Dunn noted, as dispassionately as possible, that she managed to regard him with wide, innocent eyes. What was going on here? Did she really believe what she was saying? Or was she lying to him again? Was it a lie about Sir Nicholas? He remembered what Adam had said about Nick kissing her. Did that have something to do with this? When had he done it? Surely some time ago. Nick had been teasing her as far back as last season—about his portrait hanging in her bedchamber. Perhaps that wasn’t the same thing. The questions buzzed in his mind like so many irate bees while he searched for something to say that would cut through the fog of half-truth and shed some light on the situation.
He set the brown paper on the table beside the string. “We have little opportunity for private discourse,” was all he finally said.
To his surprise, she involuntarily drew back from him, forcing an insincere smile to her lips. “As I understand it, that is just as society could wish! No lady is supposed to be alone with a gentleman. Lord Dunn, I do appreciate your coming with the marvelous news of Maggie’s safe delivery, and for bringing Lord Greenwood’s package. I fear my paints are drying where I left them. Please excuse me.”
"Wait," he pleaded, scorning himself for doing so. “Could you . . . would you save me a waltz at the Barnfield ball next week?”
Emma stiffened. “I suppose I must if I have given the appearance of neglecting you as a partner, Lord Dunn."
The acceptance was unsatisfactory: they both knew it. It was ungracious, even when spoken as lightly as she did. At most she expected a curt nod from him. She got it, with a sardonic “Thank you” as well. When he had left, she fled to the refuge of her studio.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Anne stood with her mother, father, and two brothers in the reception line, more unsettled than she had been the previous year for her coming-out ball. The marchioness gave a ball every season and was rather amused at Anne’s request that this year’s be given on the same date as last year’s. Her assumption, that Anne was nostalgic about that important event in her life, was only partially correct, but she had agreed to the suggestion without the least hesitation.
Anne greeted each dark-coated gentleman and turbaned grand dame with her usual easy grace, but her eyes constantly wandered to the hall beyond the ballroom. Her brother Will poked her playfully in the ribs and murmured, “Looking for Langham or Brackenbury?”
“Both of them, of course,” she retorted, determined not to give him cause to tease her again.
Grave with the responsibility of the evening, the butler intoned, “Miss Helena Rogers, Mr. Harold Rogers.”
Anne pressed Helena’s hand. “I’m so glad you came.”
“I didn’t even have to miss a lecture on metaphysics this year,” Helena laughed, passing on to greet Will.
Mr. Rogers next took her hand, surprised by the distinct light of challenge in her eyes. So, he thought, momentarily stunned, there was to be no more polite skirting of the issue. Perhaps it was time, but he hardly felt ready. “Lady Anne. Always a pleasure to see you.”
“Mr. Rogers. A pleasure to see you ... always.”
A chuckle escaped him, quickly stifled as he asked, “May I beg the first cotillion with you?”
She raised quizzing eyes to his. “Did you think I would forget, Mr. Rogers? It was a week ago yesterday, at precisely three twelve (I had a timepiece hanging about my neck) when you asked me. I was in company with your sister at the time, in the Green Park, carefully studying the peeling paint on the bench and wondering whether it would be the minuet or the cotillion. I knew it would not be a waltz.”
“The minuet,” he said firmly, “should be reserved for someone of higher stature than myself.”
“You are by far the tallest man in the room," she returned pertly.
“When precedence depends on height, you may be sure that I will solicit your first minuet of the evening.”
“When precedence outweighs preference with me, you may be sure I will tell you.” Anne nodded to him, graciously, as he was forced forward by the press of people behind him. With a mournful shake of his head, he left her. Decidedly, Lady Anne had thrown down the gauntlet.
Anne allowed herself to be led out for the first dance by Lord Langham, since he insisted. She could not have cared less who her partner was, and her gaze frequently wandered about the room, never resting on Mr. Rogers, but constantly aware of where he was. Helena, too, she kept an eye on as the ball progressed, checking to see that she had partners, and several times leading a gentleman over to be introduced. Maggie was still recovering from her lying-in, and Emma never lacked for a partner. On the other hand, Emma was acting rather oddly tonight, Anne thought as she watched her friend being led out for a waltz by Dunn.
