“Of course you will not, old man. Remember, you are not a medical man in this company, only another eligible gentleman at our party. My wife will not appreciate your indelicate knowledge of the upcoming event, no matter how much joy it presently gives us.” John paused and looked out over his sea of guests. “But you must be introduced at once. Delphinium knows your part in my restoration to health and is eager to meet you, as well. If only I might find her . . .”
Ben used the respite to once again seek out his cousin. In the corner, near the buffet, a bald-headed man cornered a lady of perhaps fifteen. She looked terrified. Yes, that could be Raeborn. Recently widowed, and still childless, the old goat would undoubtedly be pursuing the fifth Lady Raeborn. And as Raeborn grew older, each lucky lady seemed to get proportionally younger than the last.
“Ah! I see her! She looks very engaged in what must be the latest gossip, but if you can get her attention, her curiosity might be sufficiently aroused to pull her away from her sister and friend. There! Do you see her just to the right of the matron with the feathers?” John asked as he gave a subtle wave.
Ben saw the feathers and then the matron and, waiting a moment while two red-jacketed officers passed, finally the object of his companion’s adoration.
How alike in taste he and John must be, Ben thought, for Lady Southard was the very woman who had attracted his interest when he first entered the ballroom. With something feeling surprisingly like envy, Ben once again noted the brilliant hair, neither red nor blond, the large brown eyes that unblinkingly returned his gaze, and the lovely proportions of a form that managed to look slender but not at all delicate. Her flowered gown, of some lacy stuff, dipped modestly at the breast, revealing smooth pink flesh that seemed to heighten in tone even as he studied her. Unlike the two blond beauties who framed her, she appeared to rely entirely on nature to groom herself, for he could see no artifice in the landscape she presented.
Ben let out a deep breath and turned to his fortunate friend as he recollected himself. It certainly would not do for him to be in any way attracted to the wife of his old friend. He only hoped John would not seek his professional advice about his lady’s condition, for he did not think he could behave very professionally once he put his hand upon her.
“Well, what do you think, man?” John asked. “Am I not the luckiest man on earth?”
“I think . . . ,” Ben began, and then hesitated when one of the two blondes gave them a brilliant smile and waved her fingers. In the line of her cheek and in the manner in which she held her chin, he could see some resemblance to the object of his sudden desire. “Is that Lady Southard, then? In the pale blue gown?”
“Is she not an angel? I knew within five minutes of meeting her, Delphinium was the only woman I could ever love.”
Ben almost said something about the young lady who had often visited John in the army hospital in America, but one look at his friend’s face silenced him on the subject. Instead, he professed a very gentlemanly kind of interest.
“It is an unusual name.”
“Undoubtedly.” John smiled. “When you meet her parents, you will understand how Lady Leicester manages to get her way in almost everything.”
“Lady Leicester? Is she not the watercolorist of whom my own mother is overly fond? She who produces fields of daisies on canvas and spreads their seeds even as far away as the drawing rooms of Brighton?”
“I did not know you to be an authority on the arts . . .”
“I do not consider the lady’s watercolors to be art—”
“. . . for you are quite right about the daisies. The family is naturally grateful that Lady Leicester did not produce more than five daughters, for I fear the next would have been graced with a most common name.” John laughed at a joke Ben did not see.
“I beg your pardon, John. I fail to understand . . .”
“She would have been ‘Daisy.’ Knowing nothing about garden varieties, I did not understand it myself at first. The five Leicester sisters are all named for flowers: Delphinium, Larkspur, Columbine, Lily and Rose. Del even tells me there is a bit of redundancy there, for larkspur and columbine are pretty much the same flower.”
“How remiss on Lady Leicester’s part,” Ben said dryly. “And are the sisters all very much alike as well?”
John hesitated, and Ben thought perhaps he had insulted him, for his host had already made clear he thought his lady above all. But it seemed John only considered the question to answer him honestly.
