by Julia Quinn
Oh, it was cold.
“Linney, Lord Pellering is more than you deserve. You will get out of bed this instant and go accept his suit.”
“I can’t.”
“Fine, then, I shall do it for you.”
“No!” Linney cried.
Georgiana, halfway to the door, turned around with a frown. “Whyever not? If you are so ill, than I shall at least accept on your behalf. Really, Linney, you must make this official now, or you may just lose Lord Pellering. And then what will you do?”
Linney moved slightly, and every bone in her body ached horribly. And she was so cold.
She remembered the warmth of Lord Darington’s embrace and ached even more.
She knew her mother well. Georgiana Starling could care less if Linney ever married. Her mother just wanted Lord Pellering to provide a bit of pin money to his darling mother-in-law. At least until Mr. Evanston’s uncle died. Mr. Evanston was, unfortunately, penniless. But he was heir to a rather large fortune, assuming his ailing uncle ever stuck his spoon in the wall.
The ailing uncle had been ailing for nearly ten years, it seemed.
“Why don’t you marry Lord Pellering?” Linney said, only half jokingly.
“Oh really, Linney!” Her mother went to the clothespress and grabbed a gown. “I don’t know what has gotten into you lately. You have been abominable.”
“No, I am serious, Mother. Why are you marrying Mr. Evanston? You could have any man you choose. Why don’t you just marry someone who can give you what you want right now?”
Georgiana looked entirely confused.
“Dearest Linney,” her mother finally said. “Mr. Evanston does give me what I want. He gives me attention, and very soon, he will give me money. Lord Pellering, and really most of the men of society, give their attention to their paramours, their carriages or hunting dogs, but most of all to themselves.” Here Georgiana stood a bit straighter.
That last comment, Linney was sure, was directed straight to her father, wherever his soul happened to be at the moment.
Duchess meowed and moved closer to Linney, lending her warmth. Using the last strength in her body, Linney leaned up on her elbow, found the corner of her blanket, and pulled it back over her. She closed her eyes and sank back against her pillows. “I think I want attention, too, Mother,” she said. “I can’t marry Lord Pellering.”
Duchess made a sound, and Linney put her arm around her cat. Poor dear, she wasn’t going to have a barn anytime soon, it seemed. And Linney was probably doomed to spend the rest of her life a spinster, living as if she did not exist in the home of her glittering mother and her decidedly oily stepfather.
And at the moment, she did not care, since she was probably going to expire from the ache in her head at any moment anyway.
“Linney.”
“No more, Mother. I can barely think with the pounding in my head.”
There was a long, lovely silence, and then Georgiana’s silk skirt rustled. “I shall tell Lord Pellering that he should come back in a few days when you are feeling better.”
Georgiana opened the door to leave. There was a God.
“Really, Linney, I don’t know what’s gotten into you at all. You have not been this obstinate since you were two.”
Perhaps she had known more at two than she did now.
“Maybe this will teach you a lesson, though. You really should not have run away from the skating party yesterday. It is your fault entirely that you are sick.”
Didn’t some mothers kiss their children when they were sick?
“And you most definitely ought to stay away from Lord Darington. You are not pining after someone so incredibly beyond you, are you, Linney?”
Linney felt a strange anger burn in her heart. Beyond her? Ha! He was beyond the pale, was what he was!
Georgiana waited as if she expected Linney to say something. But Linney had neither the strength nor the inclination, and finally the door closed behind her mother.
Silence. Lovely, gorgeous, beautiful silence.
If she lived in the country with a husband who loved his hounds more than he would ever love her, she would be able to have silence often and most probably always.
And in that single moment, during that very thought, Linney finally understood why she had been crying the week before at the theater.
Perhaps even why she was so affected by someone of Lord Darington’s ilk.
Because what her mother had said to her today, and nearly every day of her life, was just not true. Lord Pellering was not more than Linney deserved. No man was.
She deserved to be happy and content.
And Lord Pellering could not give her those two things, not really. Some woman would deserve him, and he her. But that woman would not be Linney.
Thank God, because she really had no inkling to kiss Lord Pellering as she had kissed Lord Darington.
Oh goodness, Linney thought, as she again felt rather swoony.
Though, in all seriousness, that could have had everything to do with the fact that she was probably delusional with fever, and nothing at all to do with thoughts of a tall, dark, and gorgeous man with curling thick hair and eyes the color of a lazy summer sky.
Nothing to do with him at all.
Linney smiled softly as her foggy brain took her off into a lovely dream. Interestingly enough, Lord Darington took center stage in that dream. And it was a really, really good dream.
Chapter 6
Good heavens, but Lady Caroline Starling has refused Lord Pellering’s offer of marriage! Linney, my dear, you are well into your third decade! Whatever can you be thinking?
Maybe that she’d rather enter into marriage in which she was considered of greater importance than a pack of hunting dogs?
Yes, yes. That is exactly what This Author believes she is thinking.
LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 9 FEBRUARY 1814
Linney had had one too many glasses of rum punch. But, really, it was horribly cold outside, and the rum punch did warm one to one’s very toes. Add to that the fact that she stood at the Shelbournes’ Valentine’s ball, where every single person seemed to have some special person to swan over, except for Linney, who was most positively alone. And, most importantly, Linney was terribly nervous about seeing Lord Darington again, for the last time she had seen him, she had been so gauche as to shove him into a snowbank, and since that moment she had dreamed of him every time her eyelids dropped shut.
And the dreams were far from those an aging miss ought to have.
Yes, she did think she had reasons enough to imbibe rum punch. Still, since it was imperative that she guard her tongue at all times, Linney did try to stay away from anything that loosened it.
And at the moment, she felt decidedly loose.
Probably not a good thing.
She scanned the crowd nervously. At the very least, Linney knew she would not see Lord Pellering. When she had finally been well enough to see him, two days after the skating party, Linney had refused his suit.
The earl had grumbled mightily about wasted time and informed the entire household, Annie included, that he was off to Stratfordshire to wed the daughter of some squire who knew the worth of a good hound, and whom, Lord Pellering said as he thrust on his beaver hat, he should have married in the first place and never set foot in London.
So that was the last she had seen of Lord Pellering.
And she could not say that she was sorry. No, the urge to cry at every turn of the hour had disappeared completely, and Linney felt rather more like herself in the last few days.
Of course, there was still the problem of Lord Darington.
He had come while she was sick as well. Only her mother had absolutely refused to allow Annie to inform Linney of the fact. But the maid had managed to relay the message, and even give Linney the one pristine pink rose that Lord Darington had brought for her.
The message had been simple and short: “Sorry.”
Linney was quite per
plexed, of course. There were moments when Lord Darington seemed to be absolutely the opposite of what everyone knew him to be.
He seemed, really, like someone to whom she could actually tell all the strange thoughts in her head.
And he seemed as if he might understand them.
That, in and of itself, was a miracle.
The fact that the man also seemed taken with her, and that he was God’s aesthetic gift to the universe, just made it all perfect, sort of.
Still, these things were all tempered by the fact that Lord Darington had the manners of a toad.
Anyway, Linney was quite decidedly confused by it all.
A now-familiar tall and broad figure hovered into her peripheral vision, and once again Linney felt the telltale flutter of her heart.
It made her feel positively light-headed, especially since she was about half a glass of rum punch away from singing a tune at the top of her lungs and doing a dance alone across the Shelbournes’ ballroom floor.
Actually, she really ought to turn around and go home, and leave her intended mission of the evening undone until another time.
But obviously she was not really thinking right. Linney straightened her spine and keeping Lord Darington’s wide back in her sights so as not to lose him, marched around some lace-covered tables, through a bunch of pink and red streamers that had come loose of their moorings and hung lamely from a crystal chandelier, and tapped Lord Darington on the shoulder.
He turned and glanced down at her, and she had to catch her breath. The man was so unearthly handsome, in a dark jacket and white waistcoat, that her fluttering heart nearly caused her apoplexy.
Well, that would never do. She had a mission, after all.
“Lord Darington,” Linney said, and then realized that she had rather yelled his name a bit too loudly.
He frowned.
Oh Lord, he was being awful again. He had taken on his Lord of the World manners. Lovely.
“I am sorry,” she said quickly, just wanting to get this whole thing over with. The thought that Lord Darington actually fancied her danced like a taunting bully in her head. How on earth could she have ever thought such a thing?
Be that as it may, though. She did need to apologize for pushing Lord Darington into a snowbank. Even if he were the most abominable man on earth, she ought not to lower her own manners so.
“I should not have pushed you at the skating party.”
Lord Darington blinked, but said nothing at all.
“Right, then,” Linney said. She absolutely refused to be rude to him again, but she did so want to throw the rest of her rum punch in his face.
Well, that was, if she had had any more in her glass. Which, funny enough, she did not. She glared for a moment at the empty glass in her hand as if she could will it to fill up on its own.
“Dance with me,” Lord Darington said.
Did he never ask? Just order all the underlings around him to do his will?
He took the glass from her hand and gave it to a tall, thin, blond man who stood at his side. And then Lord Darington grabbed her arm and escorted her to the dance floor.
Linney hesitated. This was probably a very bad idea. She was most definitely dizzy, and trying to remember the steps and moves of a dance would not help that disability in the least.
“I really…”
Lord Darington turned toward her. “We shall dance,” he said.
God, was there anyone else on the entire earth as pompous as Lord Darington? Linney could feel her ire churning in her stomach, along with the rum punch, unfortunately.
It was terribly difficult to keep her dignity around Lord Darington. The man did tend to make her want to thump him over the head. Of course, at the same time, he made her want to jump right into his arms and demand that the man who found a sad quality in the fact that the Rosetta Stone resided so far from its home come out and play.
“I’m not feeling well, Lord Darington,” she said. “I do not want to dance.”
Lord Darington stopped, his brow furrowed in consternation. “Let’s dance.”
