by Edith Layton
There were old gentlemen dozing in the library, the kitchens were bustling with sweating servants who stared up at her in surprise when she peeked in, and footmen guarded all the other doors. But there was a long, dimly lit hall, and so she stood by the stairs and caught her breath, trying to find some excuse to get herself home without a fuss.
“There you are,” Jared said from behind her. “It’s my dance, remember?”
“No,” she said, her shoulders going up, though she didn’t dare look up at him. “You never asked.”
“I was about to, but you ran away as soon as the music ended. What’s the matter?”
“Too much party.”
“Really? We just got here. At home, I seem to remember you dancing until dawn,” he said, “and dancing all the way to the coach when I insisted we leave, and then humming everything you’d danced to until you finally fell asleep.”
On your shoulder, she thought, remembering that long-past night at home, feeling a thrill now as she had then at the secret joy of it. She hadn’t really been asleep. She’d been tired, half dozing in her corner of the coach, but when he’d gathered her close and put her head on his shoulder, every sense had awakened. How could she sleep when it was so glorious being that close to him? Breathing in his scent, hearing his voice rumbling up from his deep chest as he’d spoken low to her father, so as not to wake her? Once, he’d absently stroked back a curl from her forehead. Such a light touch, but every inch of her had felt it. He hadn’t awakened her; he’d aroused her. She knew then she could never sleep comfortably without him again.
“That was then,” she said.
“Della,” he said, putting his hands on her shoulders and turning her to face him, his eyes troubled as her heart was. “What is it?”
She couldn’t look at him, much less answer him.
“Too much party? Or too much London?” he asked quietly. “Ah, I know all of this is confusing, after home—I mean after Virginia,” he said, frowning at his slip. “Or do I? Lord, I don’t know which is home now. But you told me I have to stay here and assume my rightful place, didn’t you? I’m trying. You have to help me. Sometimes this place—this opulence, these people—sometimes it seems too much for me, too. But then sometimes it feels so good, Dell, I can’t hold it all in. When I was alone in the world, I needed you and Alfred because you gave me a home and a family. Now I have all those things, but I still need you here with me to convince me of the reality of it. Sometimes I find myself so happy, I can’t believe it. 1 know it’s hard, but please, stay the course, for me. And be happy for me. Can you, Della?”
She couldn’t help but be, when he said it like that. She nodded. He took her hand in his and led her back to the dance…
…where he danced with Fiona again.
This time, Della danced with Justin and acted as though that was exactly where she wanted to be. Then he introduced her to dozens of gentlemen who smiled at her accent and all asked the same questions of her—mostly about Jared. She danced with half of them and laughed and dined and drank with the others until the sun began to rise and fashionable London knew it was time to go home. Then she got into the coach again, as sleepy now as she had been on that long-ago night a world away from these London streets. But this time Jared had no shoulder to offer her, because he had to keep turning in order to answer Fiona, who kept claiming his attention, talking and laughing with him.
Justin was silent, all his attention on his brother and his fiancée. Della sat watching them, too, looking at their eyes and lips as if she could read more in both, in the dim light, than either of them was saying. She was suddenly wide awake and very afraid. She couldn’t keep her word. Clearly, he was happy, but she couldn’t be happy for him.
*
“You are very taken with my brother,” Justin said simply. He waited for Fiona’s answer. They had left Jared and Della so he could escort her home, and now they stood in the hallway of her parents’ townhouse alone together, as was their right as an engaged couple.
“Am I? Who isn’t?” she answered gaily. “Everyone says how charming he is.”
“Yes,” Justin said. He let out a deep breath and gazed down at her. She sparkled. Even in the dim dawn light, her every slight movement made the brilliants on her gown tremble and shimmer. Lovely, he thought, even to a man who had known her, as she liked to say, forever. Perhaps she had known him that long—he’d known her since she’d been a baby, and she’d been adorable even then.
He remembered the little girl, pampered and willful, stamping her foot if she couldn’t get her way—which wasn’t often—and getting amused smiles for her tantrums instead of rebuke. He remembered the young girl, lovely and seemingly unaware of it, although she was never unaware of her effect on people—especially men. She was her father’s pet and was closer to him than to her mother; but then he and every other man she knew found her coquettishly adorable, as perhaps women would not. Her father’s companionship may have been what made her more forthright and more at ease with men than other young women her age. She had few female friends, but never seemed to mind the lack of them. But it was not so with men: from noblemen to stableboys, all fell over themselves for her smallest smiles. Fiona had never had an awkward stage in her life. She had never been cruel or unkind, either—not that he’d been aware of. But then, he realized, they’d both sailed through life making only easy choices, hadn’t they? Until now. Now his whole world was righted and yet turned upside down.
She was very lovely and still quite young, but they were supposed to marry soon. Now, after all these years, he suddenly wondered whether he really knew her.
