Belle Of The Ball

by Joan Overfield

  On the return journey to Marcus's house, Simon decided he'd had enough of the earl's brooding silence. Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned back against the squabs of his hired coach and fixed Marcus with a thoughtful look. "It seems to me that Julia isn't the only one who stands in need of a purging," he remarked with a half smile. "You have been quiet as the grave, my lord, and much as I appreciate a man who knows how to hold his tongue, I am growing weary of my own voice. Is something amiss?"

  Marcus stirred restlessly, his eyes flickering toward Simon's sardonic face. "I beg your pardon, Dolitan," he said, forcing his bleak thoughts to one side. "I am afraid I have a great deal on my mind. My apologies for being such poor company."

  "Not at all," Simon answered, for having seen the extent of the burden Colfold had inherited, he could well understand his pensive mood. The only wonder was that he'd managed to keep the estate out of bankruptcy before now, and the fact that he had said a great deal about both his tenacity and his business abilities. As a man who admired such things, Simon determined to do what he could to assist him.

  "Your knowledge of horses is amazing, my lord," he said, pretending to study the traffic flowing past the coach. "Have you ever given thought to investing in a farm? You would do rather well, I think."

  Marcus gave a bleak laugh. "Thank you, Dolitan, but I fear an investment of any kind is above my touch at the moment."

  Simon paused, knowing he had to tread a fine line if he hoped to succeed. "An investment need not always be monetary in nature, my lord," he said, striving for indifference. "Experience is sometimes a far more important commodity."

  "What do you mean?" Marcus asked, intrigued despite his dark thoughts.

  "I have more than enough to invest in my own stud farm," he said, deciding the time had come to lay his cards upon the table. "But I scarce know one end of a horse from another. This gives me one of two unattractive alternatives. I can either attempt to run the thing myself, or I can place myself in the hands of a manager and pray he doesn't fleece me in the bargain. Neither of these choices appeals to me, as I am sure you can understand."

  Marcus didn't pretend not to understand precisely. "Are you attempting to hire me as your steward, Mr. Dolitan?" he asked, his jaw clenching with suppressed fury.

  "Not at all," Simon replied, equally cool. "I want you to be my partner in a thoroughbred farm. I will provide the horses, you provide the knowledge and the proper business connections to the ton. What say you, your lordship? Have we a deal?"

  The next two days were too filled with activity for Belle to have much time for brooding. Although Julia's betrothal had yet to be announced, word had somehow leaked out, and invitations for the young couple arrived with each morning's post. Ideally Julia should have handled matters herself, but she'd become so dreamy-eyed of late, she was no earthly good, and Belle finally admitted defeat and resumed the task. She was leafing through a fresh pile of invitations one morning when Gibson announced Lord Berwick had called and was waiting upon her in the drawing room.

  For a moment she considered having the butler tell him she was indisposed, but she reluctantly decided that was hardly the proper way to treat a marquess. Instructing Gibson to inform his lordship that she would join him in a few minutes, she dashed upstairs to tell Georgiana of their caller, and then hurried into her rooms to change into a more attractive gown.

  Georgiana was pressing cakes and tea upon the marquess when she made her appearance, a hand held out in greeting as she approached him. "Good afternoon, my lord," she said with a smile of polite welcome pinned to her lips. "What a pleasant surprise to find you here! I trust you are well?"

  "Quite well, Miss Portham," he answered, his eyes warm as he carried her hand to his lips for a brief kiss. "I realize I ought to have written first, but as I was nearby, I decided to take the risk of calling unannounced. I hope I haven't come at an inopportune time?"

  "Of course not, my lord!" Georgiana fairly beamed at him. "We were just sitting about wishing for company, weren't we, my dear?" And she turned a commanding gaze on Belle.

  "Pining for it," she replied dutifully, wondering what new maggot was gnawing at her cousin's brain.

  "There, you see?" Georgiana said to Berwick with a fatuous smile. "You are more than welcome for a comfortable chat. Although I hope you will excuse me if I sit over by the fire; these old bones, you know, and it's been so horribly damp of late, I quite ache all over."

