Five
T he Merricks' home in Knightsbridge was alive with laughter and music when Belle and her cousins arrived. Julia was almost immediately surrounded by the group of young ladies she had met at previous balls, while several of Georgiana's friends arrived to carry her off. Only Belle was left standing in the doorway, and for a moment a feeling of almost overwhelming loneliness washed over her. She was about to go in search of the punch bowl when Lord Berwick walked up to greet her.
"Miss Portham," he murmured, his hazel eyes filled with admiration as he bent over her hand. "May I say how lovely you look this evening?"
"Thank you, my lord," she replied, pleased by his flattery. The gown was of her own design, and she felt the gold and cream striped silk conveyed the image of cool and regal elegance she was trying to project.
"Did you ever learn what became of your coachman? I trust he hadn't met with an ancient," Lord Berwick said as he guided Belle toward the ballroom, where the lilting strains of a waltz could be heard.
"Nothing so serious, thank heavens," she said, pleased he had thought to ask. "Apparently someone cut the reins while he was away from the carriage, and it took some time to repair the damage. He was most distressed."
"I can imagine," Berwick replied with a low chuckle. "Most employers would have been furious to discover their coachman tippling while on duty."
"A pint of ale hardly qualifies as a 'tipple sir," Belle said, defending Jackson with a slight frown. "He is an exemplary driver, and I would trust him with my life."
"Your loyalty to your staff does you proud, Miss Portham," the marquess said, patting the gloved hand that rested in the cradle of his arm, "but it never does to coddle one's servants. I trust you gave the man the sack?"
Belle stiffened at the condescending tones. "Then you would trust wrong, my lord," she said frostily, her lips tightening in displeasure. "As I have said, Jackson is an exemplary driver, and I see no reason to dismiss him for one mistake . . . especially one that was none of his doing."
"Now I've offended you," he murmured, pulling her to a halt and sending her a contrite smile. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I assure you I didn't mean to sound so insufferably high in the instep. May I hope you will forgive me?"
Despite her displeasure at his presumptuousness, Belle decided it would be uncivil to remain hipped, especially in light of his wry apology. "Very well," she said, tilting back her head to study his face. "You are forgiven . . . for now."
Her reply seemed to amuse him, and he was smiling as they resumed walking. "I might have known you would be as cautious as you are gracious," he said wryly. "And I must say I admire you for it. It is always wisest to hedge one's bets."
"I had no idea that is what I was doing," Belle commented, her eyes seeking out Julia as they entered the ballroom. She saw her out on the dance floor where a new set was forming, and was pleased to see her dancing with someone other than Toby.
"Caution is the hallmark of prudence," the marquess replied, "and as a politician, prudence is something I admire very much. These are uncertain times, and I feel England must move forward with the greatest care if we are to realize our destiny as a nation. Do you not agree?"
Belle gazed up at him in astonishment, trying to remember the last time a man had asked her opinion on a political matter. Then she realized one never had. Most gentlemen of her acquaintance seemed to think women incapable of discussing anything more weighty than fashion or the latest on-dit.
"Care must be taken, certainly," she began, her pleasure stirring, "but it must not be confused with complacency. Our world is changing every day, and we must take care to change with it least we run the risk of being left in the dust."
"My sentiments exactly, Miss Portham. How I wish certain members of Parliament shared your vision and your intellect. They move with painful slowness when it comes to such matters, and the very threat of change is enough to send them into the vapors."
Belle felt herself glowing at his words of praise. For the first time in months she began to reconsider her plan to marry for political gain. Lord Berwick not only shared her interests, but he seemed willing to encourage them; a definite change from most men, she decided, and then was annoyed to find herself thinking of Colford. She much doubted he would have praised her vision and her intellect when it came to political matters.
As they danced, she and Berwick continued their fascinating discussion. When he asked for a second dance, she hesitated only a few more moments before agreeing, something she rarely did. He escorted her to where Georgiana was waiting, and he was scarcely out of earshot before the older lady began quizzing her.
