Crumpling the letter in his hand, he hurled it angrily to the floor. It was a communique from John Loftus stating that he had resigned his commission in the army and was planning to emigrate to America with his wife immediately. Straeford’s contempt for his brother-in-law left him utterly speechless. It was more than he could bear to have his good name, so rich in heritage, associated with such a sniveling act. Seething inside, he stomped off to inform his wife of her brother’s treachery.
When he found her, Marisa was seated at her escritoire. She, too, had received the same message from her brother and was attempting to collect her thoughts, knowing full well what her husband’s reaction would be. Before she even had a chance to turn in his direction when he entered the room, he launched into a tirade.
“Have you heard the news about your brother?” He didn’t wait for her reply, “Why, it’s beyond belief! How could he so flagrantly cheapen his family’s name? And now, of course, my name is implicated as well.”
Marisa looked up at him in silence as he continued his condemnation of her brother. Pain and distress were clearly written on her face, causing him to pause for a moment. And although he sensed her hurt, another thought occurred to him—a vicious one, he realized, but his anger would not permit him any restraints at this moment.
“I’m not going to mince any words with you, madam wife. I hold that you were party to this defection!”
“I?”
“Yes, yes, you, my dear. Do you think I am ignorant of the fact that your new sister-in-law is related to Mark Aiken, your former lover, who now resides in America?”
Marisa reared back, speechless at his insult. Her face whitened with anger, and Straeford felt a momentary sense of triumph. “You know,” he continued, “I’m rather curious about you and that person. In fact, I am prompted to ask you right at this moment—were you ever in love with him?”
Marisa shifted nervously in her chair. “I fail to see the relevance of that question, nor do I understand what difference that could possibly make any longer.”
“Oh, no. You’ll not evade my question that easily, my dear. As your husband, I am asking you for a direct and simple answer. Did you or didn’t you love Mark Aiken?”
“Well, if you really must know the truth,” Marisa sighed, feeling trapped, “I suppose I did love him. Now, was that what you wanted to hear?”
For some reason her reply left him stunned. It was not at all what he expected to hear, and her answer left him with nothing to say. But Marisa was too preoccupied to take note of the effect her answer had had on him. For the present, she was more concerned with the impact John’s desertion would have on her father.
“Frankly, I’m very concerned about my father at this moment,” she said, picking up the threads of the conversation. “I am just as upset about all of this as you are. But I know he is, too, and I must see him at once.”
Marisa rang for Lucy’s assistance while the earl silently returned to his study.
When Marisa met with her father later that morning, she found Angus somewhat resigned to his son’s actions. After all, it was not a complete surprise to him. He knew of John’s strong feelings regarding the military and had gone over that issue with him a countless number of times, all to no avail. Angus seemed to be yielding on this matter. Perhaps, his daughter mused, a reconciliation between father and son was still possible. The task confronting her, however, was how to bring them together. She knew it wouldn’t be easy.
Seeing that her father might now be vulnerable, Marisa decided to visit John in Islington. But she found her brother much less amenable to a meeting with Angus for this purpose. He insisted that it was a road that both of them had traveled many times before and little was likely to result from another face-to-face encounter. It was only Marisa’s forceful arguing of the point that this might be the very last opportunity in both of their lives to make their peace with one another that finally persuaded John to see his father the following weekend. However, he did so reluctantly and warned her not to expect too much from such a meeting.
Marisa accepted that she had accomplished about all that was possible on that account. Father and son would now have to come to grips with their problems on their own terms. The only thing she could do was act as their intermediary. The rest was up to them, and she prayed that the final outcome would result in a proper reconciliation.
During the days that ensued, Marisa temporarily put aside her concerns for John and her father and focused her attention on the ball which she and the earl were planning to give. It was going to be her first official venture as a hostess, and its main purpose was to provide Meg with a coming-out ball. This meant that everything had to be perfect. Ceaseless details consumed Marisa’s every moment as she consulted with the caterer, the florist, the musicians, the seamstress and, of course, Lady Maxwell, who offered some helpful advice on every matter, especially the etiquette and protocol for the occasion.
