The Midnight Hour: All-Hallows’ Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque, Meara Platt, Scarlett Scott, Mary Lancaster, Maggi Andersen, Chasity Bowlin, Sydney Jane Baily, Violetta Rand

  Andrew came to kiss Beth’s cheek. “Avoid the rakes,” he said with a wink.

  “How shall I recognize one?”

  “Praise slips from their tongues like honey.”

  A moment later they were gone. Feeling slightly abandoned Beth climbed the stairs to her bedchamber with the intention to don her bonnet and go for a walk in the grounds. She would then spend the rest of the day reading, if she could settle her mind to it.

  That evening, by the time the grandfather clock chimed nine, Beth’s nerves had driven her to stalk the hall, causing the footman to offer her a chair.

  She had never wanted this. Their sister Bella was blissfully married to a farmer in Yorkshire with their two-year-old daughter, Clara. Beth also preferred the pace of country life, tending the odd assortment of injured animals she’d rescued in the woods at Castlebridge. But it would be ungrateful of her as the youngest sister, to refuse the wonderful opportunity Jenny considered this to be. Beth did want to fall in love and marry and admitted it was unlikely she’d find her future husband while wandering the woods at Castlebridge. While she didn’t wish to marry a duke or perhaps even a farmer, she did wish him to be a strong, compassionate man with broad shoulders she could lean on at times. Someone whom she could laugh with, and share her love of animals.

  A carriage pulled up outside, and a knock sounded on the door. Beth allowed the footman to settle her evening cape around her shoulders. With a deep breath, she gathered up her reticule and gloves, and, plastering on a smile, walked out to greet Mrs. Grayshott and her daughter.

  Countess Wallington’s ball was a sumptuous affair. The mansion gardens were alight with colored lanterns. A footman showed them into the grand hall where they joined the line of chatting guests waiting to be announced by the butler. The countess, resplendent in gold silk and diamonds, stood at the door to the state apartments where doors had been thrown open to form a large ballroom. She greeted Beth expressing her disappointment that the duke and duchess could not attend. Beth reiterated Andrew and Jenny’s apologies, aware that she was regarded as a poor substitute.

  The boards of the dance floor decorated with elaborate floral chalk drawings would soon disappear beneath the dancers’ feet. Mrs. Grayshott shepherded her daughter and Beth through the beautifully dressed crowd. They took chairs against the wall beside potted foliage. The smoky air was perfumed with citrus and floral scents. On the dais the musicians began tuning their instruments.

  They had barely settled, arranging shawls, reticules, and fans, when a tall, dark-haired gentleman dressed crisply in black and white, emerged from the crush and strode over to them. Phillida turned quickly from arranging her shawl and moved to the edge of her seat in anticipation. She cast a coquettish smile at the gentleman. Beth could quite understand Phillida’s reaction, for he was quite handsome.

  He bowed before them. “Marcus Nyeland, Mrs. Grayshott. The Duke of Harrow planned to introduce me to Miss Harrismith this evening, but as he is unable to attend, he’s confident that you will kindly act in his absence.”

  Mrs. Grayshott flushed at the mention of the duke. She had talked of little else than how impressive Andrew was on the way to the ball in the carriage and urged her daughter to set her cap no lower than an earl. Phillida had nodded in agreement and patted her light brown locks. “Brunettes are more popular this year,” she’d said, casting a disparaging glance at Beth’s pale blonde curls. It made Beth uncomfortable. Phillida had obviously taken her in strong dislike for she’d rebuffed any of Beth’s attempts to engage her in conversation.

  For a moment Mrs. Grayshott hesitated. Then her expression firmed as if recalling the important task assigned to her. “As we haven’t met before, Mr. Nyeland, might there be someone here tonight who could recommend you to me?”

  “Forgive me, ma’am for my oversight.” He turned to gaze at a group of men in conversation near a pillar. “If you will wait but a moment, I shall fetch the prime minister. I’m sure he will vouch for me.”

  Mrs. Grayshott’s eyes widened. She craned her neck to view the men gathered together several yards away.

  Phillida fluttered her fan. “Mama, please…”

  “I shouldn’t think it necessary,” Mrs. Grayshott said stiffly, and with a pained look at her daughter, she introduced the gentleman to Phillida and Beth.

