The Last Waltz: Hearts are at stake in the game of love... (Dorothy Mack Regency Romances)

by Dorothy Mack

  “This is indeed a formidable litany of imperfections,” Lord Creighton agreed gravely, “and yet, do you know I venture to predict that I shall still have to beat a path to my door through a horde of admirers?”

  Convinced that he was teasing her, though from the kindest of motives, Adrienne tossed her curls and scowled at the unmistakable twinkle in her large cousin’s eyes before turning to Miss Beckworth, who had been a silent but appreciative spectator to their conversation duelling. “If you will excuse me now, Becky, I will go on up to Jean-Paul.”

  “Just a moment, cousin. It has occurred to me that Pamela … Lady Tremayne might be of assistance with the name of a dressmaker when she comes to tea tomorrow. There is a carriage at your disposal, of course. I haven’t thought to mention it before because you and Miss Beckworth have been tied to Jean-Paul’s bedside.”

  Adrienne had stopped halfway across the room. She turned with an airy laugh. “That won’t be necessary, Cousin Dominic. Becky reminded me that I do possess a suitable gown for your dinner party.”

  A loud sigh was the only reply from Lord Creighton, who levered himself out of his chair with discernible reluctance. Adrienne watched his slow approach with increasing wariness that proved justified as he casually positioned himself between her and the door. His smile was rueful, his eyes gentle as he said apologetically:

  “We cannot avoid this conversation indefinitely, so with your permission we’ll get it behind us tonight, shall we?”

  After an instant’s charged silence while defiance flared and died in the blue-green eyes, Adrienne shrugged her shoulders in a Gallic gesture and headed back to her chair. Miss Beckworth’s hands, clasped in her lap, loosened their grip on each other and she surreptitiously flexed stiff fingers.

  Sweet reason coloured Adrienne’s tones as she settled into the bergère. “Surely you realize, Cousin Dominic, that it would be the height of impropriety for you to propose paying for my clothes.”

  “Of course it would.” His quick agreement took the wind out of her sails. As he added nothing to his statement for a second or two, Adrienne lifted one dark brow.

  “Then what is the purpose of this discussion, cousin?”

  “I am merely acting for my mother, who wishes to aid the children of her favourite relative,” Lord Creighton began almost hesitantly, searching for words that would not offend the pride and independence of the girl facing him. “Your brother’s illness has delayed your departure by some weeks. My mother desires that you should not be deprived because of a scanty wardrobe of the opportunities for enjoyment that exist for young ladies in Brussels this spring. It will be a real pleasure for her to provide you with the clothes you will need while you are under my roof.”

  “It is exceedingly kind of Lady Creighton to wish to do this for a complete stranger, but I cannot allow her to be imposed upon by someone with no claim to her charity.” Adrienne’s voice remained pleasant, but the earl was impressed against his will by the unchildlike expression in her candid eyes.

  “I think perhaps you do not perfectly comprehend the strong degree of attachment between our parents throughout their mutual childhood and youth.” He glanced at Miss Beckworth for confirmation, and that lady nodded.

  “They were very close.”

  “To my knowledge my father had practically no contact with any member of his family after his marriage.” Adrienne had difficulty keeping her voice free of challenge.

  “He wrote to my mother to apprise her of the birth of each of his children, and she did the same.”

  “A few birth announcements over a thirty-year period scarcely constitute an active correspondence,” the girl noted dryly.

  Lord Creighton sighed. “I beg you will not think me disloyal to my father if I explain that he was a possessive man and inclined to jealousy where my mother was concerned. Unfortunately, he took your father in dislike from the beginning of their acquaintance and desired my mother to cut the connection. It may have been an unreasonable request, but she loved him, and rightly or wrongly felt that she must accede to his wishes in this matter.”

  Adrienne made a little moue of distress. “It is not necessary to tell me all this. Believe me, cousin, I bear your mother not the slightest ill will; I am persuaded she is a marvellous person and excessively generous, but the fact remains that my brothers and I have no claim on her generosity.”

  “That is not the way Mama sees the situation. She feels that you have a very special claim on her, since she considers herself to be your godmother.”

  In her own surprise Adrienne missed the look of astonishment that crossed Miss Beckworth’s face for a fleeting moment. She gaped at Lord Creighton. “I … I don’t understand, cousin. My godmother was a French lady, long deceased, a friend of my mother’s.”