“Four of them are very much alike, and my brothers-in-law and I often congratulate ourselves on our good taste and good fortune. But Larkspur is unique both in appearance and in disposition, possessing little of her sisters’ sweetness and delicacy.”
“And does the brother-in-law who married her share in the others’ self-satisfaction?”
John smiled. “There is the rub. She is the only one who remains unmarried, though not for lack of effort on the part of her anxious sisters. However, she seems to have found someone who is prepared to deal with her high spirits, and the announcement of their engagement is to take place tonight.”
“Is the gentleman to be congratulated?”
John laughed. “I suppose so. But I do not believe he is yet arrived, so that pleasure must be deferred.”
***
By the third set, the anxious expression on Lady Leicester’s face finally caused her only unmarried daughter to retreat to safer realms. Lily seemed to have nothing better to do than to post herself at the door and periodically send Rose along with the message that no Mr. Moore had yet appeared, and Del apparently felt that the gentleman’s absence signaled some deficiency on her part as hostess. Columbine thrice reminded her older sister that there were many other eligible partners available and if Mr. Moore should find himself jealous at the sight of his darling dancing with another, it would serve him right for coming so late.
Larkspur began to feel something of the same thing herself. What had begun as mere frustration evolved into anxiety and then irritation at the neglectful behavior of Hindley Moore, and Lark wondered if it would prove unlucky to announce her betrothal in the midst of an argument—for she fully intended to have one once he arrived.
Unappreciative of all the concerned glances sent her way, Lark escaped her sympathetic audience and sought to find some comfort with a glass of lemon water. The buffet tables, not yet spread with dinner, provided a sort of sanctuary, shared only with a few elderly men and two girls too plain to be popular dance partners. Lark felt herself a suitable companion to them just now.
Knowing they were as curious about her as she was about the whereabouts of Hindley Moore, she raised her glass in a silent toast and smiled politely.
But before she could replace her glass on the table, one of the gentlemen broke away from his companions and approached her. Wheezing, and slightly out of breath, he reminded her of a straining pocket watch in need of a dose of lubrication oil.
“It is Lady Larkspur, is it not? It is many years since I saw you, not since you were a little girl. And you have grown up very nicely, my lady, though in a very different style from your beautiful sisters.”
Lark bristled at the words, for she was oft reminded of her sisters’ natural assets over her.
“Thank you for reminding me of it, sir. You seem to have the advantage of me, however, for I do not recall our acquaintance.”
“Forgive me, my lady. I hope it is not too presumptuous of me to approach you, but you must excuse my impertinence as the reward of old age. Let me give you full advantage of our relationship: I am Lord Raeborn, a cousin to your father.”
Lark offered her most disarming smile. “Of course, my lord. I have heard of you. And is the young lady with whom you were just dancing your daughter? Or a cousin whom I ought to take under my wing?”
The watchworks sputtered and threatened
to come to a halt.
“I have not been blessed with children, my lady. The young woman in question is Miss Alice Herrick, a very fetching girl.”
“I see,” said Lark, and thought she did—all too clearly. The old man, unable to produce a child, nevertheless could still pursue one. She wished Miss Herrick well and hoped her fleet of foot. “I believe this is her first season.”
“As I daresay it is yours, my dear,” smiled Raeborn.
Lark smiled back, and wondered how severely the man’s vision was affected by old age. No one else would think her a green miss enjoying her first bloom into society. As a lady of twenty-four, she practically sat upon the shelf.
And if Raeborn knew her family as well as his familiarity presumed, he would also know that three younger sisters were already married. Next to sweet little Alice Herrick, Lark felt practically a matron.
“It does not signify, sir, for it is certainly my last.”
“I am disappointed to hear it, my lady.”
“And yet there is no reason why you should be. It is for the best of reasons. I am to marry Mr. Hindley Moore,” Lark announced with a pride belying the irritation she felt with her intended.
