Maris was at least spared the fear of tripping or stepping on his toes. Though not possessed of Lilah Paladin’s languid grace, she could dance well and, moreover, she enjoyed the exercise. It wasn’t riding, but it was better than most of London life. Lord Danesby, too, seemed to smile rather more at her than with the others he met in the course of the steps, though that may have just been his polite way of honoring his partner.
When it ended, all too soon, he stood with her for a moment, both of them breathing hard. “Shall we attempt the second half of the set?” he asked.
“I’m game for it, if you are.”
Just then, two ladies walked by. Maris had been introduced to them earlier in the evening and she gave them a nod and a smile. The smile faded when one looked at her with half-closed eyes and gave a small but audible sniff. The other murmured, “Some girls waste no time.”
Puzzled, Maris looked at Lord Danesby. He stared after the ladies, an eyebrow lifted. “What was that about?” he asked.
“I have no notion. Do you know them?”
“Very well indeed. One is a distant cousin on the distaff side, the other her longtime bosom companion.” His smile returned. “Never mind. Shall we dance again?”
Maris wanted to accept, very badly. But she felt chilled, not by the temperature of the room itself but by a change of atmosphere. Everywhere she looked, she met censorious gazes. “I had better return to Mrs. Paladin. She’ll wonder what became of me.”
“I’ll take you to her at once. Er ... where is she?”
He tucked her arm under his own and held her to a pace more moderate than she would have chosen. “Slowly, slowly, Miss Lindel. If the world wishes to stare, let it look its fill.”
“Why should they wish to stare at me?”
“You may wrong yourself. It may be myself they wish to observe. This new way of tying my cravat is most unusual. No doubt everyone wishes to study it in detail.”
“You sound like a coxcomb, my lord.”
“Dandy, my dear child, dandy. Alas, that I forgot my quizzing glass for I’d soon make a few souls look blue.” Lord Danesby may have sounded like a lazy-voiced dandy but his eyes were that of a giddy boy.
“They’ll never believe me at home when I write them about tonight,” Maris said, hardly realizing she had spoken aloud. “It’s like a fairy tale.”
“I’ve never been the hero of a fairy tale before,” Lord Danesby said, the faintest tinge of bitterness seeping into his tone. “We viscounts are usually found in fiction as wicked uncles trying to chouse the heroine out of her fortune.”
“I only meant... they think of you as someone so unapproachable and haughty. You don’t mingle very much with the townsfolk, after all.”
“I hope I do my duty by them.”
“Oh, you do. The new pulpit is very much admired. Dr. Pike hurt his shin so badly when the old one gave way. No one had had any notion of how completely it had rotted.”
“Fifteenth century, wasn’t it?”
“I believe so.” Maris felt a little guilty for never listening when Dr. Pike droned on about the history of their little church.
“I did try to find some craftsmen who could make something in keeping with the period of the original but the war made it impossible to import Italian artisans, as my grandfather would have done.”
“The modern one is more to my taste,” Maris said. “Antiques are so gloomy.”
‘Yes,” Lord Danesby said, his steps slowing even further as he pondered this. “Finchley Place is full of antiques and it’s very gloomy indeed. I don’t believe my ancestors ever discarded anything, from a full suit of parade armor to my school reports.”
“You should have seen all the dress material my mother had hoarded against the day of my debut. Trunks and trunks of it, all dragged out into the middle of the floor and strewn about the room.”
“She must regret, very much, not being here tonight.”
“I regret it more but my sister’s constitution, cannot support London at present. I only hope she recovers her strength before she must appear herself.”
“Will you attend a Drawing Room this year?”
“I don’t know but I certainly hope riot,” she said, leaning in to speak more softly. Mrs. Paladin had been shocked by her radical notions. “The thought of making my curtsy to the Queen while wearing hoops and feathers terrifies me. I’d be bound to go over like a ninepin!”
His eyes laughed at her image. “Does Almack’s also terrify you?”