From dawn to dusk each day Marisa was totally immersed in consultations of every sort and in checking off items on a long list of tasks to be done that she scribbled out each morning. The pace was frenzied by the time the afternoon of the ball arrived. For quite a few days she had precious little time for herself, and she was thankful that her servants had been so patient with her in this whole affair.
Now she was enlisting Jenkins’s aid in a decision concerning where to place a large vase of multicolored flowers. “Mmm… Let’s see now. How about on the mantel of the marble fireplace, Jenkins?” Marisa stepped back to judge its effect when she felt her foot come down unexpectedly on someone standing behind her. She stumbled clumsily and sent a basket of roses tumbling from the table which she tried to grasp in an attempt to regain her balance. Her fall to the floor was prevented by two powerful arms, and she did not need to turn around to see to whom they belonged.
“Oh, dear!” Marisa surveyed the blossoms strewn about the floor, and Straeford picked up the basket to help her retrieve them. Apologizing to one another, they simultaneously stooped to gather them up and accidentally bumped heads in the process. A surprised look passed between them before they burst into uncontrollable laughter.
“I would like to wager that we could not repeat that comedy of errors if we tried,” Straeford said, tossing some flowers into the basket. “Well, that about does it. No harm done.” Straeford offered a hand to help her up.
“Yes. That certainly does it, all right,” Marisa said with irony as she looked at the tangled mass of roses. “How shall I ever reorganize these flowers?”
“Why bother? Stick them in a corner somewhere so no one will notice.”
“Oh, I can’t do that. Each bouquet has a specific composition to create a special effect. If you look at the one in front of the fireplace you see that the darker, larger blossoms are at its base while the lighter shades are…” She stopped in embarrassment as she caught him observing her with a supercilious grin. “Dear me, I know you did not come to discuss the decorations. You did wish to speak to me about something, however?”
“I did,” he replied, the grin fading from his face while her attention remained focused on the roses. “Your sister was good enough to inform me that I am expected to lead her out in the first dance this evening.”
“Mm hmm,” she mumbled, still toying with the flowers, her lips pouting as she failed to place a white bud in precisely the right spot.
Straeford watched her with some amusement until finally the silence drew her attention.
“Oh, forgive me. What were you saying?”
“I was about to say that I am sorry, but I don’t dance.”
Marisa placed a hand over her mouth. “Whatever will we do then?”
“I’m sure there are many young bucks willing to dance with that little minx.”
Marisa wrinkled her nose at his reference to Meg. “Yes, I suppose there are, but you see that would not exactly be proper, now would it? Well, I guess we’ll have to think of something, won’t we? But it certainly is late.�
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To her surprise Straeford showed his concern by suggesting a series of bachelors who might oblige her, but Marisa had excellent reasons for rejecting each one. Finally, with some asperity, he capitulated.
“Oh, very well, I shall appear the jackanapes and dance with her.”
“Oh, would you?” she responded enthusiastically.
“If I say I will, then I will. Besides, I’ve done just about everything else these past weeks, so why need I balk at a mere dance?”
Marisa mustered up all the gratitude she could. “It’s very sweet of you to do that for me.”
“I’m never sweet!” he retorted gruffly. “I simply do not wish to… upset protocol.”
“Well, thank you anyway for doing something that is against your wishes.”
He shrugged his shoulders uneasily and turned to leave, but she held him back with an outstretched hand and placed a short-stemmed rose in his lapel. Smiling coquettishly, she exclaimed, “I hereby commend you for valor, sir.” She stepped back to admire him playfully, but he seemed unwilling to reciprocate.
“I think this flower would enhance your beauty far better,” he said with a straight face as he started to remove the rose. But Marisa put her hand over his and admonished him lightly, “Sir, would you reject a medal for valor?”