"Well, well, well, you are a deep one, I must say," Georgiana drawled, fanning herself with languid movements. "I never thought you were interested in Berwick."
"I'm not interested in him, Cousin," Belle denied, mindful as always of her privacy. "He did me a kindness the other day, and I was but repaying him. You refine on nothing."
"Hmph, don't try to cozen me, young lady," the other woman grumbled, looking most insulted. "I know better."
"Indeed, and on what bodily part do you base this secret knowledge?" Belle asked sardonically, amused by her adamant attitude. "Your ankle, perhaps?"
"No, you little imp, I am basing it on these"—Georgiana indicated her eyes—"and on this." She tapped her temple. "I ain't so old I don't know what's what. 'Tis plain as a pikestaff the two of you are smelling of April and May, and I must say I am relieved to see it. I was beginning to fear you was falling into spinsterhood."
"I am well over five and twenty, Cousin Georgiana," Belle replied with an amused drawl. "There are those who would say I have not only fallen into spinsterhood, I have landed and settled in for the duration."
"With your fortune?" Georgiana gave a loud snort. "Don't be silly, gel. You'd be as eligible as the freshest-faced deb, was you my age!"
Her fortune again, Belle thought, her heart sinking. Why did it always come down to that?
"But you mustn't think I disapprove," Georgiana continued thoughtfully. "Berwick would make a most acceptable match for you. A marquess, and possessed of a respectable fortune. Not like some I could name," she added with a loud sniff.
"To whom are you referring, ma'am?" For the second time that night her thoughts drifted toward the earl of Colford. Since learning of his strained circumstances, she'd been trying to think of some way to be of assistance to him. In the depressing event Toby and Julia did make a match of it, they would be related . . . distantly, and she didn't want it whispered that she allowed her relations to suffer while she lived in luxury. At least, that was the explanation she gave herself.
"Most of the men in this room are halfway up the River Tick, and them that ain't are in debt to the moneylenders," Georgiana said with her usual grim bluntness. "I say latch on to Berwick and cart him off to the parson before some other female beats you to it. If anyone was born to be a lady, it is you."
"Thank you, Cousin . . . I think," Belle drawled, wondering if she'd just been praised or cleverly insulted. With Georgiana it was occasionally difficult to tell the difference.
The fact she'd stood up with Berwick hadn't gone unnoticed, and Belle spent the next hour declining offers from a variety of hopeful gentlemen. Finally she was forced to retreat to the terrace to escape the importunities of several rather persistent fortune hunters, and she'd no sooner reached her haven when she heard footsteps behind her.
"Miss Portham, I was wondering—"
"No, I do not wish to dance," she interrupted, not turning around. "If you please, I'd rather be left alone."
There was a moment of silence, and then an amused voice drawled, "I am, of course, devastated by your refusal, but do you think you might let me ask before throwing the offer in my face?"
Belle whirled around as she recognized Lord Colford's husky tones. "My lord!" she exclaimed, grateful the moonlight hid her look of mortification. "Forgive my rudeness, but I thought you were one of those tiresome puppies who have been
plaguing me."
"What tiresome puppies? Give me their names, and I shall call them to accounts at once," Marcus teased, enjoying the play of light and shadow across her face. He'd arrived less than ten minutes ago, and had wasted no time seeking her out. At the time he'd told himself it was because he wanted to settle this business with Toby, but gazing down at her, he wondered if that was all there was to it. He immediately pushed the uncomfortable thought to the back of his mind.
"They are of no importance," Belle said, dismissing them with an impatient wave of her hand. "Is Mr. Flanders with you?"
"Unfortunately," Marcus replied, grimacing at the memory of the battle he'd waged to get his heir to accompany him. After waiting impatiently for Toby to join him, he'd gone upstairs to discover him holed up in his study, scribbling what he called his "ode to a dragon." It had taken considerable effort on his part to pry him loose, but in the end he'd prevailed.