Emma had chosen a round dress of Urling’s net over rose satin, which hung in gentle folds about her figure, a far cry from the provocative gown she had worn the previous year. When Anne saw her with Dunn, Emma had achieved a particularly bland expression, and she kept touching the garland of roses that encircled her shining blond hair. The action denoted a nervousness, self-consciousness, totally foreign to Emma’s character.
It would have been better, Emma thought unhappily, if she had not promised Dunn a waltz. His nearness was unsettling, and his attempts at lightness she found impossible to respond to in the circle of his arms. Even the way he was looking at her was disturbing, with that crooked little half-smile and his gray eyes warm with . . . No matter. It was better not to think of that.
“You look enchanting, Miss Berryman. I don’t believe I’ve seen that gown before.”
“No, it’s new.”
"I was wondering if you might join us on a picnic out to Richmond. My brother Stephen has tentatively set next Wednesday for an excursion with a small party, if the weather holds good. Mrs. Tremaine is coming as chaperon.”
Mrs. Tremaine, mother to a young lady in her first season, was already becoming known as a remarkably lax, though wholly good-natured, chaperon. Dunn’s brother, no doubt, had been the one to choose her, Emma surmised. Still, there would be no in harm in it, except that she couldn’t possibly go with him. “I’m afraid that isn’t a good time for me, Lord Dunn, but thank you.”
“We could change the day.”
“No, no, not on my account, I beg you. I have a great deal of work to do. Did I tell you I’ve begun a portrait of Anne?”
Dunn had noticed before now that she was becoming deft at changing the subject with him. No personal references were to be dwelled on, no plans made, where the two of them would be together.
He had felt sure, that day in the garden, that the two of them were working their way toward an understanding. Carefully, but progressively, they were narrowing the gap between friendship and marriage. What had changed that so abruptly? Had he frightened her in some way? The answer which kept putting itself forward in his mind, and kept being summarily rejected, was that she had decided against him. She didn’t need to give any explanation; it was her right to make such a decision. Until now he had refused to accept the unsavory truth: She had turned him off before he reached the point of making a declaration, saved him the embarrassment of being refused. Dunn could feel little gratitude for her tact.
His mind had wandered, he had been silent too long. Emma was looking up at him inquiringly and he tried to remember what she had asked. Oh, yes, the portrait of Anne. “No, I didn’t know you were doing Lady Anne. Have you finished Lady Bradwell, then?”
“Oh, yes, a few days ago.”
“I should like to see it. Is it hanging in the house?”
“In the dining saloon. Next time you visit her, have her take you to see it. I would be interested in your opinion.”
But not interested enough to show it to me yourself, he thought wearily.
“How is Lady Greenwood coming on?”
“Extremely well.” She smiled at him, but not an intimate smile. “They had a bit of a contretemps. Maggie wished to feed the baby herself and Greenwood insisted that they use
the wet nurse they had arranged for. Of course she thought he didn’t trust his heir to her and was greatly hurt. He thought she was exhausted from the lying-in and shouldn’t tax her strength when someone else could as easily take over the task. Apparently she is a bit weepy since the birth, not an uncommon phenomenon Cynthia tells us, but I assure you it alarmed me to walk into her room and have her burst into tears. Everything came out and Cynthia spoke to Greenwood and Maggie is feeding the baby herself, which makes Greenwood inordinately proud.” Emma shook her head in wonder. “Why don’t people talk to each other? The whole episode need not have happened.”
Dunn had a mocking gleam in his eyes. Why indeed, Miss Berryman? he might have asked, and saw that his message was so clear that she looked away. Ah, well, he would not plague her. The decision was made and it behooved him to accept it with a good grace. For the remainder of the dance he spoke on impersonal topics, and when he left her with Lady Bradwell on the side of the dance floor Emma gave him a grateful smile that made him feel even worse than he already had.
