.

  That summer day, Lady Mary and Abigail, with their companion Miss Steepleton, had chosen to join such a group, and now lingered before one of the several original Arras and Tournai tapestries that decorated the chateau.

  "Beautiful indeed, my lady,” Miss Steepleton said, nodding in true appreciation. She had brought her sketchbook with her and now she clutched it in hopeful anticipation. “My lady, should you mind it so very much if I remained a few moments to put my poor efforts to paper?"

  "You are far too humble for your own good, Aggie,” Abigail said, shaking her head reprovingly at her former governess. “Your drawings put anyone else's efforts all to shame."

  Miss Steepleton blushed, immensely pleased by the compliment. She thought that it was amazing how much good the sojourn in Brussels had done for Miss Abigail. The girl's once-thoughtless kindnesses had become more habitual to her and in Miss Steepleton's opinion greatly made up for the months that Abigail had been so completely under Viscountess Catlin's sway.

  "Of course you may tarry, Agatha. You may catch up with us in the chapel,” Lady Mary said.

  "Very well, my lady,” Miss Steepleton said, settling happily to her task.

  Lady Mary and Abigail walked on slowly, now and again stopping to examine some new treasure that appeared to their eyes. Their slow progress eventually led them to the chapel, where they found Lady Cecily and her brother.

  The chapel inspired reverence in the visitors. There was a pervasive sense of peace in the small room that had not been present elsewhere in any of the sumptuously furnished rooms that Lady Mary and Abigail had just finished passing through.

  Lady Cecily was seated on one of the richly cushioned pews, fanning herself in a leisurely fashion. She beckoned to Lady Mary and Abigail when she saw them. They joined her, greeting her in the hushed tones that their surroundings seemed to demand.

  Lady Mary glanced toward the earl, whose back was toward them as he concentrated on something before him. “Whatever is his lordship doing?” she asked quietly.

  "I have persuaded Robert to take a brass rubbing for me,” Lady Cecily said, the laughter in her brown eyes belying the completely sober tone in which she uttered the explanation.

  Abigail giggled, but at once clapped a hand over her mouth when the sound of her merriment echoed in the vaults above their heads. When the echoes had ceased, she removed her hand from her mouth. “I am most sorry,” she whispered in contrite apology.

  "Never mind, my dear,'’ Lady Mary said. “I am certain that through the ages these walls have embraced laughter and tears with equal serenity."

  "How very true, my lady."

  Lady Mary turned to find that the earl had completed his task and joined them. Her eyes danced as she met his gaze. “My lord, I understand that you have been taking a rubbing. I should like to see it, if I may."

  "Yes, Robert, and so should I,” Lady Cecily said. She gave a playful grin as she slanted a glance up at his face. “I hope that it is properly done, or I shall be resigned to the necessity of requesting a second try at it.''

  Lord Kenmare held up the sheet, upon which had been blacked the image of a brass altarpiece. “As you can see, Cecily, I have been quite proficient at the unfamiliar task,” he said. Lady Cecily laughingly agreed to it and thanked him for indulging her wish for the rubbing.

  A small group of individuals entered the chapel, among them being Miss Steepleton. She saw the rest of her party immediately and came over to join them. “I am done with my sketching, Lady Mary,” she said.

  "And I am finished with any more brass rubbings for the day. In light of this, I offer the suggestion that we exit this fine chateau and get on to our picnic luncheon,'’ Lord Kenmare said. The ladies agreed that it was a fine suggestion indeed, and the company spent considerably less time in leaving the Chateau de Boloeil than they had in traipsing through it.

  Once outside in the warm June afternoon, Lord Kenmare handed his sister and Lady Mary into the waiting landau before helping Abigail to mount her horse. Then he swung up onto his gelding and, with Abigail cantering beside him, set the pace for the carriage driver.

  Their destination was a high knoll from which the countryside could be seen for miles around. Lady Mary stepped out of the landau and crossed the grass to a better vantage point. She heard the clop of hooves behind her and turned her head. The earl had walked over to join her, holding his reins in his hand. Lady Mary smiled in greeting and then turned back to the view before them. As far as the eye could see was field upon field of corn, rippling and waving with the breeze. Beyond were the forested hills, which she knew sheltered rushing streams and small villages and noble chateaus cousin to the one they had just left. “It is a beautiful country, is it not?” she asked.

  "Quite beautiful,” agreed the earl.

  The breeze freshened and pulled at her straw bonnet. Lady Mary caught hold of the brim, wondering as she did so whether his lordship had taken note that she was not wearing a matron's cap beneath it. She had put away all of her caps and not worn a single one since the night that he had so bluntly made known his dislike of them.