  “It was always understood between the cousins that my mother would stand godmother to your father’s firstborn, and vice versa. The responsibility for the fact that this did not actually come about must be laid at my father’s door.” The earl dropped his eyes as if in the throes of filial guilt and embarrassment.

  “I … I see.” Adrienne turned a troubled gaze to Miss Beckworth, now expressionless and relaxed in her chair. “I … suppose this does somewhat alter the situation, Becky?” Doubt and indecision clouded her vivid face as she plucked nervously at a light-coloured thread on her dark skirt.

  “It would certainly explain Lady Creighton’s ardent desire to be your benefactress,” allowed Miss Beckworth, choosing her words with precision.

  “Do you think it right for me to permit Lady Creighton to pay for my wardrobe?” demanded the forthright girl.

  Again Miss Beckworth spoke after careful consideration. “I am persuaded you would not wish to appear careless of her ladyship’s sensibilities in this matter or to wound those sensibilities.”

  “Of course not!” cried Adrienne, aghast at the suggestion that she might be guilty of such a breach of manners toward her elders.

  “Then that question is settled.” The earl had retired from the discussion during this exchange between the women, and now his casual tones underlined the decision Adrienne could scarcely believe she had made. A faint resentment stirred at the implication that this was a matter of very little moment. “I shan’t require more than one or two dresses at most, and perhaps a new hat,” she declared, her eyes meeting his straightly.

  The earl contrived to remain unaware of the challenge in the firm line of her mouth as he smiled with great charm. “I believe that Lady Tremayne might be of some use in directing you to the most fashionable modistes and hat makers in town.”

  Adrienne smiled back politely, but held her peace on this subject, having already decided that she had no intention of patronizing the obviously expensive creators of Lady Tremayne’s elegant wardrobe. It was one thing to accept the countess’s offer to furnish her with the basic necessities for the rest of her stay in Brussels, and quite another to consider the offer as a carte blanche to compete with the wealthy women of the upper ranks of British society who populated the city this spring. She barely listened while Dominic and Becky embarked on a discussion of milliners and mantua makers, and at the first opportunity made her excuses, pleading the necessity to relieve Luc at her younger brother’s bedside.

  Miss Beckworth ended the small silence that followed upon Adrienne’s departure. Lord Creighton found her fine hazel eyes fixed rather thoughtfully on him when he turned from the door that he had opened for his cousin.

  “It was rather a … surprise to me, my lord, to learn of an agreement between Matthew Castle and Lady Creighton to stand godparents to each other’s first child,” she said in neutral tones.

  For a moment the earl met her look; then he gave a rueful laugh and threw up his hands. “It will be a surprise to my mama, also,” he admitted, unabashed, “but what else was I to do, ma’am? The girl is so devilishly proud — not that I’d have her any other way! She deserves to have a good time like the others of her age here in Brussels.”

>   “I think you forget, sir, that her situation is not the same as other girls her age.”

  “No, I assure you I could not forget her situation — it chafes me too much. But there is no reason why she shouldn’t receive an acceptable offer eventually. No doubt my mother will see to that. Meanwhile, why not let the lads in Brussels have a look at her? Who knows what might happen? You will see to a complete wardrobe for her, ma’am?”

  Miss Beckworth’s lips twitched. “I will ensure that she has more than a dress or two and one hat, although I can’t say that I look forward to the experience of outfitting her against her will. Adrienne has her father’s mulish streak in full measure.”

  Lord Creighton grinned in sympathy. “I don’t envy you the chore, ma’am.” A stray thought took possession of him. “Did she mean it when she said she could not dance?”

  “Where would she have acquired the skill?”

  This time the compassion in his face held no touch of amusement. “You have all had a difficult time of it — you most of all, without the shield provided by the natural optimism and ignorance of extreme youth.” He shook off the sober mood, and they proceeded to discuss the necessity of employing the services of a dancing master as an equal priority with shopping in the upcoming weeks. By the time he left to keep his evening engagement with his betrothed, the earl and Miss Beckworth were firm allies, having reached a comprehensive though largely unspoken agreement as to how Adrienne’s immediate future was to take shape.