  Mr. Nyeland complimented Phillida on the delicate beauty of her chicken-skin fan. He smiled at Beth. “Miss Harrismith. Would you grant me this dance?”

  Slightly amused by how he’d flummoxed Mrs. Grayshott, Beth accepted him. Had he called the lady’s bluff? When he glanced at her, she’d caught the twinkle in his eye. He had lovely manners. But she sensed Mrs. Grayshott was out of her depth with him. It didn’t matter, Beth was eager to dance, and tried not to notice Phillida’s glare as she rose from her chair.

  Her hand resting on the superfine dark cloth of his sleeve, Mr. Nyeland led her onto the floor, and they took their places for the cotillion. With a discreet sidelong glance, she studied him covertly, noting his strong jaw with the faint shadow of a heavy beard, thick dark hair brushed back from a broad brow, and eyebrows arched over deep brown eyes. There was an air of authority about him. Might it be the way he carried himself and the military set of his shoulders?

  Dancers packed the lengthy dance floor where candle smoke, overheated bodies, and scents, intensified in the heat from the twin chandeliers hanging from the ceiling roses overhead.

  His gaze took her in, a thorough appraisal, while they waited for the dance to begin. “I am congratulating myself on my foresight, Miss Harrismith. Had I left it one moment later to approach you, I would have been batting the gentlemen away like bees from a beautiful rosebush.”

  Beth took a breath. He was a rake. No one had quite looked at her that way before. And didn’t Andrew say rakes showered compliments on a lady? She felt vaguely disappointed. “You must never bat away bees, sir,” she said giving him a severe look. “They are essential to nature. They carry the pollen from flower to flower.”

  His brown eyes widened, and a brief smile touched his lips. “My compliment seems not to your liking, Miss Harrismith. Should I search for something more apropos?”

  Beth shook her head suddenly fighting a grin.

  “Oh but I must. I believe I can produce another,” he said. “Let me think. Ah yes, Of all the flowers, methinks a rose is best…”

  Beth wanted to giggle. “You have stolen from Shakespeare, sir.”

  “Ah! Unfair! When Shakespeare will always say it far better than I. But I agree my choice fails in its intention to describe my delight at meeting you, Miss Harrismith.”

  How utterly charming he was. Oh lord. She was succumbing to the charms of a rake when the Season had hardly begun! The way ahead seemed dangerous indeed. Beth firmed her lips and shook her head at him.

  He cocked a brow, but his eyes were smiling. “My, but what a suspicious young lady. What must a man do to please you? Please tell me. I should like to see you smile.”

  “Merely do not tread on my toes, sir,” Beth said in mock seriousness. She smiled wanting to laugh. She was enjoying herself hugely.

  His answering smile was so infectious, she couldn’t help being drawn to him. A glance at his mouth made her wonder what it would be like to kiss him. The thought shocked her. Surely she was too serious to succumb to such feelings. So this was the effect rakes had on women! Andrew was right to warn her!

  The orchestra struck up suddenly drawing her attention to the three couples in their set who seemed to be watching them. They all joined hands to form a square. She steeled herself to concentrate and move through the steps, but Beth was more interested in talking to Mr. Nyeland.

  Their conversation continued in much the same bantering manner when the dance allowed it. Beth enjoyed his amusing repartee. She found herself watching him from beneath her lashes. He was of a powerful build, yet graceful on his feet. She really must not respond to him so readily. Jenny was not here to guide her. She must learn m
ore about him. “Is your friendship with the duke of long duration, Mr. Nyeland?” she asked when they came together again.

  “Yes, some years.” He seemed slightly amused, perhaps at her sobering manner. “Our paths crossed often on the Continent.” He offered no further explanation as the dance continued, which left Beth to ponder it. Andrew had spent some time in Vienna on government business, before he married her sister, so it was likely that Mr. Nyeland met Andrew there.

  “Do you like animals, sir?” This was a question she intended to ask every man who drew her interest. And he did, despite herself. He was clearly at ease with women. And he worked for the foreign office. He would not be the right man for her, even if he wasn’t a rake.

  “Yes, horses. Some others not so much.”

