"Well, what are you waiting for, slow top?" he drawled, an imp of mischief making his eyes gleam with laughter. "As you are so fond of poetical sayings, you ought to know that tide and time wait for no man. Come." And he nudged his horse forward, leaving Toby no choice but to follow.
Two
A cross the green expanse Julia watched their approach with awe-filled eyes. "They are coming over!" she cried, her hands tightening on the reins and causing her small bay to dance in protest. "Oh dearest Belle, whatever shall we do?"
"Perhaps that is something you ought to have considered before drawing their notice," Belle suggested coolly, her anger directed more at Colford than at her green cousin. She'd seen the devilish glint in his silver eyes, and knew he'd deliberately sought them out to vex her. Well—her chin came up with the cold pride that had sustained her over the last dozen years—she was cursed if she'd oblige him.
"Is he not splendid on horseback?" Julia was saying, her eyes dreamy as she watched the approaching men. "He reminds me of one of those dashing corsairs Byron writes about."
Belle's eyes rested on Toby's unremarkable form bouncing up and down on the gray he was riding, and she decided humorously that if infatuation wasn't blind, it was at the very least nearsighted. Now, if it were Colford Julia was mooning over, she supposed she might have better understood the analogy. However much she might dislike the wretch, there was no denying he was an arresting sight on horseback.
Dressed in a riding jacket of hunter green that made his hair gleam like polished copper, he stood out amongst the fops and Corinthians of Hyde Park like a tiger in a litter of tabby cats. His deeply tanned features were perhaps a trifle too harsh to fit in the classically handsome mold made so popular by Byron and the others, but she could grudgingly find no fault in his sharp blade of a nose and firmly molded jaw. Even his physique went against fashion, hard and muscular when slender, aesthetic forms were all the rage, and she knew from experience that his broad shoulders owed little to his tailor's art. When he'd pulled her into his arms and kissed her, it had taken every ounce of strength she'd possessed to fight her way free . . .
As she realized the direction of her thoughts, Belle's lips tightened in fury. Every time she thought of the insulting embrace he'd forced upon her, the more she enjoyed the memory of slapping his arrogant face. It had been the crowning humiliation of her disastrous first Season, and if it was the last thing she did she vowed she'd repay him for the painful recollection.
None of these dark thoughts were evident in the coolly polite mask she assumed as the gentlemen joined them. Indeed, her manner was everything it ought to be as she inclined her head in a greeting. "My lord, Mr. Flanders," she said as they pulled their mounts to a halt, "a lovely day for a ride, is it not?"
"Quite lovely, Miss Portham," Marcus responded, his lips twitching at her starchy tones. Then, knowing it would further annoy her, he added, "Almost as lovely as you and your charming ward."
The flash of fire in her golden eyes did not disappoint him. "Your lordship is very practiced with his flattery," Belle said, detesting him for his ability to shake her icy control. She knew he was baiting her, and hated that she seemed helpless to resist responding. Clearly it was time to move on. She turned to Julia to suggest they return home only to find her and Mr. Flanders exchanging languishing looks.
"You are a vision, Miss Dolitan." Toby's voice was worshipful as he gazed at his beloved. "With your permission, I should very much like to dedicate my next poem to you."
"Oh, sir!" Julia's dimpled cheeks bloomed with rose. "I should like that above all things."
"Julia," Belle began, thoroughly alarmed, "I do not think it proper you should be party to such a thing. The tattle—"
Marcus leaned forward in his saddle to lay a comforting hand over hers. "Relax, Miss Portham," he advised in a low voice that scarcely reached her ears. "I have had the misfortune of reading one of Toby's efforts, and you may rest assured there is little chance of their ever being seen . . . let alone published."
"That is not the point, sir," Belle protested. "Julia is my ward, and it is my duty to protect her!"
"And Toby, to my grief, is my heir. It is my responsibility to see he comes to no harm," Marcus returned coldly, his gray eyes challenging hers. "Do you mean to imply I am less attentive in my duty than you are in yours?"