Her direct appeal melted the coldness from his dark green eyes, and his hand gently squeezed hers before he lifted her fingers to his lips and quipped, “In that case, I must accept most graciously.” Then he bowed and withdrew quietly, leaving Marisa with a fluttering heart.
When there was finally a break in the long line of guests entering the Straeford home that evening, Marisa leaned across her husband to press Lady Maxwell’s hand. The dowager looked exceptionally radiant in a highnecked purple satin gown.
“Dear lady,” Marisa smiled fondly, “how can we ever thank you? Everyone is in attendance.”
“Oh, it’s true,” Meg bubbled. “The Seftons, Lord Alvanley, Lady Jersey… They all came.”
“Just don’t spoil it, my dear girl,” Lady Maxwell admonished, “by playing up to Alden again tonight.”
“What’s this?” Straeford demanded.
“The chit’s struck up an acquaintance with that scoundrel, Alden.”
“Huh! The man’s old enough to be her father,” Straeford frowned. The dissolute Marquess most assuredly did not have marriage in mind, and marriage for Meg was part of the earl’s bargain with Loftus.
“Oh,” Meg stomped her foot impatiently. “I don’t know why everyone is making such a fuss. I happen to like Ted and marriage to him is exactly what I want.”
“You scheming vixen!” Straeford exploded. He was about to give her a thorough tongue-lashing, but the sight of the Hardings approaching them made him stop short.
“Are we very late?” Ann asked in her usual breathless manner, kissing Marisa on the cheek. “You see, little Eddie has a head cold. Poor dear, I just couldn’t leave him until he was fast asleep.”
“I hope it’s not serious,” Marisa sympathized.
“No, it’s not,” the major interrupted. “Ann is panicking over a sniffle.”
“Now, Edward, how can you be so unreasonable? Your infant son is suffering! The poor thing.”
“This is not the time for a family spat, my love.” Edward grinned and ushered his wife away just as General Wellesley made his appearance. It was obvious from Straeford’s effusive greetings that this was a man he held in high regard. He shook the general’s hand crisply and appeared anxious to launch into a protracted discussion with the esteemed military leader. But Lady Maxwell’s signal to Marisa to begin the dancing prevented that from happening. Their guests now clearly established in the ballroom, the Straefords entered with pomp to initiate the festivities.
The ballroom presented a vision of fairytale loveliness. Pink velvet draperies fringed with silver tassels, walls flecked with pink and white wallpaper, mirrors reflecting crystal chandeliers and silver sconces—all of the appointments delighted the eyes of the admiring guests.
As he promised, the earl led Meg out in a quadrille while the crowd of onlookers admired. She was a pretty minx, he observed, in her high-waisted white gown of tulle and pink lacing. Yes, her provocative figure and haughty smile could be a serious temptation to any man. Although he pitied the poor fool who would end up being her husband, the earl was confident that it wouldn’t be that lecher, Alden.
When the first set had ended, Straeford was not at all surprised to find Meg immediately surrounded by a swarm of young bucks eager for her hand. Relinquishing his charge, the Earl was about to make a quick exit for the card room when Lady Maxwell cornered him with the pointed suggestion that protocol demanded that he dance with his wife. A frown crossed his face and then, much to her surprise, he set off obediently in search of Marisa. The grand old lady’s eyes followed him across the crowded room as he nodded casually and directed a few carefully chosen remarks to the dignitaries and acquaintances he brushed by. Lady Maxwell felt enormous pride in this complicated but handsome grandson of hers. When his mood permitted, he could be charming, and this was clearly one of those occasions. His dress for this evening emphasized his natural nobility and refinement. Tonight he was clad in black, except for his green silk waistcoat, and he wore a white frilled shirt with an intricately folded jabot that was punctuated with an emerald stickpin. He wears his title well, Lady Maxwell mused.
Finally, he found the countess conversing animatedly with Lord and Lady Claridge at the far end of the room. After a polite exchange of pleasantries, the musicians obligingly struck up a waltz, and Straeford used the cue to edge his wife away.