  Beth believed all animals should be respected be they fox, or otters, or field mice. But she was aware not everyone shared her view. “Which do not please you?”

  “A goat on my family’s home farm took a dislike to me when I was a young lad. Butted me whenever it got a chance, and if I wasn’t quick, sent me flying.”

  She looked at him disapprovingly. “I suspect you deserved it. Young boys are so often up to mischief.”

  He grinned. “Isn’t that a little harsh, my tormentor?”

  She flushed at his description of her. It seemed most inappropriate. But still, she was rather taken by it.

  “And I am not overly fond of snakes,” he added. “I’ve a reason to distrust them.”

  They were parted again for the change, and she had to wait to find out more.

  “When on the Peninsula,” he began, when they came together, “I was bitten and rendered quite ill for a time.”

  So he was in the army and had fought in the Napoleonic wars. “I am sorry.”

  He smiled down at her. “No need to be as you see I recovered with all limbs intact.”

  She smiled. “Which regiment, sir?”

  “The Light cavalry.”

  “Were you at Waterloo?”

  “I was, yes.”

  “You must have been quite young.” She guessed he’d be several years younger than Andrew. Not much above thirty.

  “I joined at seventeen.”

  “My goodness. And your father agreed?”

  “He would not have given his approval. I was to go to Oxford. But he was no longer with us. And I had a yen for adventure.”

  She and the other women in the set joined hands, and she danced away from him. One woman looked at her very disapprovingly. Beth thought her unfair. She was not giving the dance her serious attention it was true, but she had managed to keep up. Once at his side again, she waited for her breath to return, eager to glean more about him. “Do you regret not attending university?”

  He bent his head closer to her, and the scent of his sandalwood soap filled her senses. “I went to Oxford after the war ended, with the intention of entering the foreign office.”

  The dance progressed allowing only a snatched sentence as they moved through the steps. Then the music slowed, and the dance drew to a close. She laid her hand on his sleeve aware of the strength of his arm beneath her fingers. Fierce curiosity consumed her. “The foreign office? I assume you met the duke in Vienna. In what circumstances?” They joined the line of dancers leaving the floor.

  He smiled seemingly amused by her curiosity. “Yes in Vienna, Miss Harrismith.”

  “You have only answered half of my question, sir.” She raised her eyebrows and said half-mockingly, “I suspect that, as with Andrew, I shall learn very little from you.”

  He chuckled and his gaze settled on her mouth causing her pulse to flutter. “You are adept at teasing, Miss Harrismith.”

  Beth felt a blush heat her cheeks, she could barely believe how she was behaving. Her shyness had dropped away. “I grew up with four brothers.”

  “Ah. I understand. Their names?”

  “Jarred is the eldest he’s almost thirty. He works at the Inns of Court here in London and hopes to become a barrister. Colin is twenty-five and in the navy. Charlie is seventeen and away at Eton, and Edmond is thirteen and is tutored by my father in York. And then there are my sisters, Jenny, of course, and Arabella.”

  “I envy you your family. I have no siblings. I should like to hear more about them. May I beg the supper dance? I would like the privilege of taking you into supper.”

  She felt ridiculously pleased at the thought of dancing with him again. “Certainly. I shall look forward to it, Mr. Nyeland.”

  He placed a hand lightly over hers where it rested on his arm as he escorted her to her chair. “As will I.”

  They stood before the two empty chairs. “Mrs. Grayshott must be engaged with friends. I dislike leaving you here alone.”

  “I can hardly come to grief in Countess Wallington’s ballroom.” Beth smiled up at him. “Or do you feel I’m in danger, sir?”

  “Only from a boring windbag, or a gentleman who seeks to kiss you in the garden, but I have confidence in your discernment, Miss Harrismith. Until the supper dance then.” He was laughing as he turned away.

  Beth watched him walk through the crowd with that long confident stride, his hair gleaming ebony black in the light cast from the chandeliers. Such a pull of attraction was quite new to her. They were to dance again. She may not succumb so readily to his charm at their second meeting, but she rather doubted it.

  Beth sat down to wait for Mrs. Grayshott and stared about her. Neither the woman nor her daughter were within sight.