The words as well as the haughty tone in which they were delivered brought a faint flush of shame to Belle's cheeks. "Of course not," she denied, her eyes dropping to her hands. "But a young girl's reputation if far more fragile than that of a man. If word of this silly poem should leak out—"
"It won't," he interrupted, enjoying the novel sight of Miss Portham nonplussed. "Whatever Toby's other faults, he does have the sense not to force his scribblings on others. But if it will reassure you, I promise to have a word with him. Does that make you feel better?"
Oddly enough, it did, and Belle gave him a sheepish smile. "I would be grateful if you would, my lord," she said, her voice rueful as she met his gaze. "I know I am probably being overprotective, but I did promise Simon I would have a care of his sister, and I should hate to fail him."
"Simon?"
"Miss Dolitan's older brother. He was against my introducing Julia to Society, and it was only by promising I would allow no harm to befall her that I was able to win his consent."
"Why should he oppose his sister being introduced?" Marcus asked, his eyes straying to Miss Dolitan, who was engaged in her own conversation with Toby. Her habit was of sapphire velvet, and with her blond hair and dark blue eyes, she was fetching. He would have thought any brother—particularly one involved in trade, as he knew Miss Dolitan's brother to be—would be delighted at having his sister offered such an opportunity.
Belle's smile grew warm at the thought of Simon's intractable pride. "I fear Simon has little opinion of our world," she said, unaware of the affection that was evident in her soft tones. "He is forever lecturing me on the superficiality of the ton, and demanding I return to the country."
Marcus's dark eyebrows arched at this confession. "Indeed?" he drawled, impressed anyone would dare lecture to The Golden Icicle. "As you are here, I presume you declined to follow his sage advice?"
"I told him to mind his own business and to stop being so high in the instep," Belle confessed with a chuckle as she recalled their heated exchange. "But in the end I was able to persuade him to give Julia these few months with me, and I am determined to see she uses them well."
As the object of any Season was an advantageous marriage, Marcus couldn't help but wonder if that was Miss Portham's plan for her ward. If so, then perhaps it wouldn't hurt to begin mending his fences with her. If the gossip he'd heard was any indication, the girl was as well dowered as she was lovely, and he could see no reason why Toby shouldn't court her. The Lord knew they could use the blunt, he admitted with a cynical twist of his lips. All that remained now was determining her intentions.
"If Miss Dolitan's brother is so opposed to a London Season, then how would he react to her making a Society marriage?" he asked, pretending only polite interest. "Will he cut her out of his life in a suitably dramatic fashion?"
"Simon?" Belle gave a tinkling laugh as she considered such an impossibility. "Heavens, no! He adores Julia, and so long as her husband loves her, I am sure he would have no objections."
"Love?" Marcus's hopes for a quick match faltered.
"Love," Belle repeated, amused by his expression. "An odd basis for a marriage in our world, I grant you, but it is the only reason Simon would ever accept. If he even suspected a man of courting Julia for her fortune, I fear he would take drastic and decided action."
"So it will be pistols at dawn then, eh?" Marcus asked, wondering what action he should take if Toby's passion proved lasting.
"As Simon is not a member of the ton, I much doubt his challenge would be accepted," Belle said with a sagacious laugh. "More like he would beat the poor devil within an inch of his life, and then se
nd him on his way with a flea in his ear."
Marcus looked at Toby. "Oh."
The ride continued in silence, and while Belle wondered if she ought to make some effort to separate Julia from Mr. Flanders, Marcus was hastily reviewing his options. He knew that in the event Toby's infatuation faded—as it surely would—there was no way his doltish cousin could pretend to be in love with Miss Dolitan . . . however rewarding such a deception might prove. He spared a few seconds to mourn the loss of the badly needed dowry she might have brought with her, and then decided to put an end to the puppy's ardent pursuit. However much Toby might annoy him, he really had no desire to see him hurt.
"I meant to ask you, my lord, if you have heard from Lord St. Ives" Belle asked when she'd grown weary of the silence. "I had a note from Pip last week, and she mentioned they would be returning to the city within the week."
"Yes," Marcus answered, shaking off his glum thoughts. "Alex is returning for the session on the new Trade Acts, and I am looking forward to debating him."
