by Joan Smith
“I made them green, with ink,” Idle pointed out stiffly.
“Lud, whatever for?” Betsy demanded, but did not await an answer. “This gentleman’s been pestering the life out of me to get an introduction. It’s Mr. Moore, Rufus’s second cousin, and a great favorite of Lady Haldiman. I never suspected she had a filly’s tooth in her head.” She laughed raucously at this witticism.
Sara turned her attention to Mr. Moore and was much struck with his beauty. Like any gazetted fortune hunter, he put great effort into his appearance, and as nature had given him a good start, he turned out exceedingly well. Tall, well formed, with blond curls and blue eyes, he smiled a dazzling smile on her.
“I have heard a great deal about you, Miss Wood. May I hope for the honor of the next set?”
Her eyes just drifted left where Haldiman was leaving his partner, but as he did not immediately come toward her, she accepted Mr. Moore.
Haldiman did not approach, but he was minutely aware of all Sara’s partners. He did not want to reveal his intention publicly at this time by standing up with her too soon or too often. It was with great difficulty that he stood by and watched her accept Moore. It had not escaped his notice that Betsy’s attention was caught by the handsome scoundrel as well. Certainly she was interested, but he had some doubts that it would do. She was a guest in his house after all, and to cast Moore in her path until he learned more of the man’s current reputation was not the act of a proper host. He had heard a few rumors, no more.
Whatever of his reputation, Mr. Moore’s appearance and manners were exquisite. Sara was not often bowled over by a gentleman, but like all the other ladies, she found him hard to resist. His flirtation was so discreet that it hardly seemed like flirtation at all, but at the dance’s end she was very aware that Mr. Moore found her charming, and the feeling was entirely mutual.
Sir Swithin found her secret smile infuriating and hastened forward as soon as the dance was ended. Haldiman, similarly afflicted, beat him to her by five paces.
“Well, Sara,” he said with that false heartiness that tried to conceal jealousy, “I see you have had your dance with the illustrious Mr. Moore.”
Sir Swithin, catching the end of it, demanded, “Illustrious in what sphere, Haldiman? Shuffling cards, isn’t it? My only knowledge of Moore is that he is a Captain Sharp. Surely ‘illustrious’ should be saved for worthier endeavors. I realize, of course, that he is some kin to you,” he added as an afterthought, for he never liked to breach the proprieties.
Haldiman, curious to hear more of Moore’s reputation, said, “Only a second cousin.”
“Miss Harvey tells me he is a great favorite of your mama,” Sara mentioned.
“Mama invited him,” he admitted.
“One can see her dilemma, of course,” Sir Swithin remarked, glancing at the wall of ladies, “with such a surfeit of country demoiselles and so few partners.”
Haldiman grasped at this speech. “Every man is expected to do his duty, Idle. You have had a dance with Sara. You must now do the pretty with the provincial misses.”
“He means the other provincial misses,” Sara said, with a pert smile at Haldiman.
To call attention to his handiwork, Sir Swithin said, “When a lady is wearing one of my particular colored bouquets, we do not call her provincial, do we, Haldiman? The color, I promise you, was chosen to match the gown and not the lady’s state of social development.”
“Are they real?” Haldiman asked, surprised. “I had thought Sara was wearing silk flowers and regretted that I had not thought to send her something from the conservatory.”
“That is her escort’s prerogative, surely,” Swithin retorted sharply. “The result is achieved by plunging a fresh-cut flower in ink. I seal up the stem with wax after the color has risen to prevent leakage onto the gown.”
Sara had heard this so often, and Haldiman showed so little interest, that Sir Swithin did his duty and strolled down the line of country lasses, quizzing them all till he had made his choice. As there were none of Beauty’s daughters to tempt him, he chose the ugliest of the lot, for he insisted his partners be outstanding in some respect.
Sara turned her attention to Haldiman and said, “Is Moore not quite the thing, Haldiman? I am surprised Lady Haldiman invited him.”
“She thought he might amuse Betsy. We would not want her to be bored.”
This concern for Betsy had the effect of getting Sara on her high horse. “I did not think even Miss Harvey so demanding that she would be bored at her own ball.”