"Why do you say that?" Belle asked curiously, noticing the impatience that flashed across his face. "He's not bosky, is he?"
"Aye, but not on spirits," Marcus grumbled, and at her blank look added, "He was deep in the throes of creativity when I reminded him of the ball, and he was ill pleased when I insisted he accompany me. Ah well, I am sure Miss Dolitan will charm him out of the sulks. He was leading her out onto the dance floor the last I saw of him."
His words reminded Belle of her embarrassing faux pas, and she hurriedly sought to change the subject. "Speaking of Julia, what did you think of today's outing? It went rather well, don't you think?"
"By 'rather well,' I take it you are referring to the fact that Miss Dolitan scarce said more than three words to Toby the entire time we were there," Marcus said, recalling the stiff silence that had existed between the younger members of the party.
"He was hardly any more civil to her," Belle responded in Julia's defense. "But yes, that is precisely what I meant. Do you think it is working?"
"Possibly, although it is too early to abandon our plans just yet. Have you any other ideas in mind?"
"Well, I thought we might take them to see the Marbles and other public events," she said after a moment's consideration. "We'll take them for rides in the park and allow them the freedom accorded courting couples . . . properly chaperoned, of course."
"Of course."
"And if worst comes to worst, you can bring Toby to tea every day until she cannot bear the sight of him," Belle concluded, ignoring the hint of laughter in his deep voice. "If that doesn't do the trick, then we'll think of something else. There, what do you think?" She gave him a triumphant look.
"It does have its merits," Marcus agreed at last, his tone thoughtful. "There are risks involved, but I suppose that cannot be avoided in any endeavor."
"What risks?" Belle demanded, annoyed he should find fault with her plan.
"To begin, rather than parting our tiresome lovers, we might only succeed in drawing them closer together," he said bluntly, his gray eyes meeting hers. "An unlikely occurrence, I grant you, but it is a possibility we must consider. As is the possibility their affection is genuine. Have you thought about that?"
Belle's eyes wavered, but she managed to hold his gaze. "Of course I've thought about it," she said, feeling a sudden awkwardness. "And naturally if their feelings should prove to be lasting, I shall reconsider the situation."
"All right." He decided to let the matter pass for the moment. "What about the other risk we are running? The risk to ourselves? You must know that if we follow this plan of yours, we will become the targets of a great deal of eager speculation. People will assume we are the ones who are courting."
She hadn't considered that, she admitted silently, but now that she did, she could see that he was right. That is what people would think, and she supposed she couldn't blame them. A week ago such a suggestion would have had her screaming a furious denial; now she merely shrugged.
"I don't think that should prove an insurmountable problem," she said with considerable calm. "We have only to deny it, and in any event, we both have other escorts. Once we are seen with other people, that should put an end to the tattle." She thought of Lady Bingington and Julia's confidence that he would be making her an offer within a few weeks.
"That is so," he said, thinking of Berwick. "Then you don't mind having our names linked?"
"Certainly not," she denied huffily, turning away to gaze out over the small patch of green that passed as a garden. "When nothing comes of it, people will find some other excuse to wag their tongues. It will be forgotten in a fortnight."
"Perhaps," Marcus agreed, watching her speculatively. Despite his concern for Toby, he found he was equally concerned for her. Only last year he'd watched St. Ives suffer the pain of the damned as he'd struggled to spare his fiancée from the gossip caused by a foolish wager, and he had no intention of following suit. Miss Portham might be an annoying little vixen, but he wasn't about to have her reputation made fodder for the ton's delection. At the first hint of talk, he would take steps to put an end to the tattle.
The ride in the park the following day went as smoothly as Belle could have liked, for unless she was much mistaken, Julia was decidedly cool to Mr. Flanders. He also seemed somewhat distant, although the cause for this might have lain with his preoccupation with his writing. Colford confided rather disgustedly that the younger man had spent most of the night scribbling away on his poem, driving him mad with his creative airs and his constant demand for words that rhymed with dragon.