Linney just shook her head. “No!” She pushed away from him, even as she realized that she was about to lose her decorum again. Lord Darington was such a horrible influence on her. “Really, Lord Darington, you are such an ass!”
A few couples around them stopped mid-dance step and stared, and Lord Veere, who had been standing behind them, began to chortle.
Linney just felt completely disgraced. How horrible of her, really. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly.
“Here. Take this,” Lord Darington said, shoving a piece of folded paper at her.
She frowned at it, feeling as if the whole room revolved slowly around her, making her wish to lose her dinner all over Lord Darington’s highly polished boots.
“Take it, please.”
Please, he had said please. She grabbed the paper, thrust it down her décolletage, and spinning about, ran for privacy.
She was most definitely going to see all the rum punch that now churned in her belly once more. And she rather thought it would be nice to do such a thing without the world watching her.
Let’s not dance. He had meant to say, Let’s not dance. Terrance watched Caroline wind her way quickly around chattering partygoers and disappear from the room. He had given much thought to his predicament, and realized that if he could not seem to woo Lady Caroline, then he really ought to go back to Ivy Park and practice his speech a bit more before going out into the world again.
But he did hope that Lady Caroline might want to go with him. He could no longer picture his world without her funny little ways in it. He loved to just look at her. It was as if he could read every thought in her head through her eyes.
He had seen her grapple with what must have sounded like total savagery on his part. And he had never wanted to speak so badly in his life.
No, he wanted to cry, no, I don’t mean to demand or make you upset. I want more than anything to make you happy. I want to dance with you. Or not dance. I want to walk with you, or stand, or sit. Anything, just let me stand near you, feel your soft skin beneath my fingers, taste your lips, and listen to your voice.
And most definitely, let me take you out from the shadows and let the world realize what they have been missing.
He had hoped that he could make her understand this, but he had not completely trusted himself. In fact, he had not trusted his tongue at all. And he had spent the last few days trying to write on paper his feelings.
Now he could just stare at the path that Caroline had taken and hope that she could glean his real meaning from the words he had written.
Chapter 7
Could it be that Lady Caroline Starling refused the suit of the Earl of Pellering because she prefers the Marquis of
Darington? Darington???? Isn’t he the very same cretin who evicted her from her home three years ago, giving her only two days to pack her every belonging?
This Author does not presume to know Lady Caroline’s heart, but the lady was heard (by a great many people, This Author might add), calling Lord Darington a very nasty word at the Shelbourne Valentine’s Day ball.
And it is This Author’s experience that only true love could ever compel a lady to lose such total command of her verbal faculties.
LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 16 FEBRUARY 1814
Linney awoke to all three cats sitting at the bottom of her bed staring at her. This had not happened in all her lifetime, so she realized immediately that she must had been the topic of feline conversation the night before.
“Oh, leave me be.”
Duchess meowed.
“Right, I know, I acted horribly last night. And I emptied my stomach upon Lord Rake’s tail, but I have been sick, you must remember.”
Lord Rake cocked his head to the side regally, and in that second he completely reminded her of Lord Darington. “Well, obviously I also had too much rum punch. But, be that as it may, you must all take into account t
he fact that I had the most horrible cold only a few days ago.”
Miss Spit actually spit.
Linney just shook her head, and then groaned. She pushed back her coverlet and placed her feet on the floor. She still wore the silk petticoat she had put on under her pink dress for the Shelbournes’ ball.
She had worn a pink dress because Lord Darington had told her she looked pretty in pink. Could she be any more pathetic?
The much-contemplated dress sat in a crumpled heap on the floor, completely ruined and reeking. She would burn it.
And she would absolutely never have rum punch again, ever.
Beside the dress lay a folded piece of paper. Linney squinted at it for a moment, trying to remember what it was.
Holding her head with one hand, Linney leaned over carefully and picked up the paper. She unfolded it, just as a memory flickered through her fogged brain of Lord Darington thrusting the thing at her and demanding she take it.
“He does like to thrust things at me, and demand, doesn’t he?” she asked.
The cats didn’t seem to care as they all waited for her to read the paper. “I’m reading, I’m reading,” and she glanced down at the thing.
Dearest Caroline, it started out. That was nice.
I must explain myself in writing for my words do not come easily. I had thought, perhaps, that I could get past this problem and woo a wife, but obviously my speech is even worse than I believed.
Caroline frowned.
First, I must apologize for making you leave Ivy Park as I did. I will not make excuses, but I will say that I was not myself at the time and did not realize what was happening. In fact this brings me to my next confession. And I do hope you will choose to keep this to yourself, even if you do not see fit to accept my suit.
Accept his suit? Linney dropped the paper, but then scrambled to grab it again.
I was wounded in the war. And I have a problem making my mouth utter the words that my mind wants to say. I realize this sounds very odd. And I know that society would not understand such a thing. They would probably lock me in Bedlam, actually. But I believe in my heart that you will understand. My mind is sound, I promise. It seems to be a connection between my mind and my tongue that is damaged.