“Even more so than a Drawing Room. Besides, Mrs. Paladin says it’s impossible to acquire vouchers lately. She has been turned down twice and says it’s useless to ask again until some weeks have passed.”
“Yes, I imagine it must be. I would intercede on your behalf but that is something no single gentleman could do for a young lady to whom he was not related.”
“That would cause terrible gossip, wouldn’t it?”
“Terrible. It would be tantamount to a public proposal.”
They were talking of other things, of spring returning to the great public parks of London, of horses, of art, when a shrill voice called out Maris’s name. Startled out of her dream, Maris stopped short. They’d walked right past Mrs. Paladin, seated on one of the dainty gilded chairs against the wall.
Her teeth were much in evidence as she thanked Lord Danesby for returning her wandering charge to her. “You are always finding her when she has strayed away, Lord Danesby.”
“You make me sound like a sheep,” Maris said, still in alt from her long conversation with Lord Danesby.
He choked a little, turning a laugh into a cough. “So pleasant a lady will be welcome wherever she strays,” he said, quite like a prince from a fairy tale.
Lord Danesby turned away from Mrs. Paladin, who stammered an unheard reply. He bowed to Maris. When she arose from her curtsy, he held out his hand. “A pleasure to see you again, Miss Lindel.”
“I also,” she said, shaking hands with him.
“Don’ t forget about my offer.”
“You’re too kind, my lord.”
He bowed again to Mrs. Paladin and walked away. Maris, hardly knowing what she did, sank into the vacant seat beside her. She felt as if she’d lived for an hour on a golden cloud. He didn’t seem to find her impertinent or scatterbrained when she said something out of the common way. If he hadn’t understood her, he asked for her meaning without insulting her. But for the most part, he entered into her feelings with great sensitivity. She didn’t flatter herself that he’d found her fascinating but she had amused him, a sweeter service than all her dreams of rescuing him from a dire fate.
She woke to a sharp pinch of Mrs. Paladin’s fingers on her arm. “For heaven’s sake, Maris, tell me what he said,” she hissed. “What offer did he make to you?”
“Offer, ma’am?” Maris returned to the present, the last wisps of her cloud dissipating under the cold light of Mrs. Paladin’s eyes.
‘Yes, his offer, you foolish chit. A ride in his carriage, an escort to the theater, carte blanche, what did he offer you?”
“Carte blanche, ma’am? What is that? A ... a white card?”
“Never mind that.” Spacing her words out as though to a deaf child, she asked again. “What...offer ... did ...?”
“Merely to frank any letters I might wish to send. He’s a peer, you know. They’re permitted to do that.”
* * * *
Kenton strolled away from Miss Lindel’s group, nodding to acquaintances and friends but speaking to no one until he reached the card room. There he found several cronies, no more fond of dancing than he himself, playing whist. Waiting for an open seat at the table, he seated himself in an armchair and took up a glass of wine. He wondered why he’d decided to dance with Miss Lindel. She’d not hinted that she’d wanted to; it had been all his own notion. Strange that. He could not recall when he’d last done more than a duty dance with a hostess or her daughter.
What was it about Miss Lindel? She had a sm
ile of unexpected charm, but many other girls were no less winsome. Her blond beauty was nothing extraordinary; there were many others whose beauty took a man’s breath away at first sight. Yet he’d felt that here was someone who saw things in a different light from other people. Perhaps he was wrong, perhaps all debutantes possessed Miss Lindel’s mixture of youthful enthusiasm and burgeoning wisdom. He rarely spoke to young ladies, as their mothers were wary of him.
He’d been on the town now for ten years and no woman could say he’d ever offered marriage. The thought of being forced to listen to one woman for the rest of his life had held him back even when attracted. He preferred women like Flora Armitage. She wanted no more of his tenderer emotions than he wanted of hers. Desire was no substitute for love, he supposed, but for lack of anything better it would do.