The next day's ride through the park was equally strained, and as she watched the young couple riding ahead of them in sullen silence, Belle turned to the earl.
"The course of true love appears to be rather stormy this morning," she said, with a slight smile. "Am I to take it Mr. Flanders is still in the grips of his muse?"
"In the grips of something, at any rate," Marcus replied darkly, shooting Toby a speaking glare. "He was up again half the night, wandering about the house in his shirt sleeves and talking to himself. Jameson, my butler, took me aside this morning and tactfully suggested that I have him bled."
"Will you?"
"I would if I thought it would do a whit of good." Marcus shifted in his saddle and a grinned. "And what of Miss Dolitan? Shall I send the leech to your house once he has finished with Toby?"
"I think leeches are unnecessary at this time, my lord," she said after a moment's consideration. "Julia has been down in the sulks of late, but Georgiana assures me 'tis nothing to fret over. She says young girls are prone to these moods and that I mustn't pay them any mind."
"Sage advice," Marcus agreed. "But then, you must remember what it was like when you were that age. 'Ah, youth, what a shame to waste it on the young,'" he quoted, shaking his head with a mournful sigh.
Belle managed a slight smile. In truth, she hadn't a notion what it was like to be nineteen . . . a normal nineteen, she amended unhappily. At that age she'd been embroiled in a bitter wrangle to wrest control of her fortune from her grasping relations, and the fight had left her even more withdrawn and distrustful of people. It was only in the last year or so that she had been able to lower her guard with others, and she wondered wistfully if she would ever be as open and carefree as her ward.
Marcus was also lost in bittersweet memories of his nineteenth year. Even at that tender age he'd known the responsibility for saving Colford would fall to him, and he'd watched with impotent fury as his father ran through the remaining inheritance. Part of him had longed to say the devil with it all and run away, to the sea perhaps, or even to America, where he could make a new life for himself. But the demands of duty and blood had prevailed, and here he was at five and thirty in debt up to his eyebrows and facing the grim realization that despite all he had done, it was still not enough. If he didn't make an advantageous marriage soon, all would be lost.
As they fell into a troubled silence, Toby finally emerged from his creative fog to notice the icy fury emanating from his companion. Studying her sulky express
ion, he cleared his throat and said, "I say, Julia, you ain't sickening after something, are you? You've been acting dashed odd these past few days."
Julia's head shot up. "I've been acting odd!" she exclaimed, her blue eyes flashing with indignation. "And what of your behavior? You've scarce said three words to me all morning, and that was about that silly poem you have been writing."
Toby stiffened at the cutting words. "I beg your pardon, Miss Dolitan," he said in perfect imitation of his formidable cousin. "I had no idea you found my writing so tiresome. My apologies if I was boring you."
"Well, you were," Julia snapped peevishly, feeling perilously close to tears. "It is all you talk about these days . . . when you talk at all."
For someone who'd spent most of his life being berated for his loquaciousness, Toby had no idea how to respond to such a charge. He glared at her, wracking his brain for some proper response. "Oh, really?" he managed at last.
"Yes, really!" Julia retorted with another glare. "And then there was the cowardly way you crept from my cousins' house, like a naughty little boy hiding from his governess's wrath."
"Little boy!" Toby howled, his pride stinging at the belittling description.
"Naughty little boy," she corrected with a tearful toss of her head. "I'd never thought to see you behave in such an unheroic manner, Toby, and I quite wonder what I ever saw in you. Cousin Julia is right; you are nothing more than a . . . a . . . poetry-spouting dandy!"
Toby's round chin firmed with fury at what he considered the ultimate insult. He drew himself up to his full height and sent her a look fairly dripping with disdain. "And you, Miss Dolitan, are naught but an empty-headed little goose," he accused, proud of the cold hauteur in his voice. "Now, if you will excuse me, I believe I shall return to my one and true love . . . my muse." And with that he dug his heels into his horse's side, leaving a sobbing Julia behind in a cloud of choking dust.
Belle Of The Ball Page 7