"Are you?" Belle stirred with sudden interest, for she was quite interested in politics. Last year she'd even considered marrying Lord St. Ives so that she could obtain power as his political hostess, but the viscount had fallen in love with Pip instead, and after a riotous courtship which had kept all of London agog, they had married.
"You sound surprised," Marcus said in answer to her remark. "Do you think me so indifferent to my duties as a member of the House of Lords?"
"Of course not, sir," she denied, striving for indifference. "I was but expressing surprise that one Tory would waste his breath arguing against another."
Her response drew a low chuckle from him. "Yes, I'd forgotten you were afflicted with Whiggish sympathies," he said, slanting her a teasing grin. "But never fear, ma'am, I shan't hold your failings against you."
"Your lordship is too kind." Belle's melodic voice dripped with polite sarcasm.
"Not at all. But in response to your earlier remark, I will be debating against the proposed sanctions while St. Ives will be arguing in favor of them. Just because we are friends and fellow Tories doesn't mean we cannot possess differing opinions."
Belle was much struck by his remark. She and Pip had disagreed as often as they agreed, and their friendship remained firm. That this was also true of his lordship and St. Ives pleased her, for she recalled the heated and often bitter quarrels that had divided her uncles. She was brooding over her dark memories when she heard someone calling her name, and she glanced up to see a man on horseback galloping toward them.
"Miss Portham, I thought that was you!" Stephen Fraiser, the marquess of Berwick, greeted her with a charming smile, lifting his hat to her as he bowed in his saddle. "How long have you been back in London?"
"A few weeks, my lord," Belle answered, her social mask sliding easily into place. She'd met the marquess at several political meetings last year, and she thought him rather nice in a vague way.
"You're here for the debates, I'll wager." The marquess gave a rich chuckle. "If so, I should be happy to provide a pass to the visitors' gallery. I know how much you like politics."
He made her sound like a girl who was overly fond of bonbons, Belle thought sourly, her back stiffening at the condescension in his deep voice. "That is very good of you, sir," she began in her most dampening manner, "but—"
"But she has just accepted a pass from me," Marcus concluded, sending the other man a smile of masculine triumph. "Will you be debating, Berwick?"
Berwick's hazel eyes took on a sudden chill. "I had planned to, yes," he answered evenly. "And you?"
"Most assuredly. In fact, Miss Portham and I were just discussing the matter when you joined us. Tell me, my lord, are you for or against the trade sanctions being proposed?"
Berwick gave him a look that was fairly dripping with animosity. "I have not yet decided," he said, his tone curt. "Now, if you will excuse me, I see a friend ahead of me. Miss Portham, Colford." He wheeled his horse around and departed without another word.
An awkward silence followed, and it was a few seconds before Belle spoke. "There was no need for you to tell his lordship a clapper," she said, her eyes meeting his in cool disapproval. "I am more than capable of handling unwanted offers."
Marcus's jaw dropped at having his gallantry tossed back in his face. Granted his original motive for telling the lie was a desire to discomfit Berwick, but he'd also wanted to spare Miss Portham from embarrassment. And this was his thanks. Well, the devil with her, he decided, drawing himself up proudly.
"Of that, Miss Portham, I make no doubt," he said, every inch the offended earl. "In the future might I suggest you learn to discern a friendly offer from an unfriendly one before you so graciously decline both? Toby!" He called out to his cousin, who was still engaged in intense conversation with Miss Dolitan. "It is time to go."
"Now?" Toby looked crestfallen. "But—"
"Now," Marcus repeated firmly, his hands tightening on the reins. "We have imposed upon the ladies long enough."
Whatever his reluctance to be parted from his ladylove, Toby knew better than to argue when Colford's voice took on that hard edge. Turning to Miss Dolitan, he availed himself of her tiny hand and carried it to his lips. "The minutes will be as hours," he informed her, pitching his voice low. "Say you will be thinking of me."