  As the minutes passed and there was no sign of her chaperone, Beth, searching the guests, grew quite annoyed at being abandoned in such a fashion. Where was Phillida? She had not spied her on the dance floor, but that was not surprising as there were several sets, the dancers standing around chatting, awaiting their turn. Might she be somewhere with her mother? But what would take them away from the ballroom?

  Fearing she would sit out more dances, Beth was forced to leave her chair to go in search of the lady. But she had only taken a few steps when a gentleman approached her.

  “Lord Ramsey, Miss Harrismith. I’ve come in the hope that you will accept my hand for the quadrille.”

  He bowed. Flummoxed, Beth curtsied while she wondered what to do.

  “My chaperone is away at present, my lord.” Beth swept her eyes over the guests again. “I’m afraid I must wait the lady’s return.”

  “Ah, but there is no need.” He gestured to the row of tall French windows at the far end of the ballroom. “Mrs. Grayshott is deep in discussion with my sister and has sent me to address you.”

  How different was Lord Ramsey to Mr. Nyeland who, although well dressed, had none of the dandy about him. This gentleman was fair, his hair curled onto his forehead in a Brutus, his cravat tied in a masterly design. His green coat tailcoat matched his eyes, making her wonder if that had been deliberate.

  Beth stood on tiptoe searching for her chaperone over the heads of the guests. Impossible, there were too many people milling about, and Mrs. Grayshott was not tall. Beth was quite shocked at the lady’s treatment. It did not seem to be the thing to go off and leave her charge in such a cavalier fashion. Not when importuned by the duke to take care of her. But Beth knew too little about the ways things were done to question it. The gentleman waited, smiling for her answer.

  “Yes, I will dance with you, sir.” She took his arm.

  They joined a set. Lord Ramsey smiled benignly at her. She was struck by how unlike Mr. Nyeland he was in his manner. He did not flirt with her, or indeed attempt to draw her into conversation. He danced with studied grace, and wishing to deport herself well, gave herself up to it.

  “Sadly, this must be my last dance, for I am about to depart for Windsor,” Lord Ramsey said.

  When he returned Beth to her chair, Mrs. Grayshott was still not in her seat. Beth bit her lip in consternation.

  “It appears that Mrs. Grayshott is still with my sister,” Ramsey said looking shamefaced.

  As he should be, Be
th thought. It was appallingly bad mannered of his sister and Mrs. Grayshott. “I see I shall have to go and find her,” Beth began, as a footman approached them. He held out a letter to her. “This has come for you, Miss Harrismith.”

  “This is for me?” Beth expected the note to be from her absent chaperone. Unfolding it, she scanned it quickly while his lordship politely waited. Shocked, she reread the rushed missive from Andrew with growing anxiety. “This concerns my sister. She is injured, a carriage accident. They are at an address in Twickenham.” She turned to the footman her heart beating fast. “Who brought this letter? Is there a carriage waiting to take me there?”

  “No, miss.” He shook his head slightly mystified. “The fellow left after it was handed in at the front door.”

  In the brief missive, Andrew gave her no instructions. Did he wish her to wait until further word was sent? She couldn’t. She turned to Lord Ramsey who remained at her side. “I must go to my sister.” She gazed around wildly but could see no sign of Mrs. Grayshott or her daughter. Nor was their hostess within sight.

  Beth rushed back to her chair, snatched up her shawl and reticule, and hurried through the crowd with his lordship keeping pace with her. “Where on earth have they got to?” she murmured. “I must hire a chaise.”

  Beth reached the seats near the French doors. Mrs. Grayshott was not seated there nor was she on the terrace. She frowned. “Now where has she gone?”

  “The ladies were discussing their mutual passion for gardening.” Lord Ramsey looked faintly apologetic. “I wonder if they might have gone into the gardens?”

  “I don’t have time to search the gardens for them.” Beth grew more aggravated by the minute. “I’ll have to leave her a note.”

  From his coat pocket, Lord Ramsey produced a notebook and pencil. “Allow me.”

  “You are too kind, sir.” Greatly flustered, Beth hurried to a console table against the wall, and slipping into the chair, scrawled a hurried note advising the lady of the accident which had caused her departure, and requesting she make her excuses to their hostess. Seething with impatience, she searched for a footman.