He became aware that several men he knew were looking at him. He nodded in greeting and they came over to stand or lounge about him. After a little talk about horses, the latest word in gambling hells, and bets on the books, Gregory Haveson chuckled. “Maybe it won’t be so long before your name is written in White’s betting book, eh, Danesby?”
“My name? Why should it be?” Had someone found out what Chavez was bringing him?
Despite his friend Russell’s digging his elbow into his side, Haveson went on. “Matrimony, don’t you know. What is her name, by the way?”
“You’d know better than I,” Kenton said slowly. He finished the last drops of his wine. Was this what came of dancing with a girl?
“Oh, come. You can tell me. Besides, isn’t she with that Paladin woman? I can’t imagine she’d refuse to give me an introduction even if I didn’t care for that dry, cold daughter of hers.”
Though Haveson was the taller, he stepped back when Kenton rose to his feet. Holding the younger man’s eyes, Kenton waited until Haveson’s smile faltered and became uncertain. “It seems that courtesy has fallen off a bit in society of late. When I was young, it was not done for a man to bandy a lady’s name in a card room or, indeed, anywhere. Break yourself of the habit, Mr. Haveson. I advise you most strongly to break that habit.”
Kenton put down both pieces of his wineglass, the stem snapped in two. As he went out, he knew, from the sudden rush of whispering, that the full tale of his youth was being told. He’d met his man twice at Barn Elms, once with pistols, once with swords. He’d never killed, deloping the first time, and toying with his foe the second time. With every touch, his enemy had known that it was only Kenton’s mercy that had saved him from death. At the time, he’d thought himself a devil of a fellow. Now, he could only feel profoundly grateful that he’d never been arrested. Still, his reputation should serve to keep popinjays like Haveson quiet.
But no power on earth could silence the tongues of women. He couldn’t be certain they were discussing Miss Lindel and himself as they would stop talking as he passed and begin again the moment they felt he was out of earshot. Though he did not blush, his ears burned like Bengal fire signal lights on a man-of-war.
He danced with several other girls, hoping perhaps to conceal his attention to Miss Lindel as just one duty dance among others. As he had begun to suspect, not even the most famously vibrant young lady had quite Miss Lindel’s sparkle. This one might be gay, that one serious-minded, this one accomplished, and that one piquantly beautiful, but none had her precise, though hard-to-define, quality. Of course, he thought fairly, it was difficult to plumb the depths of a girl’s soul while contra-dancing.
Kenton excused himself to his hostess, who looked knowing but made no references, and went home. He chose not to drive but to walk, finding the rain-glistening streets a cooling antidote to the hot, noisy ballroom, though London could never claim to be quiet. The noise seemed far away tonight, muffled by the hovering clouds. Yet the clopping of hooves seemed to be right behind him even after he’d walked for some time. Kenton stopped and glanced behind him.
A closed carriage, shiny black, drove behind him. When he looked back, the window slid down and a round female arm, clad in a tight-fitting glove appeared. He felt he recognized the bracelet that clasped that wrist. The gloved hand beckoned.
“How may I serve you, Mrs. Armitage,” he asked, when he reached the window.
“It’s too wet a night to walk. May I drive you somewhere?”
That was for the driver. Flora did like to maintain appearances, though of course her butler and dresser knew everything. “You’re very kind, Mrs. Armitage, but I’m not afraid of a little rain.”
“I assure you it’s no trouble. Give my driver the address, won’t you?”
Kenton knew he owed her an explanation of his abrupt severing of their liaison. Even if he himself wasn’t entirely sure why he’d suddenly felt so tainted by it. He’d sent a note along with the necklace, now glimmering at him through the darkness, yet she had sought out this meeting. One thing he knew as he entered her carriage; he’d not weaken and renew this affair.
“She’s a lovely little thing,” Flora said. “Though I wouldn’t have thought she’d be to your taste.”
“Of whom are you speaking?”
‘The little Lindel. Tell me, what was it? A winter tide romance with your tenant’s daughter? Did you follow her to town, all a-pant like a dog on the hunt? Or was it love at first sight that made you throw me over for her?”