Julia's cheeks bloomed with delight. " I . . . I suppose that might be arranged, sir," she said, keeping her eyes demurely cast down. Secretly she was thrilled, and couldn't wait to get home so that she could note the incident in her journal. It was just like the novels Miriam Westwood used to smuggle into the school, she thought, casting Toby a languishing look beneath her thick lashes. All that was required was parental disapproval, and their romance would be complete.
The Captain Portham Academy was located on a small back street far removed from the refined elegance of Mayfair. Glancing up at the sparkling windows and rosy bricks, Belle felt a swell of pride. The school for the orphaned children of England's gallant soldiers had long been a dream of hers, and she could still scarce believe it was a reality. Instructing her coachman to return in two hours, she gathered up her books and baskets and hurried inside.
The headmistress, Mrs. Langston, was hard at work in her study, but upon hearing of Belle's arrival, she hurried into the hall to greet her. "Miss Portham, what a pleasure to see you again!" she exclaimed, taking Belle's hand with a ready smile. "I hope all is well with you?"
"Quite well, Mrs. Langston, thank you," Belle answered, her light brown eyes sparkling with affection as she gazed at the diminutive woman. "I have brought some books for your older students," she said, indicating the basket at her feet, "and I was hoping you might let me peek in on a class while I am here."
"We would be delighted," Mrs. Langston assured her, thinking what a sweet creature her benefactress was. Those Society folk who labeled her as cold didn't know what they were saying, she decided, her expression thoughtful as she led the way to the classrooms located in the rear of the old house.
The first classroom they peeked into was for the younger children, and Belle spent several minutes listening to the lessons and then visiting with the small students. Those who knew her from previous visits knew she always carried sweetmeats in her pocket, and several small hands crept into her pocket, helping themselves to the unexpected treat. Only one girl hung back, her violet-colored eyes wary.
"And who might you be, my dear?" Belle asked, realizing the child was a recent addition. "I am Miss Portham."
The little girl gave a solemn nod. "I know," she said, her wispy voice scarcely reaching Belle's ears. "I heard the others talk about you."
"Then you have the advantage on me," Belle said. There was something about the girl that touched her deep inside. "Will you not tell me who you are?"
The teacher, flushing at her student's slowness in responding, stepped forward to provide her name, but Belle waved her back. The little girl hesitated, then raised her small chin with a gesture
of pride that pulled at Belle's heart. "I am Miss Amanda Perryvale," she said, her odd-colored eyes meeting Belle's with surprising maturity. "My papa was the youngest son of the duke of Tilton, and he was the bravest soldier that ever was."
"Indeed," Belle replied, wondering why the child was in their care when she was obviously so well connected. "My papa was a soldier, too. Did you know that?"
Again the little girl nodded. "He was killed in Spain," she provided, inching closer. "I heard Miss Pringle telling Miss Marston he was a captain. My papa was a colonel."
"Ah." Belle gave a solemn nod, understanding the child's desperate pride in her deceased father. "Then he must have been a very good soldier indeed."
Amanda's bottom lip trembled. "He was. My grandfather says I don't remember him, but I do remember. I do."
The defiance in that quavering voice was Belle's undoing. Without giving the matter another thought, she gathered the small girl against her, her hands gentle as she smoothed the blond hair from her flushed cheeks. "I know you do, dearest," she said softly, her own eyes misting as she gazed down into her face. "Your memories of your papa are the dearest things you have. Don't let anyone take them from you. All right?"
Amanda gave a loud sniff. "All right," she said, rubbing her eyes with a fist. "Can I have some candy, too?"
"Of course you may," Belle replied, blinking back tears as she handed the child a piece of wrapped chocolate. "There you are. Now, be a good girl and go back and join the others."
Later as she and Mrs. Langston sat in her study sharing a cup of tea, Belle asked her information on the little girl.
"Such a sad story, really," the older woman provided with a shake of her head. "Her mother was the daughter of her father's regimental sergeant, and he married her quite against his family's wishes. He fell at New Orleans when Amanda was scarce three, and his family disavowed any responsibility for them. They were living with her mother's aunt until eight weeks ago when her mother died in a carriage accident, and Amanda was eventually brought here."
Belle Of The Ball Page 3
