by Cheryl Bolen
"A very poor reason to marry," Margaret had said with disdain.
Now Caro was back at Aldridge House getting ready for the ball, and Margaret and her maid had spent hours on her toilette. She had slipped into white satin slippers and long white gloves made of French kid. She smiled as she unfurled the beautiful hand-painted fan Elizabeth had given her as a wedding gift. Dear, thoughtful Elizabeth. It was the only wedding gift she had received, she lamented. She hated that her family was so opposed to John.
Perhaps tonight he could sway their opinions in a more positive direction.
Even more important, perhaps she could sway his attentions in a more desirable direction.
"Oh, my dear Annie," she said to her maid, "I do believe my hair has never looked so lovely."
"Thank you, my lady. I tried to make it look exactly like the lady in Akermann's."
Margaret's gaze went to a torn sheet from last August's Akermann's that featured a beautifully coiffed lady of fashion. For some time she had been saving that picture, wanting to have her hair styled in the very same fashion, but she had been waiting for an important event.
Nothing could be more important than tonight.
Then she eyed her reflection in the looking glass, comparing it to the Akermann's image. Annie was a true gem. She had pinned up Margaret's hair in the exact same fashion, and it was most becoming with its irregular curls in the Eastern style and bound with a strand of tiny pink flowers made of silk.
She chose simple pearls for her necklace and earrings.
Will he even notice me? She stood and peered into her looking glass. If he did not admire her tonight, the man was hopeless. Though normally modest, tonight Margaret thought herself exceedingly handsome. She found herself wondering, what did his opera dancers have that she did not.
Well . . . it did not bear contemplation. She had told him he was free to cavort with women of that sort, but she had not countenanced how painful to her it would be if he did so.
She heard heavy footsteps in the corridor outside her bedchamber, then a solid knock. Whoever could it be? "Yes?" she asked.
"It's Finchley, er, I mean John Edward, or John."
Her heartbeat pounded. Her palms went wet. Her throat dried. "Come in," she managed in a shaky voice.
Already dressed for the evening's festivities and sinfully handsome in jet black, he strolled into her chamber, a velvet box in his hands. He was looking down at the box rather than at her. "I've brought you some of the Finchley jewels Grandmere sent over this afternoon." Then he looked up at her.
He stopped in his stride as if he'd suddenly become rooted to the floral carpet, and he gawked at her with widened eyes.
She felt the slow, lingering sweep of his gaze and could not have felt more mortified had she been standing there stripped of every article of her clothing. Why was he so silent? Would he see how terribly she trembled?
She was powerless to keep her own gaze from perusing him. Though there was still something of the carefree youth about him, tonight he exuded a manliness with his imposing height and his lantern jaw that was ever so lightly shadowed with dark stubble. He would have made a splendid dark knight of yore.
He seemed so imposing. Especially here in this feminine bedchamber. Her heartbeat thundered at the very notion that he was actually standing in her bedchamber.
Another barrier destroyed, another brick laid.
Finally he spoke again. "By Jove, Maggie, you look awfully fetching tonight."
And she felt the air swish from where it had been trapped in her lungs.
Chapter 10
She looked like Maggie, yet she didn’t. The elegant woman standing there rendered him nearly speechless. When he’d strolled into her bedchamber, he'd been much more interested in seeing her reaction to the jewels than in seeing her. He hadn’t a thought in his head about how she might appear.
He'd known she was possessed of tolerable good looks and excellent taste in clothing, but he’d not considered how much different one looked in a pastel morning frock than one looked in an exquisite ball gown. He was completely unprepared to gawk upon those creamy ivory shoulders, but that is exactly what he found himself doing. And he was powerless to stop from gazing at the heavenly swell of breasts that dipped into the fragile silk of her stunning dress.
He had become startlingly aware of her as a woman. And it made him feel deuced uncomfortable to be in the lady's bedchamber.