“You’ll excuse us, I’m sure,” he said to the Claridges, “but I do believe my wife has promised me this waltz.” Marisa blinked at the unexpected request, but recovered quickly enough to allow herself to be led to the dance floor.
Straeford swept her silently about the floor and observed the light grow in her eyes as she relaxed in the security of his arms and her body swayed gracefully in unison with his. Her gown of sapphire blue emphasized the deep blue of her eyes. Her dress was edged in diamante and banded tightly under her bosom so that long, sweeping folds of silk fell dramatically to her silver-sandaled feet. A diamond pendant hung low and nestled disturbingly between her breasts. She was stunningly beautiful, far more beautiful than Meg could ever be, he realized.
His arm tightened about her waist, and his cheek rested gently against hers. A captivating fragrance emanated from about her neck, and he found himself murmuring softly, “You’re absolutely breathtaking, my dear… beautiful.”
Marisa raised her eyes to meet his and found her self spellbound. His green eyes gave off a glow she had not seen before, and now she closed hers dreamily as the two of them continued to whirl about the floor in a wondrous vortex. The light from the crystal chandeliers shimmered against the silver-fringed drapes as they floated about the room in cadence to the soft music, their senses mutually submerged in the magic of this moment.
Again the earl danced with his countess to the strains of the musicians’ violins, and when a brief intermission was announced they both sighed in disappointment. It had been exhilarating and neither of them wanted to stop. For a time, however, Marisa seated herself in a white tufted chair at the edge of the dance floor, content to have the earl at her side. When she was quickly encircled by guests, Straeford removed himself for a breath of fresh air.
The night was cool, and a soft spring breeze rustled pleasantly across the terrace. Straeford drew in some air and exhaled slowly. His thoughts were still focused on the glowing feelings that lingered from the dance, but a faint and indistinct sound somewhere below the terrace distracted his attention. As he descended into the garden, he heard a woman’s voice more clearly. And then, when a man spoke, the earl knew they were both familiar to him. It was Meg Loftus in the arms of Ted Alden, and the sight of the two of them locked in each other’s arms was quite enough to take the earl completely out of humor
. Why, this rounder’s philanderings were a direct insult to Straeford’s family and, quite conceivably, a scandal could result if it weren’t halted immediately. The earl strode up to them and let out a sarcastic laugh that forced them to part abruptly.
“Straeford!” Alden frowned, adjusting his disheveled neckcloth with an embarrassed look on his face.
“So the little minx has trapped you after all?”
“I beg your pardon? What do you mean by that remark?” Alden demanded.
“Well, why don’t you ask her yourself?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re talking about,” Meg said in lame defense.
“Oh, don’t you, miss?” Straeford sneered.
“No, I don’t! Come, Ted, I think we should get back to the party. I do believe my brother-in-law is foxed.”
“He doesn’t appear that way to me,” Alden said under his breath. He was bothered by the earl’s inference and ready to stand his ground for the moment. “See here, Straeford, just what are you getting at?”
“I am getting at the question of when you and my sister-in-law plan to announce your betrothal.”
“What! Now just one minute! A kiss in the garden…” Alden faltered, trying to complete his sentence diplomatically, “… Well, that doesn’t signify any such thing.”
Meg waxed silent following his weak reply, but Straeford probed further with a vengeance. “Are you telling me that my family’s honor is so lightly taken?”
“Of course not… certainly not.” Alden sensed that the earl’s incendiary temper had been aroused, and the possibility of a duel between them over this matter flashed across his mind and forced him to couch his reply in guarded language. Of course, he had no intention of wedding a chit so free with her kisses.
“Look here, I didn’t mean to… uh… take liberties, and I apologize to the… uh… young lady here if I misled her in any way.” Alden dispensed an ingratiating gesture in her direction. “I… I was simply overcome with her beauty… just lost my head. Never meant any insult to Miss Loftus. I’m sure you understand, Straeford.”
Tender Torment Page 19
