Miss Winthorpe's Elopement

by Christine Merrill

  ‘I had no idea what I was doing. I was too drunk to think clearly. If I had been sober, I would never have allowed you to take it.’

  ‘That is not the point,’ she argued. ‘It was a symbol. Of our…’ She was hunting for the right word to describe what had happened in Scotland. ‘Our compact. Our agreement.’

  ‘But I have no desire for my friends to think I would seal a sacrament with a bent nail. Now that we are in London, I can give you the ring that you by rights deserve.’

  She sighed. ‘It is not necessary.’

  ‘I believe that it is.’

  ‘Very well, then. Let us get on with it.’

  Another proof that his wife was unlike any other woman in London. In his experience, a normal woman would have been eager for him to open the jewel case on his desk, and beside herself with rapture as he removed the ring. The band was wide, wrought gold, heavy with sapphires, set round with diamonds. ‘Give me your hand.’

  She held it out to him, and he slipped it on to her finger.

  It looked ridiculous, sitting on her thin white fingers, as though it had wandered from the hand of another and settled in the only place it felt at home. She flexed her hand.

  She shook her head. ‘I retract what I said before. In comparison, the horse nail is light. This does not suit.’

  ‘We can go to the jewellers tomorrow, and get it sized to you.’

  ‘You do not understand. It fits well enough, but it does not suit me.’

  ‘It was my mother’s,’ he said. ‘And my grandmother’s before her.’

  ‘Well, perhaps it would suit, if I were your mother,’ she snapped. ‘But I am your wife. And it does not suit me.’

  ‘You are my wife, but you are also Duchess of Bellston. And the Duchess wears the ring, in the family colours of sapphire and gold.’

  ‘My mother was happy with a simple gold band,’ she challenged.

  ‘Your mother was not a duchess.’

  ‘When your mother worked, did she remove the ring, or leave it on? For I would hate to damage it.’

  ‘Work?

  ‘Work,’ she repeated firmly.

  ‘My mother did not work.’

  ‘But, if you remember our agreement, I do.’ She slipped the ring off her finger and handed it back to him. ‘My efforts here are hardly strenuous, but a large ring will snag in the papers and could get soiled, should I spill ink. It is not a very practical choice.’

  ‘Practicality has never been an issue,’ he admitted.

  ‘It is to me. For I am a very practical person.’

  ‘I am aware of that.’

  She looked at the box on the table, which was large enough to hold much more than a single ring. ‘Is there not another choice available that might serve as compromise?’

  He re-opened the box, and turned it to her. ‘This is a selection of such jewellry as is at the London address. I dare say there is more, in the lock rooms at Bellston.’

  She rejected the simple gold band she saw as being a trifle too plain for even the most practical of duchesses, and chose a moonstone, set in silver. It was easily the least worthy piece in the box, and he wondered why his mother had owned it, for it was unlike any of her other jewellry. His wife ran the tip of her finger lightly along the stone: a cabochon, undecorated, but also unlikely to get in the way of her work. ‘I choose this.’

  ‘Silver.’ He said it as though it were inferior, but then, at one time, he might have said the same of her, had he not been forced to recognise her. And he would have been proved wrong.

  ‘At least I will not feel strongly, should I damage it. And for formal engagements, I will wear your mother’s ring. But not tonight.’ She slipped the moonstone on to her hand, and it glittered eerily.

  ‘It suits you,’ he conceded.

  ‘I suspected it would. And it is better, is it not, than if I wore the horse nail?’ She admired the ring on her hand and smiled.

  He smiled as well. ‘I feared, for a moment, that you might do it, out of spite.’

  ‘I am not usually given to act out of spite,’ she said.

  He laughed.

  ‘Well, perhaps, occasionally.’ Then she laughed as well, and surrendered. ‘All right. Frequently. But I shall be most co-operative tonight, if you shall take me to Wales tomorrow.’