“Fiona,” he said carefully, “we’ve never really talked about what’s happened, have we? Jared’s return, and everything it led to, happened so quickly. I should have discussed it with you immediately; I see that now. I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I never asked your advice, but there was no reason to, and I really had no choice—I never wanted one, actually. He’s my long-lost brother: there was no way on earth I could deny him anything. But I think we have to discuss it now. Does it make a great deal of difference to you, his coming back and taking the title, I mean?”
“Father’s very upset,” she said, tilting her head to the side, as though thinking about it. “Mother’s not much more pleased.”
“I see,” he said stiffly, suddenly chilled, for the first time wondering if he had taken too much for granted after all. “And so—they want the engagement ended?”
She waited a heartbeat to answer. “I don’t think so,” she said seriously, and then burst into giggles. “Oh, your face! No, they never said it. And why should they?” she asked teasingly, cocking her head to the side and touching his chin lightly with the tip of her fan. “Who’s to say he would want me anyway?”
He knew the right answer and spoke it automatically, while he thought furiously. “Who would not?”
She snapped her fan closed. “Don’t patronize me, Justin,” she said angrily. “I flirt, but I do have a brain and a heart, believe it or not. Fine greedy thing I’d look if I dropped you and took him! It was a shock, and not just to my father. He was the one who made the plans for my marriage in the first place, so of course he’s distressed. But I thought I was going to be a countess, too. I’ve thought it since—well, forever. Now I find I’m to be merely a lady—for the rest of my life. The hall won’t be ours, and I’d always thought it would. I had some plans, some changes in mind.… I don’t like it, of course—I don’t. But what can be done?”
“I see,” he said, and he did—and was ashamed of himself for not realizing it sooner. “Then of course I’ll understand if you want to end our engagement. We’re not really legally bound anymore, are we?”
She went very still, so still that even the sparkling powder on her breasts didn’t move with her breath. When she spoke again, her voice was oddly solemn. It hardly sounded like her usual light tone.
“No, I suppose not,” she said. “Nor are we bound in any other way, are we? Jus
tin, we never really courted, did we? I mean, there were no love notes or stolen kisses for us. No declarations of passion either, now I come to think of it. We just always knew what we would do, didn’t we? And that was that.”
He paused. “You’re right. I suppose I never thought of it before, either,” he said with perfect honesty, “but nevertheless I always thought you were beautiful, desirable, all the things men write love notes about. I never stole kisses, because I knew they would be freely offered. And they were, and I was very well pleased with them.”
“Very…well…pleased…with…them,” she said consideringly, dropping each word into place between them. “I see.”
He wanted to take her into his arms and kiss her hard, the way he had every so often when he let his body rule his mind and forgot himself with her. Those few times, the feel of her in his arms made him forget to be patient and bide his time because their time was coming and he’d always known it. But for the first time since he’d known her—which was, as she’d said, forever—he wondered if his kiss would be welcome to her. It was like doubting his own reflection in the mirror. He groped for words.
“Well, then,” he said, hesitating.
“Do you wish to end it?” she asked.
“I?” he asked, astonished. “Why would I?”
“Why, indeed?” she said, and listened to the silence between them for another moment before she laughed, a little artificially. “Well then. I think we ought to go on the way we were, don’t you?”
“No,” he said, “I think not. I think I should try some—courtship—don’t you?”
She smiled. He took her in his arms, bent his head, and kissed her. But he couldn’t stop wondering, for the first time, if it was to her liking. And so it wasn’t—not for either of them. It was a cool kiss, for all that their mouths and their tongues met. And a cold kiss, for all that they held each other so close. When they parted, they looked at each other in the dim light and neither knew what to say. But she knew how to prattle; she had it down to an art.
“Good night, sweet prince,” she said lightly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I suppose. We go to the theater, do we not? With Jared?”
“And Della,” he said.
“Of course. I only meant—do you still want me to accompany him everywhere when we all go out together? Dance with him, dine with him, show the world that I accept him gladly? Or are you going to complain about it again? That is to say, if you’re going to make a fuss over it, I’ll ignore him. I just thought you wanted me to show what a wonderfully happy family we shall be.”
“Is it a difficult duty?” he asked quietly.
She lowered her eyes. “No,” she said, “I quite like it. He’s charming, as I said—as you know. And he’s very…different.”
“I see,” he said.
“Do you?” she asked, looking up at him again. “I hope so, because I dislike quarreling. It’s not like us. I can’t remember the last time we did.”
“No, I don’t know that we ever did,” he said thoughtfully. “I remember only how you used to carry on when I teased you.”
“That was years ago,” she said.
“So it was,” he said.
“Yes,” she said.
“I’ll say good night then.” He bowed and left her, thinking that he’d left something else unsaid.
*
London had the gayest parties, the most elegant balls, the most opulent pleasure gardens, and altogether the best entertainments in the English-speaking world. Everyone knew that. Young women in Virginia who were happy with their families and lives nevertheless dreamed of someday seeing the nightlife of London. Most didn’t dare dream of seeing it in the company of the cream of London society, though. Della should have been ecstatic—especially since Jared obviously was.