Haldiman’s conscience was ragged at the various stunts he had used to keep Miss Harvey from marrying Peter. And now he was in the ridiculous position of having to reverse all his plans and let Peter have her. After considering Sara’s words in the garden, he thought the couple would suit well enough. It was clear Betsy wouldn’t leave until she had nabbed someone for a husband. Better Peter than himself. “I did not mean to imply she is hard to please. She is really a very nice girl. She looks particularly well this evening, don’t you think?”
“Then I shan’t keep you from her a moment longer,” Sara replied. She gathered up her skirt in one hand and made an abrupt, angry exit, while Haldiman looked after her, wondering how he had given offense.
Lord Peter wandered by, frowning into his collar. “What the devil does Mama mean by asking Moore here?” he scolded.
“Why do you say that?”
“I have heard from two or three sources that he is not at all the thing, Rufus. Pockets to let. Owes every tradesman in the city. Let him get a whiff of Betsy’s fortune and he will be after her. Well, he already is.”
“Then you had best protect her,” Haldiman suggested. That’s all he said. Between brothers, it was enough. Lord Peter realized he was free to have Betsy, if he wished.
Chapter Twelve
It was a ball that gave more pleasure to the casual guests and to Peter’s sons, peering over the banister as threatened, than to those more closely involved. There was the returned Lord Peter to be examined for signs of colonization, and his fate to be decided. There was the visiting sister-in-law whose general deportment would give them some notion of Lord Peter’s late wife. Sir Swithin was always good for gossip, and there was Miss Wood-- how would that poor maiden fare in all this brouhaha?
“A handsome couple,” someone said, watching as Betsy and Haldiman stood, chatting a moment. It had not gone unnoticed that she opened the ball with Haldiman. “The girl turns out fine as a star.”
Knowing nods were exchanged. “It is time Haldiman settled down.”
“I hear she has a large dowry, but what of her family?”
“Oh excellent ton, for a colonial. Her cousin is the governor of Canada. She is already connected to the Haldimans, and a dowry of twenty-five thousand besides.”
The possibility of Haldiman having chosen his lady eclipsed even the return of Lord Peter as a subject of gossip. With the whole room abuzz, Sara could not help but overhear remarks. Haldiman’s denials notwithstanding, he was paying very particular attention to Betsy. It really seemed the girl had attached him. How had it happened so swiftly, she asked herself. Sir Swithin led her to the floor for a second dance, and she went as one in a daze. That caused a deal of talk, too. Miss Wood was too nice to give a gentleman two sets if she was not serious. Sara couldn’t hear their gossip, but she saw the curious eyes, flickering from her to Swithin to Peter.
“What about Lord Peter? Is he not going to do the right thing by Miss Wood?” someone asked. “A shame, and she so faithful all those years.” “It’s the kiddies she objects to, I fancy.” “She’ll not do better—unless you can call Idle a better man than Lord Peter.”
There hadn’t been such a full platter of romantic entremets to conjure with since Lord Peter’s departure. In the excitement, no one noticed that Mary and Betsy were twins. Mary had her own success, however. Richard Deverel, Haldiman’s cousin, came from Taunton for the ball and was much taken with her. He lacked a title,
but in all other respects he was unexceptionable. He was heir to a large and profitable estate, and, of course, his bloodlines crossed half the nobility of the land. Mary cared little for any of this, but she was smitten by his dark, flashing eyes and ready smile. He stood up with her, then they sat out a dance together, and when he had to give her up, he asked if she would take supper with him.
As the last dance before intermission drew to a close, Haldiman found Peter and said, “We should ask Sara to join us at our table.”
“Oh no. She will be dining with the Idles. She came with them.”
Haldiman’s jaw twitched in annoyance. “That was damned careless of us! We should have arranged it in advance.”
Lord Peter lifted a black brow in question. “You seem mighty interested in Sara all of a sudden, Rufus.”
Haldiman gave a self-conscious look. “It isn’t all that sudden, actually.”
“Good God! Then why have you been pushing me at her?”
“I thought she loved you.”