  ‘A bargain, madam.’ He reached out and took her hand. ‘Let us climb the stairs and await our guests.’

  Whoever had selected the top floor of the house for a ballroom had not made the most practical of choices, but Adam had to admit that the tall windows, front and back, provided a splendid view of London below, and the night sky above. He felt Penny tense as the first guests arrived, and thought to offer her a last chance to return to her room and avoid the evening. But he saw the determined look in her eyes and thought better of it. She meant to hang on, no matter what, although the bows and curtsies of the guests and polite murmurs of ‘your Grace’ were obviously making her uncomfortable.

  He reached out and laid a hand on her back, hoping to convey some of his strength to her. She was able to suppress the brief flinch of surprise he could feel, when his fingers touched the bare skin above her gown. And then he felt her slowly relaxing back against his hand, and step ever so slightly closer to him, letting him support and protect her.

  He smiled, because it felt good to know that, whatever else she might feel, she trusted him. And it felt good as well, to feel her skin beneath his hand. He shifted and his hand slid along her back, and it was smooth and cool and wonderful to touch. The flesh warmed beneath his hand as the blood flowed to it.

  And he found himself wondering, would the rest of her feel the same? If he allowed his fingers to slip under the neckline of her gown, would she pull away in shock, or move closer to him, allowing him to take even greater liberties?

  ‘Adam? Adam?’

  He came back to himself to find his wife staring up at him in confusion. Her eyes shifted slightly, to indicate the presence of guests.

  ‘Tim and Clarissa, so good to see you.’ He smiled a welcome to his friend and nodded to the woman beside him. ‘Forgive me. My mind was elsewhere.’ He could feel Penny’s nervousness under his hand and drew her closer to him.

  And as the introductions droned on, his mind returned to where it had been. It might have been easier to concentrate, if he did not have the brief memory of her, changing clothes in his bed. She had been very like a surprised nymph in some classic painting. Beautiful in her nakedness, and unaware of the gaze of another. And he had allowed himself to watch her, for even though she was his wife, he had not expected to see that particular sight again.

  And now, of all times, he could not get the picture from his head. While the object of the evening was to prove to his social circle that he admired and respected his new wife, it would not do to be panting after her like a lovesick dog. A few dances, a glass of champagne, and he would retire to the card room, to steady his mind with whisky and the dull conversation of his male friends.

  It was going well, she reminded herself, over and over again. She had survived the receiving line, and, except for a moment where Adam behaved quite strangely, it had been without incident. Clarissa had been quite incensed that Adam had not paid her a compliment. But he had barely seemed to notice the woman. It gave her hope that perhaps the worst was over, and that she need see no more of Clarissa after tonight.

  She looked around her, at the throng of people enjoying the refreshments, and at the simple buffet, which was anything but. There was enough food for an army, if an army wished to subsist on lobster, ice-cream sculptures and liberal amounts of champagne. The orchestra was tuning, and soon dancing would begin.

  Adam was surveying the room from her side. ‘You have done well.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He hesitated. ‘I understand that this was difficult for you.’

  ‘It was not so bad,’ she lied.

  He smiled sympathetically and whispered, ‘It will be over soon, in any case. The soo
ner we begin the dancing, the sooner they will leave.’

  ‘We must dance?’ What fresh hell was this?

  ‘Of course. It is our ball. If we do not dance, they will not.’

  ‘Oh.’ She had been so convinced that she would embarrass herself with the preparations for the party, or disgrace herself in the receiving line, that she had forgotten there would be other opportunities for error.

  He took her hand in his and put his other hand to her waist. ‘I know it goes against your nature,’ he said. ‘But let me lead.’

  She remembered not to jump as he touched her, for it would be even more embarrassing to demonstrate again that she was not familiar with the feel of his hands on her body. He seemed unperturbed as he led her out on to the floor. ‘You have nothing to fear, you know. Even if you stumble, no one will dare comment. I certainly shall not.’

  She nodded, to reassure herself.