  She hurried over to the far side of the room with an agility that made her claim for frailty patently false. Belle gave her visitor a faintly apologetic smile. "Subtlety has never been Georgiana's long suit," she said, indicating with a wave of her hand that he should resume his seat. "I hope you don't mind, for she means well."

  "Not at all, Miss Portham," he said, leaning toward her with a conspiratorial smile. "In fact, I appreciate her tact as this will give me a moment to be private with you."

  "Oh?" Belle wasn't certain she cared for the sound of that.

  "Pray, don't be offended," he said hastily, hearing the displeasure in her voice. "My intentions are strictly honorable, I assure you."

  Belle liked the sound of that even less, and gave him a haughty look. "I would ask that you say no more, my lord," she said, drawing on her reputation for coldness. "I am pleased that you have called, but that is all."

  "Of course, I understand completely," he said, patting her hand as if she were a child. "This is neither the time nor the place, but I can wait until we're alone . . . truly alone, before saying more. Mum's the word."

  "Lord Berwick, I fear you have misunderstood me. I meant—"

  The door opened without warning, and Julia came waltzing in on Toby's arm. Simon and Marcus brought up the rear, and at the sight of the visitor, both men stopped short. Marcus's eyes narrowed in possessive fury to see the other man sitting so intimately with Belle, and he moved forward without thinking.

  "Ah, this is where you are, my lord," he drawled, his voice stopping just short of insolence. "We missed you in the debating sessions this morning."

  "I had other matters on my mind, Colford," the marquess answered loftily. "Politics isn't everything, you know."

  "Perhaps, but I wouldn't admit as much in front of Miss Portham. She is of the opinion that politics is the raison d'être of any honorable man; is that not so, ma'am?" His gray eyes cut to Belle's face.

  Although she couldn't recall ever saying as much to him, it was close enough to the truth to suit Belle. "And not just gentlemen, my lord," she added with a proud toss of her head. "We ladies are not totally disinterested in such matters."

  "Of course you aren't, Miss Portham," Berwick said, giving her hand another pat. "And such interest is most becoming."

  If the idiot touched her one more time, he would strangle him with his own cravat, Marcus decided savagely, his hands balling into fists. He remembered what Alex had said about their making a suitable match, and it sent a shaft of agony through him. He could bear anything but for her to enter into such a bloodless arrangement.

  If Berwick patted her hand like an indulgent papa one more time, she would dump the teapot over his head, scandal or nay, Belle thought, her patience evaporating. It didn't help her lacerated nerves that Marcus was glaring down at them like an outraged husband, and she would feel her head beginning to pound from the tension. Wonderful, she thought glumly, a migraine was all she needed to make this day a complete disaster.

  To her surprise, Julia hurried forward, her golden eyebrows gathered in a frown, as she studied her. "Why, Belle, you are positively white!" she chided, brushing past Marcus to kneel at her side. "You're getting one of your headaches, aren't you?"

  "I am afraid that I am," Belle said, grasping at Julia's concern with desperate gratitude. She knew it was cowardly to quit the field, but she was simply too weary to care. There were undercurrents in the room she didn't understand, and she needed to be alone so that she could sort them out. She turned to the marquess since he was closest to her.
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  "I hope you will pardon me, sir, but I am afraid I must cry off," she said with a tight smile. "Thank you for stopping by."

  "Of course, of course." He was all gallantry. "My dearest mother was a slave to the vapors; I quite understand. May I call upon you tomorrow and take you for a drive in the park?"

  "That will be fine, sir," Belle promised, although she had no intention of getting into a carriage with him. She'd send him a note tomorrow pleading illness, she decided, murmuring excuses to the others as she took her leave.

  To her surprise, Julia insisted upon accompanying her up to her room, gently assisting her into a wrapper and into bed. "And mind you stay there," she scolded, brushing a lock of hair from Belle's forehead. "I don't want you to stir so much as an inch until after tea!"

  "Yes, Julia," Belle said, too exhausted to be other than faintly amused at the younger woman's peremptory manner. She lay on the bed with her eyes closed, listening as Julia bustled about the room closing drapes and whispering instructions to Annette. Finally she was alone and she snuggled down against the pillows, surrendering gratefully to the comforting darkness.