“Well, she don’t, and I don’t love her either. I am past that sort of love. All I want is a good wife. Mind you I ain’t so old that I don’t prefer a looker.” His eyes slid to Betsy. She had never looked finer. Yes, by gad, she would do.
Betsy came mincing forward and latched on to Haldiman’s arm. “I am ravenous after dancing my legs off all evening. What a splendid ball, Rufus. Your mama is waiting at our table. Let us go.”
“You accompany Betsy, Peter,” Haldiman said. “I’ll find Sara.”
“Lud, there isn’t room for all that crew at our table,” Betsy objected. “We would have to invite her escort and Lady Idle and Mrs. Wood as well. I’ve already asked Mary and Richard to join us. We won’t want that rattle of an Idle pestering us with his nonsense. Besides,” she smiled, “he’s prettier than I am. I don’t want such hot competition. Let Peter join Sara at their table.”
It was perfectly clear that Betsy’s coquettish airs were directed not at Peter, but his brother. He had succeeded too well in diverting her, and this development presented new problems. Haldiman cast a helpless look at Peter. But most of his attention was on that strong disinclination for Sara to be at any other table than his own. He hadn’t managed to stand up with her all evening. As surely as he was free, he found her occupied with another partner.
“We’ll all sit together. The table is large enough,” Haldiman said.
“It ain’t, you know,” Peter told him. “But it is large enough for one. Why do not you nab a seat by Sara, Rufus?”
Betsy stared. “Rufus is sitting with me. And in any case, Sara and Idle will not welcome the intrusion,” she said. “You know how it is when a couple are courting.” Her inviting eyes, full of suggestion, lingered on Haldiman till he felt hot under the collar.
“Nonsense!” he proclaimed loudly. He looked at Peter and saw none of the bristling objection a suitor ought to be displaying, but only a helpless smile of sympathy.
“We’ll all sit together,” Peter suggested. “You shall sit between us, Betsy.”
She had not the least objection to this arrangement and led her trophies off to the dining room. Haldiman noticed that the Idles and Woods were already hovering at a table on the far side of the room. He took his seat in a stiff manner, wanting to complain and having to pretend pleasure instead.
Betsy leaned close and said in a soft voice, “There is nothing like a ball to activate romance. There is little Mary, making great strides with your cousin. Sara and Idle as close as inkleweavers, and—us,” she finished, with a conspiratorial look.
He gave a repressive scowl, which Betsy fondly imagined to be annoyance at Peter, seated on her other side and making himself very agreeable. Haldiman took surreptitious glances across the room to Sara’s table. She never once looked within a right angle of him. No, it was that silly fop of an Idle who interested her.
In fact, it took a great effort on Sara’s part to keep her eyes from Haldiman’s table. They had a mind of their own and wanted to drift there to see Betsy throwing herself at him. It was only Idle’s ceaseless chatter that prevented it. Dinner seemed endless. Haldiman had to say a few discreet words about Peter’s return without going into much detail. Miss Harvey was formally welcomed, which set off a brisk spate of chatter.
It was the most unpleasant part of an unpleasant evening, and when supper was over, there was more dancing to endure. Haldiman set a fast pace to claim Sara, and when she coolly accepted, they both discovered it was a country dance, whose fast pace prevented any conversation as they romped up and down the line.
When it was over they were both breathing hard. “A glass of wine to cool down?” he suggested.
Sara noticed that Mary had stood up with Deverel again. Taking two sets and supper together was already a great deal, but Mary, heedless of propriety, was heading off somewhere with him. If she planned to slip outside—
“I must go,” she said, and left hurriedly to follow her sister. She caught Mary and Deverel up in the hallway, where they appeared to be heading to the library.
“Will you excuse us?” she said to Deverel. “I have something to say to my sister.”
Deverel looked as guilty as a cat with cream on his whiskers. “Certainly, Miss Wood. It’s not what you think! I mean, we weren’t trying to slip off. Mary has loosened the heel on her slipper, and I was just going to ask the butler if he could get it hammered back on.”
“Why don’t you take the slipper to him, and Mary and I will wait for you in the library?”
