Tokens of Love

by Mary Balogh

  Upon waking the next morning, Hunsdon’s first thought was that by tonight he should be an engaged man. It was not as blissful a notion as he could wish, but perhaps that was only natural. He rose from his bed and crossed to the mahogany chest of drawers where he had left a certain velvet box. He opened it to see the sapphire and diamond ring that he had selected for Mariabella. He had thought in his former romantic way that it would be better to surprise her with it and have it fitted later than to wait and let her choose one. Now he was not certain that he had made the right decision. The ribbon and lace lay neglected in the same drawer. He would not need them now. They reminded him of his outing with Barbara. In some ways, he had been the child.

  As Roger had predicted, the snow had ceased during the night, and though the temperature still was cold, the sun was beginning to peep between the clouds. There should be no obstacle to their joining the Fostwicks tonight. With unusual restraint, Roger did not add that Mariabella would doubtless be panting with eagerness to see Hunsdon.

  It was too cold for a walk, or a ride, or a drive in an open carriage, so Hunsdon was forced to remain in the house with everyone else. He refused a game of chess with his host as well as cards with others of the gentlemen, preferring to occupy himself with a book instead. He consoled himself with the thought that the weather prevented his being tempted to call upon Barbara today. He was free of that one danger, at least.

  He was therefore unprepared for disaster when it occurred. One of the ladies of the party had perched herself on a window seat, and now she remarked the approach of a carriage.

  “But it is so very old-fashioned and quaint-looking—and those must be farm horses pulling it. Whoever could it be? Oh, I remember now, Anne, did you not have a caller yesterday who—”

  Hunsdon did not catch the rest of her words. Could it be that Lady De Neresford had decided to try her luck once more? His first impulse was to flee and escape discovery. He rose, then hesitated for a moment, irresolute. Of course, it would only serve that old harridan right if she learned about his deception. Everyone would know of his engagement shortly. Perhaps it would teach her not to cherish such unreal expectations or to encourage her daughter in false hopes. Perhaps it was better to finish it now. Brandville materialized at his elbow. “So this must be the local quiz we’ve heard so much of—it may be that she will enliven this most”—he yawned—“boring day.”

  When the visitors were announced, Hunsdon realized he had made a grave error. He had not anticipated that Lady De Neresford would bring Barbara along with her. It would be unforgivable for her to find out the truth in the midst of this company. The shock would be too severe. He moved toward the drawing-room door, but it was too late.

  Lady De Neresford presented a picture in a red velvet spencer, trimmed with ermine, over a white muslin dress which was puffed and flounced and embroidered wherever possible. It was an ensemble designed to create a sensation, and it did, though unfortunately not a favorable one. She looked far overdressed for the occasion, and the impression was worse when one noticed her daughter. Barbara was wearing a worn and rather drab pelisse of brown kerseymere over an outmoded gown of white cotton, printed with pink and blue. It fit her badly, became her ill, and clearly was an old gown of her mother’s that had been insufficiently altered to fit. She looked uncomfortable and awkward under the cheap straw bonnet that she wore. There was no mistaking the sneering looks and amused titters that passed between some members of the company. Barbara’s head drooped dispiritedly.

  Anne was making the introductions, as apparently only she and one or two of the ladies had been about to receive Lady De Neresford yesterday. The thought of the present danger recurred to Hunsdon. How should he keep the truth from coming out?

  Lady De Neresford had taken a swift look about the room, and her eyes had lit upon Lord Brandville. Hardly acknowledging everyone else to whom she was being introduced, she gravitated toward their corner of the room. Clearly, like her daughter, she had mistaken Brandville for the “London swell.” An idea began to form in Hunsdon’s mind. He hoped that she was not paying strict attention to names.

  At last Anne had reached the group with whom he was standing. “And Lady De Neresford, this is Lord Hunsdon and Lord Brandville—” Good, Brandville was already bowing. Hunsdon sprang forward to take Lady De Neresford by the hand, “And I am already acquainted with Lady De Neresford and her most charming daughter.” Yes, it was working. Lady De Neresford’s eyes were still fixed upon Brandville. If he could just contrive to keep them separated for the rest of the visit, she might continue to believe that Brandville was himself.

  As it so happened, he need not have worried. Brandville apparently had decided that this sort of amusement was not to his taste, or else he wished to escape the persistent attentions of Miss Eldridge, for he made his excuses and escaped. The thought of joining Brandville was tempting, but Barbara’s eyes met his with an unstated appeal in them and he knew he could not desert her.

  As they were seated, Hunsdon found a chair in their part of the room. Politeness would keep them from referring to “Mr. Fitzhugh” by name when he was present. Hopefully, now that she had met “him,” Lady De Neresford would have the courtesy to refrain from mentioning Lord Hunsdon’s name also.