  "I still say you ought to have sent for a physician," Marcus said, his mouth tight with disapproval as he glared at the closed door of the drawing room. "What if her head injury is plaguing her? She could fall asleep, and never wake up."

  "I think there is little danger of that," Simon replied soothingly, wryly intrigued by the earl's anger. "I've known my cousin several years, and she has had these headaches before. It will pass if she is left alone."

  Marcus sent him a black scowl, annoyed by his indifference to his cousin's pain. When he'd seen her white face and the suffering that dulled her golden eyes, it had taken all of his control not to sweep her into his arms and carry her off to his house, where she could receive proper care. It was evident no one here gave a fig about Belle, he decided righteously, turning his icy gaze on Mrs. Larksdale, who was enjoying her tea with seeming unconcern.

  "And what of you, ma'am?' he demanded haughtily. "Aren't you at least going to go up and check on your cousin's welfare?"

  "Why would I do that?" Georgiana asked. "The poor dear is exhausted, and the last thing she needs when she has one of these attacks is a lot of people hovering over her. Rest and complete silence, that is the cure that will prove the most effective."

  Marcus said nothing, accepting sullenly that there was little he could do about the situation. He would call upon her tomorrow, he promised himself, forcing his tense muscles to relax. If he found she was still unwell, he would fetch the doctor himself, and the devil with the proprieties!

  After several abortive attempts to drag Toby away from Julia, Marcus gave up and returned home alone. There was a note from his solicitor waiting for him, and after reading the urgently worded missive, he set out for Harley Street, his expression resigned. Since notifying the other man of his failure to make a prosperous marriage, he'd been expecting such a letter, and he wondered how bad the news would be. Less than fifteen minutes after walking into Mr. Hampson's rooms, however, is grim expression had changed to one of incredulity.

  "What do you mean my debts have been bought up?" he demanded, struggling to understand what he was hearing. "How could such a thing happen without my permission?"

  "Quite easily, actually," the solicitor explained with a bright smile. "One has but to pay your creditors the amount owed them, and your vowels become their property. It is done all the time and is, I assure you, quite legal."

  Marcus ran a hand through his hair, fighting a mixture of emotions, from relief to angry suspicion. Just what the devil was going on? he wondered. And how would it impact the estate? He fixed the other man with a narrow-eyed look. "Does this mean I am now free of debt?"

  "Unfortunately not," Mr. Hampson replied with a regretful sigh. "It merely means that rather than owing the sum to one party, you now owe it to another."

  "Who?"

  The solicitor shuffled his papers and nervously cleared his throat. "I . . . That is the difficulty, my lord," he admitted, avoiding Marcus's eyes. "The party . . . whoever he is, has chosen to remain anonymous."

  Simon's hard face flashed into Marcus's mind. He wondered if the other man had paid off his debts for some Machiavellian purpose known only to him, or if some unknown enemy had purchased them in order to drive him onto the rocks. "Is there a way I can find out?" he asked, fighting to keep his voice level.

  "Anything is possible, I suppose," Hampson replied after a thoughtful pause. "Although I don't see why you should bother. Your new creditor has made it obvious he doesn't intend pressing for immediate payment, and has even hinted at a willingness to overlook several of the older debts."

  "How generous of him," Marcus drawled, his lips curling in an unpleasant smile. "But what happens if he changes his mind and demands immediate payment? What then?"

  Again the solicitor would not meet his eyes. "Then I suppose things could become rather difficult," he admitted awkwardly, "but I don't think—"

  "No, I can see that you do not," Marcus interrupted, surging impatiently to his feet. "Perhaps you are willing to put your faith in this mysterious benefactor, but I cannot afford to be so naive," he said in his coldest voice. "Whoever he is, he holds the fate of Colford in his hands, and I would know his name. Do you understand me, Hampson?"

  "I . . ." Hampson started to protest, and then swallowed his words at the deadly look on the earl's face. "Yes, my lord," he concluded. "I understand perfectly."