She shifted in her seat and sighed, and then put her hand to her mouth in guilty surprise, because it had been a long, loud sigh. But the theater was so noisy that she could have shouted and no one might have heard her. Even the smell of it was loud; the air reeked of tart oranges and heavy perfume, pitch torches and too many people packed together. She was glad her shyness had made Justin and Fiona arrange for their seats to be with the rest of the audience, because although the fops and some fine ladies insisted on sitting right on the side of the stage itself, Della was sure she’d have died of embarrassment if she had. She was happy to be on the audience side of the stenchy torches that ringed the stage, in a box a little above the stage.
Happy was not exactly the right word. She was, she thought, satisfied with her seat, at least.
This way, at least, she could try to watch the stage—or the audience, which was equally entertaining—instead of the play that was going on inches from her nose between Jared and Fiona. The stage, after all, had only one singer gamely trying to finish her song now. The stage had iron pickets to protect it from any ruckus in the audience, which was a sea of gentlemen, common men, and poor men, ladies, common women, and tarts. They were all so colorful and noisy that the only way a person could tell one class from the other was by personal introduction—or by listening to the fascinating commentary supplied by Fiona. She talked through all the performances and was actually more amusing than anything presented on the stage. Or so Jared seemed to think.
Fiona had a clever mind and a sense of humor, as well as beauty, Della thought sadly. It was no wonder Jared never looked away from Fiona even when she was pointing out amusing things to him. He sat with her and Justin sat with Della, in order to let the world see how happily they were both accepted. Jared and Fiona sat in front of Della. All she could see of Jared was his strong profile as he studied Fiona’s face. It hurt Della to see it, so she looked away. But then she always looked back because she couldn’t help it any more than Jared could stop watching Fiona, it seemed.
All Della could see of Fiona’s profile were her eyelashes, her fan, and her smiling mouth, whenever she took her fan away from it to tap Jared when he said something that pleased her. They sat close, but Fiona’s wide skirts kept them somewhat apart, so they had to bend their fair heads, like flowers, toward each other. Della could hear only every other word they said, and she was glad of it. It was bad enough hearing Jared’s deep laughter and Fiona’s trills of merriment.
“This is not a good evening,” Justin said to her.
Della turned to look at him. He was sitting beside her, but she’d forgotten him because he hadn’t said anything all evening. He too had been looking straight ahead. His handsome face was carefully expressionless.
“I mean to say that usually the theater is more entertaining,” Justin said. “We should have taken you to a Shakespearean play, something with Garrick, not a night of clowns, fire-eaters, and jugglers, like this. Next time we’ll take you to something finer.”
“Why bother?” she answered without thinking. “Wild colonials are supposed to like simpler pleasures, things like spectacle and farce, aren’t they? I guess that’s exactly why we’re here.”
“Of course,” he said smoothly, “that’s why there are so many wild colonials here tonight, aren’t there? But I’m curious. How many do you see? Fiona’s mentioned at least two dozen noblemen and -women who are here. But not one colonial.”
“There are only two of us,” Della admitted with a small smile. “You can’t count my father; he grew up here.”
“Yes. Which is probably why he’s learned to sleep through everything.” Justin said, looking over to where Alfred sat, hands folded over his stomach, peacefully dozing.
She laughed as Justin smiled at her.
“I only meant that there are better things to see in our theaters,” he said. “Don’t judge us by tonight. And don’t be so quick to take offense, little firebrand. I’ll be the first to tell you when to be insulted and whom to be annoyed with. That’s what we’re here for, you know.”
For the first time she saw how warm his smile was, rather than how much like Jared’s, and for the first time, she felt he was really looking at her.
>
“Is that what you’re here for?” she echoed, with a touch of sadness, looking at Jared as he laughed at something else clever Fiona whispered to him.
Justin’s smile faded as he saw what she was looking at. “Yes,” he said slowly. “Or so I believe.”
She bowed her head, sorry to have embarrassed him. When she looked back at him, she saw his dark-blue eyes were as sad as her own. He leaned closer so she could hear his every word.
“They say the theater is a mirror to life,” he said. “What jaded theatergoers look for is novelty above anything else. It brings in the audiences and gets talked about the next day. But it doesn’t last. By its very nature, it doesn’t last.”
She knew he wasn’t talking about the theater, and she could only hope he was right. He stayed close by her side as they watched the end of the performance—neither of them watched the one on stage. Yet somehow, even though she knew it was wrong to take any kind of comfort from someone else’s unhappiness, still Della felt a little better knowing she was no longer alone.
Chapter 11
Jared was the earl of Alveston. Everyone in the room with him acknowledged it. The room was lavishly furnished, in the heart of London, and filled with some of the most influential men and women in all England. A beautiful woman, promised to him since birth, stood at his side; his lost brother was grown up, alive and well, and smiling at him in the same room, where he stood with the girl Jared had thought of as his sister since he’d met her. Her father, the man who had bought him out of bondage, was there, too, smiling encouragement at him. And Jared himself was grown tall and strong, and he was dressed elegantly. His breeches alone cost more than most men’s weekly wages.
