by Mary Balogh
“Ugly?” he suggested. “Unsightly?”
“Blemished,” she said.
“Even though I have never recoiled at the sight of you?” he said, clasping his hands behind his back. He was getting a bit tired of this image she had of herself. “Even though my mother and Lizzie have not? Even though Jessica has not? Cling to this image of yourself as some sort of monster if you must, Miss Heyden, but do not expect other people to endorse it.”
“I am still unqualified to be your countess,” she said. “And incapable. Moreover, I have no wish to learn.”
“Now that is unfortunate,” he told her. “When we refuse to learn, we often end up stunting our growth and never becoming the person we have the potential to be. But we all get to decide that for ourselves. What you will be if you marry me, Miss Heyden, is an eccentric. Eccentrics are often admirable people because they are not afraid to stand alone rather than huddle with the masses, as most of the rest of us do to a greater or lesser degree. Eccentrics at their best listen to the music at the heart of themselves and let it fill them as they dance to its melody while other people who cannot hear it gawk and frown in disapproval and mutter about straitjackets and insane asylums.”
She gazed mutely at him until she laughed again suddenly, her whole face lighting up with amusement. “It is not a rose you ought to have brought with you today, Lord Riverdale,” she said. “It is a pedestal upon which to set me. But only, presumably, if I choose to be at my best.”
“Shall we walk on?” he suggested, and they continued on the way back to the gates.
“What is one specific thing you would like me to learn, Lord Riverdale?” she asked.
“You are already doing it,” he said. “You have met my mother and my sister without your veil. You met Jessica yesterday without it. You came out today without lowering it from the brim of your bonnet. I suppose I cannot know just how incredibly difficult all that has been for you, but I can at least appreciate your courage. I wish you would do it again and then again—one person at a time or the whole world in one shot. A drive in the park, perhaps, or a shopping excursion on Bond Street. Or an evening at the theater. Or something on an outrageously grand scale, like a ball. A betrothal ball, maybe. Or just the rest of my family, one or two persons at a time. My cousin Viola may possibly come to stay within the next couple of weeks with her daughter Abigail.”
“That is one specific thing?” she said. “But what about you, Lord Riverdale? Presumably you too must keep learning if your growth is not to be stunted. What is one specific thing you can learn?”
“Touché.” He grinned at her. “I can learn not to manage the lives of those around me.”
She laughed again. Laughter softened her and gave hints of the woman she could be if she could just get past whatever it was that had frozen her natural development when she was still a child.
“I shall think about what you have said,” she told him, “keeping in mind that you will be busy learning not to manage my life. But there will be no betrothal ball or any other. I am far too busy dancing to my own private melody, remember.”
He had felt more hopeful in the past few minutes than he had in his whole acquaintance with her. She was willing, it seemed, to open herself in small ways if not in large, and he had acknowledged his own need not to be inflexible. More important, she was capable of laughter and even of wit.
“Before anything else, though,” she said, “your mother and sister must approve.”
It struck him as sad that there was no one on her side whose approval he must seek. No one to share the celebration of their betrothal or the planning for their wedding.
“Last year,” he said, “when Anna had been newly discovered by the Westcott family and everyone was trying to bring her up to scratch, Netherby offered her marriage and the family swung into action to plan the grandest wedding the ton had ever seen. While they—we—were at it, Netherby acquired a special license and took her off one morning and married her without a word to anyone. It came as a severe shock to the family, but I have always thought it was the very best way it could have been done. Anna was new to the ton. She would have hated the pomp and bluster of a public wedding. And Netherby simply would not allow it. Would you like us to imitate them, Miss Heyden? Shall I purchase a special license—I could do it tomorrow—and marry you quietly? You would be my countess without any public fuss and would have my full permission to be as eccentric as you pleased for the rest of our lives.”
It was an impulsive suggestion on his part, but it was not one he expected to regret. He had to wait for her answer until a couple of ladies had passed them. As they did so, she half raised her left hand in the direction of her face but then returned it to her side. The two ladies exchanged greetings with him—he knew them slightly—took a good look at Miss Heyden, and walked on in silence until they had passed out of earshot. A few drawing rooms were soon going to be buzzing, he guessed.
“Without even speaking to your mother and sister?” she asked. “And without any discussion of the full extent of my fortune? Without signing any sort of marriage contract?”
“I will take you upon trust if you will take me,” he said. He was beginning to feel a bit dizzy. He could be a married man the day after tomorrow, depending upon her answer.
She drew an audible breath and held it for a few moments as they approached the crowded carriage road close to the gates.
“It is a tempting idea,” she said. “But I will not marry you without your mother’s full approval, Lord Riverdale.”
Eleven
Wren went straight up to her room upon her return, removed her bonnet and gloves, and sat on the chair by the window. Fortunately, Mrs. Westcott and Elizabeth had not yet returned from the garden party, and the earl had not stayed. He was, however, planning to return for dinner. She picked up her library book and opened it before closing it again and setting it aside no more than a minute later. She was certainly not going to be able to read for the next little while. Her mind was buzzing as though a whole hive of bees had been let loose in there.