Though he’d been incapable of speech, his slow perusal of her detected a slight trembling. Was she nervous? Their eyes connected. He’d never seen so vulnerable an expression as hers at that moment. It suddenly occurred to him she needed to be told how beautiful she looked. How could she possibly doubt it? Only a blind person could fail to see her exceptional loveliness tonight. So he'd blurted out how lovely she looked. He'd never spoken more true words, yet they made him feel awkward.
“Thank you,” she shyly responded.
All thoughts of his own temporary discomfort vanished with his concern for her. “I say, Maggie, you’ll be the absolute belle of the ball.”
“It is our ball. I wanted a special gown just for it.”
“I’ve never seen anything prettier.” Than you. Of course, he had to own, his experience with ball dress was limited, owing to his long-standing absence from such activities. “Now, shall we see if these Finchley jewels will do it justice? Will you allow me to remove the pearls?”
“Please do.” Her gaze whisked to the velvet box.
“Permit me to show you the diamonds first.” He opened the box.
She gushed her enthusiasm. After many declarations on their loveliness, she said, “How honored I shall be to wear something so exquisite.”
“Grandmere says these are the best of the lot, and she was hoping you’d wear them tonight.”
Her eyes widened. “I'm incredibly honored.” She did not sound one bit like the haughty daughter of a duke.
He unfastened the pearl necklace as she removed the earrings. “It’s I who am honored,” he said. “I shall be escorting the most beautiful woman at the ball.” He suddenly realized he meant every word. In fact, he was greatly looking forward to introducing the lovely lady to Arlington and Knowles. And even if Perry had seen her before, John knew Perry would be dazzled by the way she looked tonight. He rather fancied moving about Grandmere’s ballroom with so lovely a creature on his arm.
He fastened the magnificent diamond necklace at her elegant neck and stood back to observe.
Thank God that vulnerable look of a frightened child had been replaced by one of happiness. Was it the diamonds or his flattery that was responsible for the transformation?
“They’re beautiful,” she said in almost a reverent whisper.
He found himself clasping her by her elegant shoulders and peering into her eyes. “Not nearly as beautiful as you.”
Their eyes briefly locked. Neither said another word. He was self conscious over his praise of her. In his six-and-twenty years he had never uttered those words to another woman. He’d certainly never thought to utter them to a duke’s daughter! But, as always, he was guided by honesty.
He offered his arm. “Come, Lady Finchley. My grandmother has sent her carriage. She wanted us to arrive shortly before the guests.”
* * *
It was the most wonderful ball ever! How proud she was to stand at the base of the dowager’s broad staircase with the elderly lady at one side and John at the other as the three of them greeted their guests. How proud she was that all the ton knew he was her husband. How proud she was that her husband—at least in her eyes—was the most handsome man at the ball. Their ball.
She could not deny that John’s lavish praise of her looks greatly contributed to her happiness. Knowing that he did not lie made his compliments even more treasured. She was thankful, too, that so many of the Aldridge and Haverstock family members came, including the Marchioness of Haverstock, whose babe was expected any day.
“How happy I am that you
came,” she said to Lady Haverstock. Margaret was far too shy to comment on the lady’s impending confinement, even though she wished to tell her how much prospective motherhood complemented her already legendary beauty. Lady Haverstock's huge dark eyes sparkled, and the happiness she exuded extended to all around her.
The Marquess could not conceal his delight with his wife. Settling a gentle arm about his marchioness's shoulders, he murmured as they walked away. "Come, my dearest, we must find a place for you to sit down."
Next up was Margaret’s sister-in-law. The duchess and her spouse often accompanied her brother—Haverstock—along with his spouse. The small bump beneath the duchess's softly draped gown would not be discernible to those who had no knowledge the Aldridges were to be parents. As always, the Duchess of Aldridge was gracious, especially to John. “Welcome into the family, Lord Finchley. You are a most fortunate man to have secured Margaret’s hand.”
“Indeed I am,” he responded.