  CHAPTER 8

  Adrienne’s natural buoyancy, so unaccountably deflated for a time by her first meeting with her cousin’s prospective wife, rebounded with customary vigour the next day. As her initial impression of the cool brunette faded, she had difficulty remembering why she had felt instinctively that they would not become friends. It had most likely been her own fault entirely; the humiliation of having to be rescued by relations who were strangers had no doubt left her abnormally sensitive to suspected patronage. It was certainly understandable that Lady Tremayne, having suffered the indignity of having her engagement dinner postponed as a result of the difficulties of a pack of poor relations — and not even her own poor relations at that — would be less than enthusiastic about becoming involved in dutiful relationships with these same persons. In calling on Becky and Adrienne, she was making a commendable effort to do the polite thing. Since she was prepared to meet the Castles on terms of civility, it was up to Adrienne to demonstrate that she would not be a social incubus. Lady Tremayne’s connection with Dominic suggested that they would all meet fairly frequently. With developing familiarity, they would no doubt discover mutual interests. By the time Moulton admitted Lady Tremayne to the main saloon where the two ladies were waiting, Adrienne had almost convinced herself that she and Dominic’s lovely fiancée would indeed become friends.

  When Moulton ushered their visitor out to her waiting carriage forty minutes later, that hopeful piece of self-deception had been permanently laid to rest. Lady Tremayne’s appearance was even more startlingly attractive than on the preceding day, if such a thing were possible. Becky’s softly indrawn breath was evidence that Adrienne had not sufficiently prepared her for the reality of the young widow’s dramatic beauty. Today she was clad in a cleverly draped dress of pale champagne cotton trimmed profusely but delicately with burgundy embroidery on bodice and skirt. Her flat-crowned straw hat was swirled in cloudy veils of burgundy gauze anchored by roses of a lighter shade. Adrienne thought she had never seen a hat half so glorious, and promptly said so.

  The polite half-smile on Lady Tremayne’s lips widened as she acknowledged the impetuous compliment. She extended two fingers to Miss Beckworth when Adrienne made the ladies known to one another. They arranged themselves on chairs around the tea table while Lady Tremayne made polite inquiries concerning Jean-Paul’s progress. The meeting proceeded along cordial lines as tea was accepted and tiny frosted cakes declined by their visitor.

  Had it not been for Becky’s unsuspected expertise at meaningless social chatter, Adrienne would have been at a complete loss during the next half-hour. In the past, her father’s cronies had talked about international politics and the military situation all over Europe; Becky enjoyed discussing the works of the great writers and thinkers of the world, and Luc and Jean-Paul were eager to learn about advances in modern living and science. Lady Tremayne’s conversational offerings, which danced lightly over the entire fashion and social scene in Brussels, were as incomprehensible to Adrienne as a Chinese map. She managed an occasional “Really?” and pinned what she hoped was an encouraging smile on her lips to disguise her boredom. For the rest, she simply trusted to Becky to keep the talk going if their guest showed signs of flagging. It was during a brief pause following Lady Tremayne’s acerbic thumbnail sketch of yet another socialite unknown to either of her hostesses that Becky ventured to inquire the name of a reliable dressmaker.

  “Well, Madame Henriette created this dress for me. Of course she is shockingly expensive, but she understands what best becomes me.”

  “I should think most anything would become you.” Adrienne spoke impulsively, and the sheer surprise in her voice evoked a trill of pleased laughter from her visitor.

  “I fear you are flattering me, my dear Miss Castle.”

  “It’s not flattery, it’s the simple truth,” protested Adrienne, not wishing to be thought a member of a species she abhorred. Evidently Lady Tremayne did not harbour any animus toward flatterers. She again demurred smilingly before going on to give the name of a little dressmaker off the Place du Grand Sablon whom she had heard spoken well of by Mrs. Creevey. “Are you in need of a gown for the dinner party next week?”

  “Yes,” said Adrienne.

  Miss Beckworth enlarged on this. “Actually, Adrienne will be requiring a fairly extensive refurbishing of her wardrobe.”

  A puzzled frown appeared momentarily on Lady Tremayne’s smooth brow. “I understood you will be leaving Belgium as soon as your brother is able to travel.”