  ‘Have you waltzed before?’

  She could only manage a frantic glance up into his face.

  ‘It does not matter. The music is lovely, and the step is easy to learn. Relax and enjoy it. One two three, one two three. See. It is not a difficult.’

  He was right. It was simple enough, when one had so commanding a partner. In this, at least, she could trust him to lead her right, and so she yielded. And he turned her around the dance floor, smiling as though he enjoyed it.

  She tried to match his expression. Perhaps that was the trick of it. She had but to act like she was having a pleasant evening, and people would trouble her no further.

  ‘You are a very good dancer,’ he remarked. ‘Although not much of a conversationalist. I cannot keep you quiet when we are alone together. Why will you not speak now?’

  ‘All these people…’ she whispered helplessly.

  ‘Our guests,’ he answered.

  ‘Your guests, perhaps, but they are strangers to me.’

  ‘You met them all in the receiving line just now. And yet they frighten you?’

  She managed the barest nod.

  He laughed, but squeezed her hand. ‘You are quite fearless in your dealings with me. Perhaps it will help you to remember that I am the most important person here.’

  ‘And the most modest.’ She could not help herself.

  He laughed again, ignoring the gibe. ‘At any rate, they all must yield to me. And since I intend to yield to you, you have nothing to be afraid of.’

  ‘You yield to me?’

  ‘If you wish, we will cancel the evening’s entertainment, and I will send the guests home immediately.’

  ‘For the last time: no. It would be even more embarrassing to do that than to stand in front of them as I do now, looking like a goose.’

  He nodded. ‘At least you are speaking to me again. Even if you are lying. Your obedient silence just now was most disconcerting. And you do not look like a goose. Do not concern yourself.’

  ‘We are the centre of attention.’

  He glanced around. ‘So we are. But it cannot be very interesting for them, to stare at us and do nothing. Soon they will find other diversions. See? The floor is beginning to fill with couples. And others are returning to the buffet. Crisis averted. They no longer care about us. As long as the music is good and the wine holds out, they will entertain themselves and we are free to enjoy ourselves for the rest of the evening in peace.’

  It was true. The worst was over. She could pretend that she was a guest at her own party, if she wished, and allow the servants to handle the details.

  And as he spun her around the room, she relaxed at the sight of smiling faces and happy people.

  And there was Clarissa, staring at her with death in her eyes.

  He turned her away, so that she could no longer see, and they were on the other side of the room by the time the music stopped. When they parted, he brought her hand to his lips, and she could feel the look of pleasure on her face when he’d kissed the knuckles. And then he turned to part from her.

  ‘You are leaving me alone?’ She could not hide the panic in her voice.

  He nodded. ‘Our job as host and hostess is to entertain the guests, not each other. There is nothing to be afraid of, I assure you. Continue to smile, nod and say “thank you for coming”. Much of your work is done.’ He smiled again. ‘And I swear, once you have done this thing for me, I am yours to command.’

  She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, prepared to meet the horde that had infested her home.

  He nodded. ‘Very good. If you need me, I will be in the card room, hiding with the other married men. Madam, the room is yours.’

  She fought the feeling of disorientation as she watched him go, as if she was being spun by the elements, with no safe place to stand. But she admired the way her husband moved easily through the crowd, stopping to chat as he made his way to the door. Smiling and nodding. Listening more than he spoke. He was an excellent example to her.

  What had she to fear from her guests? It was not as it had been, during her come-out, when all the women were in competition, and the men were prizes. The race was over. And, without trying, she had won first place.

  She thought how miserable she had been at those balls, and how awkward, and how good it had felt to find a friendly face or hear a hostess’s word of welcome or encouragement.

  And then she scanned the crowd. There was the daughter of an earl, barely sixteen, excited by her first invitation, but terrified that it was not going well.

  Penny made her way to the girl’s side. ‘Are you enjoying your evening?’