“Don’t be vulgar, Flora.”
“I? Vulgar? Surely not. I wasn’t making sheep’s eyes at her and in St. Paul’s of all places. Nearly as bad as making such an exhibition of yourself tonight. I wouldn’t myself wish to expose the young lady to such public attention.”
“You don’t know what you are talking about.” He wouldn’t justify himself to her, but every word she said made him happier to think she was no longer his lover. “If this is all you wish to say to me ...”
“By no means. I’m not going to be made the laughingstock of London by you and some little chit just out of the schoolroom. You could have had the decency to wait a few weeks after leaving me before you began pursuing another.” For an instant, a flash of something besides anger showed. Kenton thought it might be pain, if only that of wounded pride.
“No one need know I have left you,” he said more gently than he thought he could.
“No one need know? Half the ton knows it already.”
“I’m not responsible for that. No one has found a way of stopping gossip yet.”
“No. I know how to use it myself, very well indeed.” Her voice hardened.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Why, nothing whatever. Pursue your rural beauty if you wish. It’s nothing to me.” She sat back into the darkness, only the flash of jewels at wrist, throat, and earlobes giving away her position. After a moment, she gave a soft laugh as though some chance thought amused her.
“What are you planning, Flora?” Kenton asked warily.
“Nothing whatever. I hope your wooing prospers and quickly too.”
“I’m not wooing anyone.”
“No? That’s good. You won’t mind so much when she flees the town, pursued by rumors.”
He knew she could do it. “Why would you even think of doing such a thing? Miss Lindel is nothing to you.”
Did she shrug those white shoulders? “Everyone already believes you are in love with her. And even a blind man could tell she is in love with you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Miss Lindel feels nothing for me. We only met for the first time the other day.” For an instant, his mind went back to his last afternoon at Finchley, just after the parish committee meeting, one of the few duties as lord of the manor that he enjoyed. He’d run into Miss Pike in
the doorway and had looked up to see a beautiful
girl
“Feels nothing?” Flora again gave her low intimate laugh. “She gazes at you as if you were her entire dependence and delight. When you smile at her, her face lights and she hangs on your words as if they were Holy Writ. A woman sees these things, Ken, even if a man can’t.�
�
“Whether she is or she isn’t has nothing to do with the case. Keep your tongue between your teeth.”
“Or what? You can’t harm my reputation; I’ve none. I cannot hurt your reputation; you are too well-known. What scandal can there be in a man ten years on the town? But an innocent bud is so easily blackened by a breath of rumor. I will have no trouble convincing everyone that this innocent is nothing of the sort. She has already thrown in her lot with that Paladin creature and everyone knows what she is. If your little miss flees from town, everyone will believe you toyed with her, broke her heart, and then discarded her.”
“You’re a vile creature, Flora Armitage. I never knew it before now.”
“A woman must take revenge however she can. Our powers are so slight compared to a man’s.”
Fortunately, they drew rein in front of his house before he could give in to his impulse to strangle her. “I feel no anxiety for Miss Lindel,” he said as he opened the door. “I’m sure shell enjoy her Season to the full.”
“We shall see.”
He left her the last word, though it went against the grain. The windows of his rooms were glowing, for he’d invited Dom to stay until his case was settled. It was pleasant to think there was someone at home with whom to discuss the night’s occurrences. Yet when he opened his door, he heard more than one male voice.
“Chavez!” he exclaimed in delight, advancing to shake hands with his island agent. Of both Portuguese and German parentage, Miguel Chavez wore his brown hair a trifle long and had a luxurious mustache spreading across his upper lip. Except for these, he could have been any slightly sunburnt English gentleman fresh from a sea voyage.
“My lord. It is good to see you again.”
“And you. You had a good crossing?”
“Excellent. No accidents to any of our cargo. The captain was most attentive to my wishes regarding the sea lanes.”
Miss Lindel's Love Page 7