“My felicitations, then,” said Raeborn, and as he bowed, Lark realized the gentleman did, indeed, own one reason for disappointment. She remembered Del’s fleeting words, recalling to her the curious fact that if neither she nor her sisters produced a son in the years ahead, their father’s estate would be bestowed upon this man. Lark, anticipating marriage and motherhood, would necessarily decrease the odds of such an event occurring.
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Of course. And is this the lucky gentleman who approaches with our host? Why, no, this cannot be Mr. Moore, for he looks somewhat familiar to me.” Lord Raeborn squinted towards the candlelight and pursed his gray lips in consternation. “I believe it is . . . of course! Here is a young man of a relationship even closer than we find ourselves, dear little cousin.”
Lark bristled at his words until she caught their full implication, and then she felt agitation of another sort. What Raeborn already saw, and she did not, must be the approach of the dark stranger, John’s friend and Raeborn’s heir. If she were absolutely honest with herself, she would have to admit she had sought refuge to avoid his occasional glances as much as to deflect speculation about Hindley’s absence.
“Raeborn!” John’s voice, always so cheerful, resonated like a slap across her face. “Behold a gentleman who wishes to renew his acquaintance with you. He is so infrequently in town, and you so infrequently out of it, it appears your paths have not crossed in many years. And yet you must be in each other’s thoughts and wishes.”
Lark thought John intended to be disarming, though possibly not as much as soon became evident. She saw Raeborn flinch at his words, and guessed the older man often thought of the younger when he faced the fact of his own mortality. She felt a glimmer of sympathy for him, for she knew what it was to be powerless against the future.
“And what luck! I shall accomplish another introduction here,” John continued, “for here is a young lady whom I would very much like you to meet, Ben.”
Lark knew she owed it to her brother-in-law to put a cheerful face on these proceedings, but turning to greet the newcomers proved a very difficult business. She sought to understand a reason for it, for she quite adored John and ought to feel kindness towards the man responsible for restoring him to Del. But Mr. Queensman’s presence frankly disturbed her, making her more aware of herself and her frailties than ever before in her life.
“Lark?” John said quietly, the confusion evident in his tone.
Lark turned around, feigning surprise at the interruption. She saw John first, and fixed her eyes on him, as if he were the only gentleman deserving of her notice.
John frowned. “I hope I am not coming between the two of you.”
“Of course not, John. Lord Raeborn and I were just comparing remembrances of the family. We are distantly related, you know.”
“Excellent! For I bring you yet another cousin to share in your conversation. Mr. Queensman, may I present my sister-in-law, Lady Larkspur? Lark, Mr. Queensman is also my old friend, having been responsible for saving my life in America.”
“We owe you a debt of gratitude, sir,” Lark said politely, and finally looked up at him. Mr. Queensman appeared very tall, even taller than John, and his eyes were most decisively blue. They settled upon her with uncommon warmth, and Lark knew what a moth must feel as it drew towards a candle flame. She lowered her lids. “But if, in fact, we are cousins, it is only in such a distant way as to make any relationship nonexistent. It is very, very distant.”
“So very bad as that, my lady?” Mr. Queensman said, and Lark heard his voice for the first time. Very deep, it echoed with a resonance that made his words clear even if he spoke quite low. It was the sort of voice capable of taking command of a situation, and it seemed replete with the confidence that once so ordered, its commands would be obeyed.
If Lark were not already disposed to be nervous in his society, such an attribute would have been enough to set her against him.
“Why, it is not so very bad, sir,” Lark said, lowering her own voice. “We, who have nothing in common aside from a few twigs on an overgrown family tree, have only few occasions to ever meet. I cannot imagine why we would wish to do so more often.”
The air of confidence surrounding Mr. Queensman wavered, but just for an instant. He narrowed his lids and lifted his chin slightly so that he seemed to study something above her head. She hoped he asked himself why an otherwise pleasant young lady would rebuff him, and then she thought perhaps she might begin to explain it to him.