  The conversation was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. The girl was in awe of her. The conversation was peppered with so many ‘your Grace’s’ and curtsies, that Penny had to resist the urge to assure the girl that it was not necessary. She was a nobody who had stumbled into a title.

  She smiled to herself. The less said on that subject, the better. She had the ear of the most important man in the room. She could do as she pleased. And it pleased her that people like the girl in front of her should be happy. They talked a bit, before she gently encouraged the girl to a group of young people near to her age, and made a few simple introductions. When she left, the girl was on her way to the dance floor with a young man who seemed quite smitten.

  After her initial success, Penny threw herself into the role of hostess as though she were playing a chess game, with her guests as the pieces. Penelope Winthorpe had been an excellent player, and loved the sense of control she got when moving her army around the board. This was no different. Tonight she could move actual knights, and the ladies accompanying them, urging weaker pieces to the positions that most benefited them. While her husband was able to engage people more closely, she enjoyed the gambits she could arrange in a detached fashion. It made for a harmonious whole.

  Perhaps that had been her problem all along. She had never been a successful guest. But that did not mean she could not be a hostess.

  ‘Your Grace, may I have a dance?’

  She turned, surprised to see her brother-in-law. ‘Of course, Will.’ She stammered on the familiarity, and felt her confidence begin to fade.

  He smiled, and she searched his face for some shred of duplicity or contempt. ‘Penelope?’ He gestured to the floor. Since she was rooted to the spot, he took her hand, leading her to the head of the set.

  She watched him as they danced, comparing him to his older brother. He was not unattractive, certainly, and moved with grace and confidence. But he lacked his brother’s easy sense of command. When they reached the bottom of the set and had to stand out, he leaned closer and spoke into her ear. ‘I owe you an apology.’

  She looked at him without speaking.

  ‘When I found that my brother had married in haste, I told him to get an annulment. I was convinced that you would both regret the decision.’

  ‘I had no idea,’ she replied blandly.

  He smiled. ‘I suspected you had, for I saw the look in your eyes when you left us that night. I am sorry I
caused you pain. Or that I meddled in something that was none of my affair to begin with. It is just that…’ he shook his head ‘…Adam has always had an excellent head for politics, and I cannot fault him for his dedication to responsibilities as Bellston. But in his personal life, he has always been somewhat reckless. He thinks last of what would be best for himself in the distant future, and seems to see only what is directly in front of him.’

  She shrugged. ‘I cannot fault him for that. I, too, have been known to act in haste.’

  ‘Well, perhaps your tendencies have cancelled each other. You appear to be a most successful match.’

  She looked sharply at her new brother. ‘We do?’

  ‘You are just what my brother needs: a stable source of good advice. He speaks well of you, and he appears happier than I have seen him in a long time.’

  ‘He does?’ She tried to hide her surprise.

  ‘Indeed. He is at peace. Not something I am accustomed to seeing, in one so full of motion as Adam is. But his activity in society brings him near to people that are not as good as they could be. Compared to the foolish women that normally flock to his side, you are a great relief to a worried brother. And I can assure you, and your family, if they are concerned, that in my brother you have found a loyal protector and a true friend. I am glad of your union, and wish you well in it.’

  ‘Thank you. That is good to know.’ Impulsively, she reached out and clasped Will’s hand, and he returned the grip with a smile.

  Her eyes sought her husband on the other side of the room, and she smiled at him as well.

  He returned a look that indicated none of the affection that Will had described. Perhaps her new brother was mistaken.

  The music ended. ‘I will leave you to your other guests, then. I suspect we will have ample time in the future to speak.’ And Will took his leave of her.

  Another guest asked her to dance. And then another. At last she excused herself from the floor to check on the refreshments. And found Clarissa, standing in her way.

  ‘Penelope, darling. What a charming party.’

  There was no way to cut the woman, no matter how much she deserved it. Penny pasted a false smile on her face and responded, ‘Thank you,’ then went to step around her.