“An excellent idea.”
Mary slid off her slipper. Sara was relieved to see it did have a loose heel. Deverel left and she took Mary into the library for a scold.
“Deverel is being much too particular in his attentions, Mary. You must not stand up with him again.”
Mary turned a rapturous face toward her. “He’s going to call tomorrow, Sara. He’s staying a week with Haldiman, and if Mama will let me, I’m going to visit his family after. Isn’t he handsome?”
“Yes, rather, but--”
“I’ve met him before, you know, so it is not as though we were mere acquaintances. He’s visited the Hall often. He taught me how to catch tadpoles and everything. You remember Dickie Deverel.”
“Good God! Is that handsome boy Dickie Deverel?”
“Yes, he’s been away at Oxford, so we haven’t seen him for four years. He’s changed so much. He thinks I have changed, too,” she said, smiling like a moonling.
“What age is he?”
“Twenty-two. Do you think Mama will let me go?”
“Perhaps. We shall see.”
Richard Deverel was exactly the sort of gentleman their mother would approve of. She knew the family, and with Mary developing brash manners from her acquaintance with Betsy, it was not a bad idea to remove her from the neighborhood for a spell. “Of course you couldn’t go alone,” Sara pointed out.
“I know that!” Mary scoffed.
They discussed Deverel, mostly Mary talked and Sara listened, till he returned with the repaired slipper. “We’re going to talk to Mama,” Mary said, when she was fully shod. “Don’t worry, Sara. We won’t dance again. It’s so foolish. I wager in Canada you can dance more than twice with the same partner.”
Deverel gave her a chiding look. “That don’t mean we may do it here. When in Rome, you know.”
They left, and Sara felt so weary that she remained in the library, resting and gazing at the cold grate. Deverel seemed a sensible young man. She hoped something came of it. She idly picked up a magazine and flipped through the pages. It was La Belle Assemblée. Lady Haldiman had no interest in fashion. It must be Betsy’s. She was putting her stamp on the Hall already. There were other fashion magazines there, along with Haldiman’s hunting journals. Did the two of them sit here together in the evenings, reading and chatting? In a fit of pique she tossed the magazine toward the table, but overshot the mark and it fell on the floor.
“I hope that’s not my Huntsman’s Qua
rterly. I haven’t read it yet,” a voice said. Glancing up, she saw Haldiman standing in the doorway, watching her with his dark eyes, and her heart began to gallop. How long had he been there? He strolled into the room, wearing a tentative air. “Are you not enjoying the party, Sara?”
“Very much,” she lied. “Mary just loosened her heel—”
“Deverel told me. I think a romance is hatching there. He also told me he could stay a week. His visit was to be for two days only.” He went to the wine table and poured two glasses before joining her. “Persistence pays off in the end. You refused to join me for wine. Now you shall have a harder time finding an excuse to get away. The next dance has begun. It’s having wine with me or standing in the card room, pretending to be interested in whist.”
She accepted the glass. “Thank you.”
Haldiman sat down beside her. There were a dozen things he wanted to say to Sara, but a ball hardly seemed the place for any of them. “That’s quite a getup on Idle this evening,” he said, and immediately regretted it. It sounded rude, if she actually cared for him.
“Betsy gave offense, I fear, to suggest it was not his own design.”
“She doesn’t mean any harm.”
Sara noticed his swift defense and rushed in with a disclaimer. “Oh no! Indeed, I didn’t mean to imply that. She is charming.”
“I know you have been wondering why I was so eager to keep her from Peter. You have made me realize her eligibility. Really, she looks quite stunning this evening, don’t you think?” Sara gave a mental wince and agreed.
Haldiman knew the next part of his speech was rough ground. He had to explain why he had urged Peter on Sara when his real wish was to marry her himself. How did you tell a woman such a disjointed tale without sounding like an idiot? His brows drew together in a frown.
“I thought, when Peter returned, that you two might resume your romance. It really was not my intention to nab Betsy for myself. I always felt very badly about his behavior. Then when you appeared to be getting over your reluctance—you recall that day in the meadow when Betsy and I came across you ...”