Margaret's chest tightened when her grim-faced brother moved toward them. Please let him be civil to John. She held her breath as Aldridge came face to face with them. How mortified she would be if her brother spoke rudely to her spouse. “My dear Margaret, I have known you for your entire life, and you’ve never been more beautiful. Marriage must agree with you.” He then flicked a glance at John. “Good evening, Finchley.”
“Good evening, your grace.”
The Duke and Duchess of Aldridge gave one last nod, then moved along and began to climb the stairs to the ballroom.
And Margaret almost swooned with relief. Though her brother had not been particularly amiable to John, he had said nothing to give offense.
Next was the duchess’s sister, Lady Lydia Morgan, with her husband, whom everyone called Morgie. Since Lady Lydia disliked such functions and had an aversion to leaving her baby son, Margaret considered it an honor to receive them.
Morgie spoke first. “I say, you two are a most handsome couple.” His gaze perused John. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you dressed for a ball before, Finchley.”
Lady Lydia stepped up. “That’s because, my dear husband, Lord Finchley has the same aversion to balls that I do. Do you not, my Lord?”
John cracked a smile. “That is true, but one must attend one’s own ball.” He eyed his wife. “And you must own it would be worth any sacrifice to be accompanied by such a lovely lady.”
Margaret could feel the blush stealing into her cheeks.
Mr. Morgan nodded.
His wife spoke. “Lady Margaret—er, Lady Finchley—has always been lovely, but I do believe she’s more beautiful than ever tonight. I daresay, being newly married and madly in love accounts for how agreeable you two look.”
Margaret was too embarrassed to even steal a glance at John. “Thank you,” was all she could say.
"You do dance, do you not, Finchley?" Morgie asked.
John shrugged. "Not in many, many years."
Morgie nodded. "Love to dance, meself. Lydia don't. I say, if you should need me to stand in and do the husbandly duty thing with Lady Finch- - - " A mortified look came over Morgie's face. "Pray, Lady Finchley, put your hand over your ears and do not ever listen to a thing I say."
Once again this night, Margaret felt the heat rise into her cheeks.
"Ah, but Mr. Morgan," John said, smoothly covering the awkward moment, "You must admit that dancing with one as lovely as Lady Finchley will be worth any embarrassment my dancing should cause."
"Oh, yes. Right you are," Morgie said, "Not that I believe your dancing would draw censure."
After the Morgans began to climb the stairs, John glanced at the open doorway, drew her hand into his, and murmured. “It appears that my three best friends have arrived.”
Even though she had confidence in her appearance, she stiffened as if frozen with fear, when she realized she would soon be put on display to her husband's greatest friends. She did gather enough presence of mind to smile as the trio came forward.
Mr. Perry was the first to greet them. “Ah, Lady Finchley, allow me to say that your beauty robs me of breath.”
She continued to favor him with a smile. “Thank you.”
Next, John presented Michael Knowles to her. Like Mr. Perry, he was dressed impeccably. Both men were fine looking, and both were in possession of nearly black hair. Mr. Knowles was perhaps an inch or two shorter than Mr. Perry, but his slenderness made him appear the same height. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady, though I must say in the fifteen years I’ve known Lord Finchley, I’ve never been more envious.”
She did not know how to respond. Was he jealous that John had married a duke’s daughter, or was he jealous that John’s wife was so lovely? The last thing she wanted to do was to come off as conceited. A humble, “Thank you,” was her response. “I’ve been most anxious to meet John’s dear friends.”
David Arlington nudged Mr. Knowles toward the stairs so he could face Margaret. He was as tall as Knowles but a great deal more muscular. Like the others, he was possessed of agreeable looks. "I would say your loveliness robs me of breath, my lady, but Perry has already said that. I'd tell you how jealous I am of Finch, but Knowles beat me to that, too. Therefore, allow me to say that it is an honor to be invited here tonight to make your acquaintance." He then took her hand and actually pressed his lips to the glove. Their eyes locked for just a second before he moved on.