She was betrothed. Tentatively.
Her dream was about to come true.
Or was it? She could not possibly be the Countess of Riverdale. He had brushed aside her misgivings by assuring her that she might be an eccentric recluse if she wished, but she did not quite believe it would be possible. Already she had met his mother and sister and cousin. Another cousin—the dispossessed former countess—had been invited to come here to stay with her daughter. If she was to be married, she would be here when they came—if they came—and she would remain here until the end of the parliamentary session. She would not be able to hide in her room all day every day. How long would it be before she was called upon to meet all the Westcotts—and the Radleys too, the relatives on his mother’s side? And then who after that?
But why not?
Perhaps her face was not so hideous after all. Not one of the people she had met had shrieked or stared at her in horror or called her a monster or wanted to keep her confined to a room with the key turned in the lock from the other side, with netting over the window, lest someone look up from below and see her peering out. No one had called her a punishment from hell. No one had suggested that she belonged in an insane asylum or had been on the brink of sending her there.
Wren spread shaking hands over her face and concentrated upon getting her breathing under control so that she would not faint. No, of course not. No one had said or done any of those things in twenty years. But there was a certain sort of memory that seeped into one’s very bones and tissues and sinews and into the deepest recesses of one’s mind and being. Would she ever see herself as others saw her? Would she ever believe what they saw?
She removed her hands from her face and rested them in her lap while she looked out at the garden, at flowers and shrubs and rows of vegetables off to one side and a sort of knot garden of herbs beyon
d them, and breathed in the sweet air and the myriad scents that came through the open window with the light breeze.
She was betrothed. She was going to be wed. All the dreams she had ever dared dream were going to come true. And it was not going to be just any old marriage, but marriage to him, the Earl of Riverdale, and she very much feared she was in love with him. But why had her mind chosen the word feared? Because she knew her feelings could never be returned? It did not matter. He had promised liking and respect and a hope of affection, and they were good enough. From him they were good enough, for if she had learned one thing about him during their brief acquaintance, it was that he was a man of honor to whom family was of paramount importance.
Wren closed her eyes and continued to breathe in the soothing smells of sweet peas and mint and sage. She feared—and yes, it was definitely fear this time—that she would not be able to change enough to arouse any real affection in him. It was not just her face that she had hidden from the world. It was the whole of herself. Her instinct was to hide behind veils within veils, and she had done it for so long that she did not know how to cast those veils aside.
She had met four people without her facial veil. She had even gone out without it this afternoon. But could she lift the heavier veil she wore over herself? She had only ever done it with her aunt and uncle. She was well aware that she was different. She was not warm or open in manner and never could be. She seemed incapable of showing her feelings. She was not . . . Oh, she was not a thousand and one things other people were without any effort.
What was she, then? She did not want to define herself for the rest of her life with negatives.
She was a businesswoman and a successful one. She had a good head on her shoulders, and she worked well, curiously enough, with other people. She was capable of love. She had loved her uncle and aunt with all her being. She had easily grown fond of Elizabeth and Mrs. Westcott. She apparently loved the Earl of Riverdale. She knew she would love their children—if, please God, they had any—with a passionate adoration no matter what.
Oh, God, oh dear God, she loved him. She spread her hands over her face again. But was it any wonder? He was the first eligible man she had ever met, apart from Mr. Sweeney and Mr. Richman, each of whom she had dismissed in less than half an hour. Perhaps what she felt was not love at all but merely gratitude.
Or maybe it was love. What difference did a word make anyway? She was going to marry him despite her misgivings about being the Countess of Riverdale. Her acceptance of his offer was still tentative, but surely his mother and Lizzie would not withhold their approval. They had persuaded her to stay here. They had said other things . . . Oh, she was going to marry him, and she did not believe she had ever been happier in her life.
To prove which point she shed a few tears before hurrying into her dressing room to wash her face.
She took extra care dressing for dinner that evening. She had stylish clothes, though she doubted she was ever in the first stare of fashion. She did not have a London modiste, but she did have one in Staffordshire who had long had the clothing of her and knew her well—her height, her size, her preferences, her personality. The pale turquoise dress she donned was fashionably high waisted and short sleeved and low necked, though not too low. Like most of her dresses, it had a narrow skirt, but flowed about her in a way that prevented her from looking like a flagpole without a flag. The hem was accentuated with embroidery in a slightly darker shade. She had Maude arrange her hair a little higher than usual even though she knew it would make her appear taller. She clasped about her neck the pearls her uncle and aunt had given her on her twenty-first birthday and looked approvingly at her image in the full-length mirror, then a bit regretfully at her face.
But it was time, she decided, squaring her shoulders and drawing herself up to a greater height, to forget about her face, at least with her conscious mind. If only it were that easy! She had almost died this afternoon when they had left behind the near seclusion of the wooded path and walked out onto the carriage drive by the park gates. There had been carriages and people everywhere. The veil on the brim of her bonnet had felt like a physical weight, and it had taken all her strength of will not to pull it down over her face. And they had certainly not gone unnoticed. Even if he had not been the Earl of Riverdale and no doubt a familiar figure to everyone in the beau monde, there were the triple facts of his height, perfect physique, and extraordinary good looks to draw attention.