The cotillion provided less opportunity for the discussion of weighty matters, and Anne and Mr. Rogers said very little during it. A polite compliment on her gown. A remark about his sister. He pointed out an old school friend of his. She mentioned a book she was reading. They agreed that the evening fared well to being a success and, as the dance drew to a close, that it was rather warm in the room.
“I haven’t promised the next dance,” Anne informed him.
Mr. Rogers regarded her ruefully. “Then perhaps we could take a breath of air on the balcony. I doubt anyone else will have adjourned there so early in the evening.”
“Yes, that’s what I thought.” The light of challenge remained in Anne’s eyes.
It was cooler on the balcony, though in truth the ballroom was not nearly so warm as it would become later in the evening. A gentle breeze stirred her curls and rippled the yellow gown as they stood silently gazing over the back garden. Only a faint glimmer of moonlight touched the scene, picking out the silvery gravel path and reflecting on the placid ornamental pond. His hand closed over hers where she had rested it on the railing.
Anne said nothing, lifting her eyes to his, the challenge gone but something far more essential remaining. Mr. Rogers had no difficulty reading her beloved face and his whole being responded to her. As usual the cautionary voice rose in his mind to warn him and he struggled to listen to it. He was a man who had trained himself to act with reason and prudence, but this emotion was too strong to be denied. He bent to kiss her. Her response was not so tentative as it had been the first time he kissed her, but warm and eager . . . and delightful. When they drew apart she kept her eyes on his face. He cleared his throat.
“Your father and mother have every right to expect you to marry someone of your own standing, my dear,” he said softly.
“They have never insisted. They have never even mentioned it.”
“It’s something understood.”
“My parents are more interested in my happiness than in my position.”
He sighed and resisted the impulse to kiss the slightly trembling lips. “Financially I cannot offer you the elegancies to which you are accustomed, Anne.”
“My dowry—”
“Your damned dowry is half the problem!” he retorted, exasperated.
“Papa wouldn’t think you were marrying me for my dowry! Besides, half of the titled gentlemen who have offered for me are only interested in it.”
He grinned. “And the other half?”
“Don’t be so provoking! You may be sure none of them would turn it down. The others only see me as an appropriate wife. Not one of them is..." But she could not finish, and she turned back toward the railing.
“Not one of them is attached to you?” His voice was soft, persuasive. “I think you mistake, my dear. It would be impossible to know you and not be attached to you. Are you sure you’ve given them a chance? Have you had an opportunity for quiet conversation with them?”
“Several of them have been to Parkhurst and were forever trapping me into ‘quiet’ conversations in the arbor." She eyed him defiantly. “I even let some of them kiss me.”
“Did you?” He felt momentarily shaken, but his tone was as light as ever when he asked, “And did you enjoy it?”
“No, of course not! I was just ... curious.”
“Were you curious when you let me kiss you?”
Anne bowed her head and whispered, “I was more than curious.”
“Yes.” Mr. Rogers moved to stand beside her, not touching her hands now, and not looking at her but gazing absently at the moonlit path in the garden. Behind them the door stood slightly ajar and the strains of music flowed out into the night. In an unusually tight voice he said, “Let us admit that there is an attraction between us. It would be foolish to deny such an obvious state of affairs. Since the day I saw you at your ball, so vivacious, so charming, so lovely..."
“It was a year ago today.”
He glanced quickly at her, knowing she was right, but she didn’t meet his gaze. “Ah, I see. And a year is quite long enough to judge of your own sentiments?”