  “Yes, that is so, but Jean-Paul’s convalescence is likely to be somewhat protracted, according to Dr. Hume, and since Lord Creighton insists that his cousin take an active part in the social life offered in Brussels, she will require a number of additions to her wardrobe.”

  “I … see.” The lovely face of their guest had become a careful blank, which might have indicated a lack of pleasure in what she saw. After a visible struggle with herself, she suppressed any further sentiments and embarked on those preparations women indulge in when about to take their departure, gathering her reticule closer to her skirts and looking around for the pale gloves she had removed earlier. Her social smile reappeared.

  “This has been a delightful interlude, but I must dash. Dominic and I are promised for Lord Betancourt’s assembly tonight, and I must try to snatch a few moments’ rest before dressing or I shall look like a hag. The constant social round can be hideously fatiguing, do you not agree?”

  Miss Beckworth merely smiled in response to this rhetorical question as she pulled the bell cord to summon Moulton. “I trust Lady Betancourt is in good health at present?”

  “You are acquainted with Lady Betancourt?”

  “If she was Alice Travers before her marriage, I am. We made our come-out the same season.”

  Lady Tremayne’s perfectly arched eyebrows flew up. “But Lady Betancourt has grown children. She cannot be a day less than forty, and looks older.”

  Miss Beckworth nodded. “I believe she is the same age as I, one-and-forty.”

  “Well,” advised Lady Tremayne with some frankness and less affection than she had so far displayed, “I would not call attention to this if I were you. You look years younger.”

  As Moulton had appeared by then, the ladies took leave of each other with civil declarations of mutual esteem, and, on Adrienne’s part at least, more than a little relief. She turned an expectant face to her companion when the sound of footsteps had faded.

  “She is certainly a handsome
creature and seems disposed to be fairly affable,” conceded Miss Beckworth judiciously.

  “Damn with faint praise,” murmured Adrienne with a wicked twinkle.

  “Nonsense, nothing of the sort.” Becky’s protest was brisk, but she avoided the girl’s eyes. “At least she was able to steer us to a fashionable modiste. If Luc will sit with Jean-Paul tomorrow morning, I propose we lose no time in calling on her. The dinner is in less than a sennight.”

  “Very well. What was her name?”

  “Madame Henriette.”

  “No, that was the expensive modiste, the one who made Lady Tremayne’s gown.”

  “Yes, and the one who will make yours.”

  Adrienne was appalled. “No, Becky! I am uncomfortable enough with the idea of being under such a gigantic obligation to Lady Creighton, even if she does consider herself in some way my godmother. The least I can do is make sure I do not squander her money on exorbitantly priced finery.”

  “My dear girl,” Becky replied calmly, “Lady Creighton knows exactly what she is about. She wishes that you not fade into the background with a sign over your head labelled ‘Poor Relation.’ And you must consider Dominic while you are nursing your pride. Do you desire his friends to form the impression that his relatives are a set of dirty dishes he is ashamed to own?”

  “We’re nothing of the sort!”

  “Of course not, but you would not wish to be thought such, or worse yet, to be considered shabby genteel.”

  Adrienne glared suspiciously at the bland expression on her companion’s face before stalking over to the door. “That is a load of rubbish and you know it, Becky!” she accused, and whisked herself out to avoid the censure such unladylike utterances would surely earn her.

  Adrienne’s sense of outrage at being manipulated by her new cousin and her oldest friend (however good-naturedly and with only her own benefit in mind) did not disappear overnight. Her pride and independent spirit were smarting at breakfast the next morning, and she was still nursing an uncharacteristic resentment which, to her credit, she attempted to conceal. However, since these attempts took the form of a stilted politeness totally alien to her nature, they could scarcely be said to be effective if concealment was indeed her goal on a deeper level. The objects of her unnatural civility rendered her tactics less than useless by refusing to acknowledge them. Becky conversed unconcernedly with Lord Creighton, addressing such occasional remarks to Adrienne as did not require a response, and it is entirely possible that Lord Creighton, secure in his male obtuseness, was actually unaware of any strained atmosphere in the sunny breakfast chamber. His smiling charm and the unfeigned interest he expressed in the ladies’ plans for the morning would tend to support this explanation. Adrienne gritted her teeth as her cousin apologized at length for presuming to offer her the platter of meats she had just spurned with the remark that she considered it uncivilized to partake of animal flesh in the morning.