Her heart beat erratically. She was uncommonly embarrassed over the intimacy of Mr. Arlington kissing her hand. She was accustomed to men brushing the air over her hand with mock kisses, but never before had the kisses been the real thing. Even her husband had never taken such liberties!
As there was a brief lull in the guests, her thoughts stayed on John's friends. How curious that all four of them were possessed of brown eyes. Though all of them were handsome, the other three could not compare to John.
* * *
"You, my dear grandson, will be expected to lead your wife onto the dance floor for a waltz the first dance of the night."
John's stomach dropped in the same way it did when he lost five-hundred quid to Lord Bastingham with one turn of a pasteboard. How mortified he would be to humiliate himself in front of the one-hundred-and-fifty people Grandmere had invited here tonight.
Even worse, what if he stepped upon Maggie's dainty feet? At two and twenty, she would have been dancing at balls and assemblies for at least three years. No doubt, she was a graceful, accomplished dancer and had danced with dozens—if not hundreds—of men who were very light on their feet. Would his inferior dancing embarrass her? What if his ineptitude repulsed her? He already had so many other vices to prejudice one against him.
He turned to her and drew a breath. "Be forewarned that my dancing begs improvement. I just pray I don't tread upon your feet."
She smiled up at him, a much warmer, more spontaneous smile that she'd directed at that damned Arlington when he'd made a cake of himself smushing his lips to her hand. "Don't spare it a thought. I assure you my feet have been trod upon many a time, and I shan't mind if you do."
He recalled what she'd said that first day she'd come to him to propose they act like a man and wife. She'd said, "We'll be true and loyal friends to one another." At this moment, he realized they had become true and loyal friends. She did not cast judgment on him. She accepted him for who and what he was.
He took her hand and lightly pressed a kiss to the back of it—something he had never done before. "You're too kind, my dearest." The my dearest he threw in for his grandmother's sake, as she still stood beside them, staring affectionately at them as if they were the king and queen. "I daresay no one will be watching my steps when my wife's loveliness will draw everyone's attention."
A few minutes later the orchestra struck up a waltz, and he turned to Maggie. "It will be my honor to dance with you."
He was exceedingly nervous as they moved onto the dance floor, all eyes on them. When they reached the center of the wooden dancin
g surface, he settled one hand at her waist, then clasped her hand with his other. As they came closer, he was pleasantly suffused with her sweet rose scent. "I know you'll make me look as if I know what I'm doing," he said as they began to dance.
At first he was self-conscious over his moves, over the way he held her, over the possibility he might make a complete ass of himself. He could not help but be struck immediately over how gracefully she moved. She danced so smoothly and with such practiced ease, he did not have to concentrate on what he was doing. It was not long before she made him forget his nervousness by engaging him in conversation. "I am so happy to no longer be a spinster, to have to stand up with every eligible man who asks."
He recalled her telling him of how heartily sick she was of being courted by fortune hunters. Even though he had happily accepted her generous dowry, she at least knew he had not courted her for her fortune. Which in an odd way made him feel absolved of at least one misdeed. Of course, he hadn't courted her at all.
Yet now here they were. Married.
The word still rankled him. But she did not. "It's a great loss to all the unmarried men in the ton that it was my good fortune to wed you."
"You will embarrass me, my Lord, with your flattery." While other coy misses might pretend to be embarrassed at flattery, Maggie was sincere.
He could not discuss unmarried men and not think of his friends. He was pleased that the three of them saw Maggie as she looked tonight, pleased that they praised her. But that damned Arlington had carried it too far! John would have to speak to him.
It occurred to him that because his friends knew his and Maggie's was not a regular marriage, those friends might get it in their heads that Maggie was available for their . . . their attentions! The very thought made him angry. Yes, indeed, he would have to speak to Arlington.
She looked up at him with shimmering eyes, light from three huge chandeliers illuminating her face. "I am happy to be Lady Finchley."