Of course, she really did not understand it herself.
Nor did John. She saw the confusion and annoyance in his dark eyes and noticed when his hand came up protectively to his friend’s shoulder.
“Come, Ben. Let us leave Lady Larkspur to her conversation with your cousin, for I fear we have interrupted something of import. And there are so many more people to whom you must be introduced.”
“Have I not already met every young lady present? And every dowager who ever knew my dear mother? Come, John, grant me a respite from such delights. The music is playing, and I yearn for exercise. I have a mind to ask your kind sister-in-law if she will stand up with me for the next dance.”
“I am sure you will find dancing with Lady Larkspur a delight as well, Ben,” John said defensively. Lark felt a certain pity for him, for as the most agreeable of all men, he could not help but be mystified by the unbidden tension between his guests.
Lark put on her most fetching smile, which Lord Makepeace had once compared to the rising sun of a summer’s day. “I am sure your friend would find it so, John, but it is a pleasure to be denied him. After all, I am practically engaged to marry Mr. Moore, and I owe all my dances to him.”
Mr. Queensman looked around him, as if expecting to discover a member of their company of whom he had remained hitherto unaware. “And yet your gentleman allows you to provide your own refreshment and does not accompany you to the buffet? Or is my cousin Raeborn his trusted emissary?”
Lark glanced at the old man, who had remained silent all this time. Mr. Queensman’s question seemed to send him into spasms of happiness, such that he could barely catch his breath.
“Your cousin is not, nor could he be, since neither Mr. Moore nor I has had the pleasure of his acquaintance before tonight,” Lark explained quickly. “And as it turns out, Mr. Moore is not yet arrived.”
The barest touch of a smile tickled Mr. Queensman’s lips.
“How very loyal you prove yourself, Lady Larkspur, though I daresay you will let your Mr. Moore know of your disapproval concerning his tardiness. I hope he has an excellent excuse.”
“It is none of your b
usiness, sir.”
“You are right to put me in my place. And yet I feel a natural bond with all men who find themselves in some sort of discomfort or trouble. Perhaps it is an affinity nurtured by my years in military service.” He glanced at John, and Lark understood at once how the ties between them remained secure. “So would I not be helping poor Mr. Moore by dancing with his lady and deflecting some of her anxiety? He surely could not have prohibited it. And we are cousins, in any case.”
Lark opened her mouth to protest, but the words did not come. She felt momentarily powerless to defy him and unwilling to embarrass John by refusing to dance with his friend.
Raeborn stepped into the breach, clapping his hands like an excited child.
“Excellent! Excellent! One must admire your talents of persuasion, my boy! It is no wonder the king likes you at his side . . . ,” Raeborn continued his praises, but Lark ceased to hear him.
What sort of audience did Mr. Queensman enjoy with the king?
“It is settled, then,” Lark heard John say, utterly relieved. “I believe the next dance is a reel.”
“No,” said Mr. Queensman, and Lark knew her guess about the authoritative nature of his voice was well-founded. “It is not settled until the lady agrees.”
Three sets of masculine eyes settled upon her, and Lark felt lost in the forest their bodies made around her. She looked up at Mr. Queensman and wondered why he insisted upon granting her even the illusion of independent choice.
“I will tolerate the diversion, Mr. Queensman, if you will but understand that my dancing with you is a most singular event.”
“I never thought otherwise, my lady,” he said, his eyes not leaving her face.
And so Lark was propelled into the center of the room by the combined forces of John’s long sigh of relief, Raeborn’s stupid and insistent clapping and the strength of Mr. Queensman’s muscled arm. Though she looked straight ahead of her and never said a word, she was fully aware of the interested glances in their direction and her sisters’ frank curiosity. Lily and Rose, who seemed to regard Mr. Moore as their maiden sister’s Last Great Hope, looked ready to break in between them and therefore save Lark for her intended.
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