  Lady Mary had received several compliments on the improvement in her dress, though none had bee
n so mannerless as to actually mention the disappearance of her caps. None but her children, she amended with a wry smile. Abigail and William had both teased her mercilessly, her son going so far as to insist that she had broken free of an imprisoning chrysalis and was at last trying her wings. “Now you cannot sit with the dowagers and matrons, for they shall be far too envious of you to allow it,” William had said with great satisfaction.

  But Lord Kenmare, the author of her freedom from the stuffy matrons’ circle, had not by word or gesture ever alluded to her capless state. It was really quite provoking, she decided.

  The earl's expression was frowning and distant as he surveyed the countryside. Lady Mary wondered at it, for she saw nothing untoward in the bucolic scene before them. “My lord? What is it?” she asked.

  Lord Kenmare glanced at her. “I was but thinking. The frontier and France are not so far distant from this point."

  With Lady Mary's understanding of his meaning, a haze seemed to cross the face of the sun. She shivered. At once his lordship offered his arm to her, saying that they should return to the others. Their party had chosen a good patch of ground upon which to set out a picnic luncheon, both sunny and yet sheltered from the quickening wind by the tall trees that bordered the small meadow. A cloth had already been laid out with a small feast of fried chicken, tender marcassin, tomatoes stuffed with small sweet North Sea shrimp, various cheeses, bread and butter, and grapes. Bottles of wine stood waiting to be opened.

  Lady Mary's and his lordship's return was greeted with enthusiasm by Abigail. “My lord, pray tether your horse at once and come to join us, for Lady Cecily promises us that we do not eat until you have seen what she has had prepared,'’ she said.

  Lord Kenmare raised his brows. He directed an inquiring look at his sister, who was seated on a small chair that had been toted in the landau along with the other picnic paraphernalia. “Cecily? What is this mystery?” he asked with mock sternness.

  Lady Cecily laughed and shook her head at him. “Oh, no, Robert. You shall not browbeat me so easily, I assure you. Now, do as Abigail has bidden you and you shall have your curiosity answered."

  Lady Mary settled beside her daughter on the ground cover, a smile curving her lips for Abigail's barely suppressed anticipation. “One would think it is your own surprise that you are awaiting, Abby,” she teased.

  "But I have already peeked, so it is not at all a surprise to me,” Abigail confided in a loud whisper.

  "Miss Abigail, surely you did not!” Miss Steepleton exclaimed, astonished at such forwardness.

  Lady Cecily laughed and reached over to pat that lady on the shoulder. “It is quite all right, Miss Steepleton. You mustn't scold, for I invited Abigail to do so. It is so much more fun when one can share the excitement of the moment,” she said.

  Miss Steepleton uttered an incoherence, completely overset by Lady Cecily's kind condescension. But her lack of sophistication was generally overlooked in the wake of the earl's arrival.

  "Well, Cecily? What is this mystery?” he demanded.

  Lady Cecily signaled the carriage driver, who had been standing patiently to one side ready to serve. With a flourish the man opened a picnic basket and brought out a finely iced and decorated cake. Lady Cecily grinned at her brother. “Have you an inkling yet, Robert?"

  He stared flabbergasted at the cake. “You never brought it with you!” he exclaimed. “I thought myself safe at least until the evening."

  Lady Cecily pealed in laughter, swiftly joined by the other ladies when they saw the earl's expression. “Yes, Robert, I brought your cake with me. Surely you did not expect me to forget your birthday, even with this convenient little outing, which, by the by, was most suspiciously proposed by you for this date,” she said.

  "I should have expected it, of course,” Lord Kenmare said, grinning in acknowledgment.

  "Many happy returns,” Lady Mary said sincerely. Miss Steepleton and Abigail added their voices to hers, though Abigail quite confounded her mother and former governess by inquiring his lordship's age. “Abigail, pray!” exclaimed Lady Mary in rueful amusement.

  Lord Kenmare waved aside Lady Mary's intervention. Quite soberly he said, “I am all of six-and-thirty, Miss Spence, a great age indeed."

  "That is not such a very great age. Why, Mama is herself four-and-thirty,” Abigail said. She at once flushed, realizing that she had committed a definite faux pas. “I do apologize, Mama!"

  Lord Kenmare regarded with intent interest the becoming color that flew into Lady Mary's face. He smiled faintly. “I might possibly have doubted your word on that before, Miss Spence. But now that I have seen her without her caps, your mother appears just as youthful as her years."

  "My word!” Miss Steepleton exclaimed faintly. The earl's compliment had rendered Abigail momentary speechless and had made a surprised but satisfied smile appear on Lady Cecily's face.

  As for Lady Mary, she gravely thanked his lordship for his compliment, richly warmed by the fact that he had noticed after all. She glanced up at the sunlight above. The bright blue sky was completely devoid of clouds.