“You mock me, sir.” Just the slightest quiver marred her words and she took a firmer grip on the railing. “We have had every opportunity to get to know one another. You have even been at Parkhurst. I have not tried to disguise my failings from you. Though I am sometimes quick to anger, I do not hold grudges. And if I am at times frivolous, well, I do not believe I am often very frivolous. I am not, perhaps, especially devout, but I try to live by my beliefs. I—”
“That’s enough, Anne! There is no question of your failings as you call them, being a deterrent to our . . . marriage.” He had said it, after all those months of schooling himself to put the thought from his mind, to keep their interactions to those of friendship. Mr. Rogers was not a self-effacing man, nor did he have a small conception of his own consequence, but he was all too well aware of the gulf between them. It was not insuperable of course, but he could not fail to be aware that men of far higher rank and fortune had sought her hand—for whatever reason. And in the society in which they lived it would be counted a great pity for her to throw herself away on him. The music coming from the ballroom ceased and he gave a “Tsk!” of annoyance. “Are you promised for the next dance?”
“Yes.”
“Then we will have to go in, my dear. I’m sorry. Perhaps, if I called tomorrow to take you walking I could explain."
Anne bit her lip. “Thank you, no. I do understand. Girls my age are accounted romantic fools, I believe. If they will but listen to the guidance of their elders, they can be relieved of such foolish notions and delivered into bleak but advantageous marriages. How consoling! Good evening, Mr. Rogers.”
With head held high she stepped past him and into the crowded ballroom. Her dance was promised to Lord Brackenbury and she could see him across the room anxiously scanning the masses of people for her. Behind her the door closed softly and she knew without looking that Mr. Rogers was standing to her left. On her right was Captain Midford and she smiled at him as he turned to her
“Lady Anne! Forgive me! I didn’t see you there. May I hope you are free for the set forming?”
“Thank you, Captain Midford, but I believe my partner has spotted me.” She watched Brackenbury advance in her direction with a purposeful air. His brown hair was plastered to his head in an absurd imitation of a Brutus style and his beaklike nose twitched as though he were a hound on a scent. Anne had to press her lips together to keep from smiling.
“There you are, Lady Anne,” he panted as he finally reached her side. “Servant, Midford. Had the devil of a time finding you, my dear. Knew you had on a yellow dress but so do a dozen other ladies this evening.”
Lord Brackenbury would never admit to his shortsightedness, so he made what he considered a most useful suggestion. “You might wear something different next time, something that stands out a bit, don’t you know. Like my waist
coat. I daresay no one would have the least problem spotting you if you wore a pink and purple gown.”
“No, I imagine not, my lord, but I doubt that my mother would sanction such a . . . colorful costume on one of my years."
"What's that? Ah, well, the marchioness won’t be concerned with what you wear once you’re married, now, will she? Dresses a trifle plainly for my taste, your mother, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
Anne smiled sweetly. “I do mind, Lord Brackenbury. Shall we join the set?”
Profusely apologizing for offending her, he led her off, leaving Captain Midford grinning. Mr. Rogers did not share the captain’s amusement. He stood watching the couple, apparently at his ease, but his countenance was grim and it was a moment before he realized his sister had joined him. To avoid the questioning look in her eyes, he said, “I’m sure you know Captain Midford, my dear.” And the good captain, as was expected of him, led Helena onto the dance floor.
* * * *
When supper was announced the guests began to retrace a path through the white and gold music room, the two card rooms beyond (one hung with crimson and the other with blue damask), and down the magnificent staircase to the dining room, salon, and gallery. Dunn was looking about the tapestry-hung ballroom for an unpartnered lady to escort when the marchioness caught his eye. He presented himself with an obliging bow and a questioningly lifted brow. “May I assist in some way, ma’am?”
Lady Barnfield smiled. “I knew I might count on you, Dunn. Langham is going to insist on taking Anne in to supper if you don’t claim a prior arrangement with her. Would you mind? Something has upset her—I’m sure I don’t know what, for she started the evening in remarkable spirits. I think you are just the one to restore her equanimity.”
“With the greatest pleasure, Lady Barnfield.” He raised a quizzing glass, quickly located his new supper partner and arrived in time to hear Langham grumbling, “Well, whoever he is, he has forgotten. You might as well accept my escort, Lady Anne.”
The Loving Seasons Page 32