  Belle awoke the next morning to find her headache quite gone. While she was grateful to be free of the pain, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret. A headache would have provided the perfect excuse to avoid Berwick's rather persistent company, and now she would have to think of something else. For a brief moment she considered feigning a return of her illness, but she dismissed that as being beneath her. She'd never resorted to such tiresome feminine ploys before, and she wasn't about to start doing so now. She was The Golden Icicle, she reminded herself as she rang for Annette, and she'd frozen out men far more determined than the marquess.

  Half an hour later she walked into the breakfast room to discover the others had already eaten and set out to explore the city. Feeling somewhat abandoned, she sat down, annoyed with both her family and herself. What on earth ailed her? she brooded, poking disconsolately at her food. She was accustomed to being alone, thrived on it, as a matter of fact, and these past few months had been rather a strain for her. Much as she loved her cousins, having someone constantly underfoot had been hard, and by rights she ought to be rejoicing at the unexpected freedom.

  But she wasn't rejoicing. She was feeling lost, rejected, and yes, she admitted with a troubled sigh, lonely. These were all-too-familiar emotions, and ones she'd spent her adult life trying to escape. She'd considered that she was the better for it, but now she realized she'd only been deluding herself. The realization was enough to destroy the little appetite she had.

  She spent the rest of the morning going over her books and answering her correspondence. When Lord Berwick arrived for their drive, she considered sending him on his way with a blunt message not to bother her again, but after a moment's thought, she changed her mind and decided to go with him. Anyone's company was preferable to her own, even if it was someone like Berwick.

  He was waiting in the drawing room, and at the sight of her, he leapt to his feet. "I am pleased to see you have recovered from your illness," he told her, availing himself of her hand and carrying it to his lips. "I could hardly sleep a wink last night, I was so concerned."

  "I am quite recovered, my lord," Belle replied drolly, thinking he looked rather bright-eyed and pink-cheeked to have spent a sleepless night. "Thank you for your concern."

  "Not at all." For a moment she feared he was going to pat her hand again, but he pressed another kiss to it instead. "Are you ready for our drive? I've been looking forward to it all day."

  "I'm sure you have." She was just able to keep the sarca
sm out of her voice. "But I'm afraid we must wait for Annette to join us. She should only be a moment."

  "Annette?" The marquess's brows gathered in a frown.

  "My abigail." As his frown deepened into a scowl, she added, "Surely, my lord, you didn't expect me to accompany you without a chaperon?"

  The dark look he sent her made it obvious that he did. "You are scarce a green girl, Miss Portham, who must need guard her reputation with such fanatic devotion," he grumbled, some of his surface charm dissipating. "It would hardly create a scandal for you to accompany me for a ride in an open carriage."

  "Perhaps not." The smile she gave him could have frozen fire. "But that is a risk I choose not to run. If you don't wish to wait, I quite understand. Another time, perhaps?"

  Berwick's hazel eyes narrowed, and Belle could almost feel him weighing his options. His lips firmed and he took a decisive step toward her. "A ride is unnecessary, Miss Portham. I can say what I have to say here as well as in my carriage; better, for I shan't have to contend with some foolish servant listening to my every word."

  Belle's sardonic amusement faded at the determined look on his face, and she began retreating toward the door. "My lord, I do not think this is wise—"

  "I thought about pretending to have fallen in love with you," he said coolly, continuing his advance, "but it is obvious you have as little use for that emotion as I do. Let us be blunt with each other, my dear. You have something I want, money, and I have something you want, my position in the House of Lords. It is only logical that we marry. Do you not agree?"

  "I do not!" Belle gasped, horrified by the calculating proposal, and more horrified still to realize that once, she might have actually considered his offer.

  "Why?" He looked faintly amused. "I have made a study of you, Miss Portham, and I know you better than you know yourself. With your little charities, and your dabbling in politics, you have been longing for the one thing even your great fortune cannot buy, and that is access to political power. Power which would be yours as my wife. Society marriages have been made with far less in common, so I see no reason why you should object. That is the reason you have been allowing Colford to dance attendance upon you, isn't it?" he added when she continued to stare at him.