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  Chapter 15

  Lady Mary and Abigail attended a party at Lady Conyngham's on Wednesday evening. William, looking very smart in his regimentals, was their escort. They arrived early, but already there were several people who were known to them in evidence. William glanced about and predicted, “It will be a proper squeeze tonight."

  William found chairs for his mother and sister before wandering off to find his own cronies, assuring himself that his filial duty was done for the moment. He had no doubt that his mother and sister would soon have a score of partners and would hardly need him to entertain them.

  Indeed, it was not many minutes before Lady Mary and Abigail were noticed and several acquaintances came up to greet them. The ladies’ dance cards were soon filled, but they had arrived in the middle of a set and so were able to visit and to observe those already indulging in the exercise. Abigail directed her mother's attention. “Look, Mama, there is Michele. Does she not look stunning tonight?"

  Lady Mary looked in the direction of Abigail's interest. Michele du Bois was dancing with Viscount Callander and the couple were easily the most magnificent on the floor. They seemed to have eyes for no one but each other as they whirled past, completely unheeding of Abigail's wave.

  Lady Mary noted that Sir Lionel Corbett, though he had come up to greet them and lingered beside Abigail, was always faced so that he could keep a jealous eye on Mademoiselle du Bois. She thought the young cavalry officer seemed rather possessive of a young lady whose affections were generally thought to have been firmly engaged by another.

  Monsieur and Madame du Bois joined Lady Mary and her circle. “A pleasant evening, non?” Monsieur du Bois said, after making his bows.

  "Quite pleasant indeed, monsieur, after the day's heat,” Lady Mary said. “Why, Helen, you look as satisfied as a fat cat with a bowl of cream. What has occurred?"

  Madame du Bois looked particularly gay that evening. She glanced after her daughter and the viscount as they danced past. “I suppose it will do no harm to make an informal announcement among friends, will it, Francois?"

  Monsieur du Bois raised his shoulders in a Gallic shrug. “I do not see why that it should. All the world will know tomorrow."

  Madame du Bois laughed and said, “This very evening Michele and Lord Randol have plighted their troth. I was never more happy in my life than to see their genuine happiness."

  "Why, that is wonderful news indeed!” Lady Mary exclaimed.

  Abigail clapped her hands and exulted. “I knew that it could not be long before Lord Randol offered for Michele. They are such a perfect couple. Why, one can see it in how wonderfully they waltz together. I cannot wait to tell her how happy I am for her!"

  The du Boises accepted the congratulations of the others. Sir Lionel Corbett, once he had said all that was proper, excused himself and swiftly strode away. H
is face was white and stiff with shock, and as Lady Mary watched him go, she could not but pity his acute disappointment.

  The Duke of Wellington arrived and as usual was immediately surrounded, much like a candle flame is by moths. For two days rumors had circulated that the French had crossed the border into Belgium, and someone inquired anxiously of his grace for the truth of the matter.

  "Yes, it is so,” he said gravely. There was instant consternation, for it was understood that Bonaparte's forces completely outnumbered the allied troops. The duke disregarded the gloomier statements, saying that he would trust his fellows to do the job. “When other generals commit errors, their armies are lost by them, and they are sure to be beaten. When I get into a scrape, my army gets me out of it,” he stated firmly. His witticism sparked general laughter and the tension at once faded.

  While Lady Mary was still smiling over the duke's answer, Captain McInnes approached to request permission to stand up with Abigail. She looked upon him warmly, appreciating his respectful manners. It was one of the things that she particularly liked about the officer. She knew that his name was scrawled on her daughter's card more than once and that he actually had no need of her permission. “Of course you may do so, Captain."

  Abigail gave her hand to Captain McInnes. “I am most honored,” she said. Without hesitation she went with the young officer, her spirits at their most sparkling and vivacious. She had learned to like Captain McInnes very much; indeed, more than any other of her admirers.

  From across the room Viscountess Catlin saw that her granddaughter was singled out by a young officer unknown to her. Upon inquiring, she learned the officer was a Captain McInnes, who was said to be a laird of some sort. The viscountess was not blind to the radiant expression on Abigail's face when the girl looked at the Highlander, and warning bells went off in her head.

  Viscountess Catlin's thin lips tightened as she watched her granddaughter and the upstart go down the set. She decided it was urgent that she drop a small word of guidance into her granddaughter's ear. It would not do to have the girl take it into her head that she had fallen in love and toss aside all of her brilliant chances for a splendid match so that she could throw herself away on some obscure Scottish laird, she thought. Her nails dug into her palms with the strength of her determination. Abigail must be prevented from making the same mistake that her willful mother had.