But she had survived.
Now she was seated in the drawing room as the other ladies came down, dressed for dinner. Wren smiled at them. “Did you enjoy the garden party?” she asked. “The weather must have been perfect for it.”
“It was very pleasant,” Elizabeth said. “It was in Richmond at one of the grand houses by the river. Both Mama and I were invited to take a boat ride. I sat at my ease in my boat, looking decorative, while poor Mr. Doheny turned bright red in the face as he pulled on the oars. I was forced to deliver a monologue the whole time we were out, as all his breath was needed for his exertions. Mama was out for more than an hour with Lord Garand and he looked quite unwinded when they returned. Does that suggest I weigh a ton?”
“I believe it suggests, my love,” her mother said, “that Mr. Doheny does not know how to row a boat. Lord Garand remarked that he was dipping the oars too deep and trying to displace the whole of the River Thames with each stroke.”
They all laughed.
“And Lady Jessica?” Wren asked.
“She sat in the summerhouse with Louise almost the whole time we were there,” Mrs. Westcott said, “while hordes of young men prowled in the vicinity just waiting for her to emerge so that they could fetch her food or drink or bear her off to explore the orangery or to ride in one of the boats. She actually looked quite happy even though she ignored them all. I think the visit here did her a great deal of good, as well as the hope that Abigail will come here with Viola. I must thank you for giving her so much of your attention, Miss Heyden, and for taking her with you this morning to see your glassware. She was enchanted.”
“I very much enjoyed her company,” Wren said. And perhaps she was not so totally lacking in warmth as she feared. Lady Jessica had actually seemed to like her.
“And how was your walk in Hyde Park?” Elizabeth asked.
“It was lovely,” Wren said. “We walked among the trees and I felt almost as though I were back in the country. You know that the Earl of Riverdale is returning here for dinner?”
“Yes, Lifford told us so,” Mrs. Westcott said. “I am glad we have no firm commitment for this evening. We will be able to enjoy his company for as long as he chooses to stay. And . . . well, and here he comes.”
The door had opened to admit the Earl of Riverdale, looking breathtakingly smart in black evening clothes with silver waistcoat and crisp white linen. He was also looking relaxed and good humored as he strode across the room to kiss his mother’s cheek and then Lizzie’s. He hesitated and then smiled at Wren.
“Do I take it,” he asked, “that nothing has been said?”
Wren closed her eyes briefly.
“About what?” Elizabeth asked.
“About my betrothal,” he said, “and Miss Heyden’s. To each other. Our tentative betrothal.” Perhaps he was not so relaxed after all.
“What?” Elizabeth jumped to her feet.
“Tentative?” Mrs. Westcott said, her hand going to her bosom.
“Ah,” he said, grinning as he glanced at Wren. “Nothing has been said. I made Miss Heyden a marriage offer this afternoon, Mama—and yes, it was I who did the offering this time. She accepted. Tentatively.”
“Tentatively?” Both ladies spoke this time.
“I will marry Lord Riverdale only on the condition that both of you wholeheartedly approve,” Wren explained.
“But why would you think we might not?” Elizabeth asked.
“You want his happiness.” Wren could hear a slight quaver in her voice and swallowed.
“We thought it was clearly understood when you came to stay here,” Mrs. Westcott said, “that we were acknowledging the likelihood of a courtship and eventual marriage between you and Alex, Miss Heyden. And Miss Heyden no longer. You are Wren. I warned you that I was going to mother you. How much clearer could I have made myself?”
“Oh.” Wren swallowed again. This time she heard a distinct gurgle in her throat and had to blink a few times to clear her vision.
“I think, Miss Heyden,” the earl said, “we are betrothed.”
“Yes.” She clenched and unclenched her hands in her lap.
“Come.” Mrs. Westcott got to her feet and held out her arms, and Wren stood too and found herself caught up in a warm hug while Elizabeth was hugging her brother. They changed places after a few moments.
“I am very happy for you both,” Elizabeth said as she embraced Wren.
Was it possible? They had expected this? They approved it?
“And now we have something definite to talk about over dinner,” Mrs. Westcott said, looking in apparent satisfaction from one to the other of them. “We have a wedding to plan.”
Lord Riverdale exchanged a glance with Wren. “Our wedding needs no discussion, Mama,” he said. “I am going to purchase a special license tomorrow and make an appointment with a clergyman at some quiet church to be married the day after.”
“Just as Anna and Avery did last year,” Elizabeth said. “I was there as a witness, Wren, and it was one of the loveliest weddings I have ever attended. Yes, such a wedding will suit both of you. Alex would hate the fuss of a grand wedding, and I cannot imagine you would be able to bear it. But please, please may I come as a witness? I have experience in the role.” She chuckled.