  As much as he wished it, he could not offer Barbara any protection. The ladies of the party, bored with indoor life, had clustered about the new arrivals as interesting curiosities. He tried to listen with one ear to their conversation, but the task was made difficult by Mr. Eldridge, who had drawn up his chair next to Hunsdon’s and was boring him with his theories on shooting.

  Barbara’s deficiencies were all too obvious, and the ladies lost no time in discovering them. “No governess! Really, how very… how very odd…”

  “I often wished that I didn’t have a governess,” piped up Miss Eldridge rather enviously, but the others quickly silenced her.

  “But do you mean that you cannot speak any other languages at all? Nor play an instrument? You do not even paint watercolors?” The questions were directed rapidly, with increasing shock. There might be sympathy from some of the ladies, but Hunsdon could detect underlying satisfaction from others. Barbara had lifted her chin in unconscious defiance, but she was growing pale and her monosyllabic replies were almost inaudible. Hunsdon looked around desperately for Anne to rescue Barbara, but she was fully occupied with Lady De Neresford.

  “There are those, of course, who say that the sight should be small and flat, but I say what’s the use of having a sight at all in that case? Do you not agree with me, your lordship? Don’t you think it’s useless to have a small, flat sight on your gun?”

  He had not been attending, and had only caught the second of the questions. Not to reply would be rude in the extreme. “I myself prefer the sight to be flat because the usual tendency is to shoot low rather than high. With such a sight, the gun is less liable to shoot low.”

  Another man might have been offended, but Eldridge was impervious. “But what of the stock, your lordship? Do you not find a straight stock preferable to a bent one?”

  “Do you mean that you have never been to London? Not even once? Wherever do you buy gowns, then?” The pity of some of the younger ladies was obviously sincere, but it did not make Barbara’s situation any more comfortable. There were mutterings in an undertone and a giggle was clearly discernible.

  “Your lordship? Do you not agree?”

  He hadn’t even heard the question. He murmured an affirmative, which gave Eldridge the opportunity to turn to the gentleman sitting next to him and proclaim loudly. “You see, Hodges, his lordship agrees with me!”

  “Ask him why he uses a gun with a bent stock, then,” retorted the other sourly, but Hunsdon was too distracted to hear it or to notice the reproachful look in Eldridge’s eyes. It was terribly frustrating to be so near to Barbara and yet to have no way to defend her. He curtly muttered some excuse and rose, strolling in the direction of her chair. The circle of ladies was such a
tight one that he could not penetrate it. There was no chance even to address a friendly remark to Barbara. Blast that mother! Couldn’t she see what was happening?

  He found a place upon a window seat, which at least guaranteed him solitude and a good view of the company. Barbara’s head was drooping again and she looked defeated, while the circle about her had grown increasingly animated and, to his eyes, vicious. He watched in helpless fury. It seemed an age until Lady De Neresford finally recalled herself and they took their leave. Barbara did not even look at him, but he could see that her eyes were suspiciously bright. Blast these ill-bred cats!

  After the De Neresfords’ departure the conversation abruptly rose in volume until it reached a babble. The visitors were scarcely out the door when the talk began, and for the first time the gentlemen were allowed to participate.

  “My dears, no governess—can you imagine? And I must say that it shows—”

  “And yet she is a baroness… they say—”

  Hunsdon had stood silent as long as he could. “The De Neresfords are one of the oldest families in England.”

  The company looked at him askance for a moment, then decided that he wanted convincing. “But isn’t she the oddest creature you have ever seen? That dress and that bonnet—well, my maid wears better. And her manners—so peculiar!”

  He replied stiffly, “If her clothing is unfashionable it is hardly her own fault. And the only aspects I find unusual about her are her sincerity and the unusual sweetness of her disposition.”

  This reply had the effect of silencing many, but one young lady, nettled, decided to adopt a sportive tone. “Oh, I see what it is. Your lordship nourishes a secret tendre for young Lady De Neresford. Tell me, what is it about her that appealed to you most? Her air of sophistication? Or perhaps she won you over with the elegance of her conversation?”

  Barbara could talk well enough when she was given a chance, he thought. His rage was such that an unforgivably rude response rose to his lips and he was just able to bite it back in time. He was a guest here, after all, and so were these persons. Instead, he bowed stiffly. “Excuse me, I have a letter to write.”

  “To his own true love, no doubt,” murmured the jesting young lady, but he pretended he did not hear her, nor the laughter of the others as he strode from the room.

  He returned to his own chamber, called for his valet, and began stripping off his coat in order to change into riding dress. There was a knock upon the door, and Roger entered. He observed his guest anxiously.

  “I say, old fellow, you’re not thinking of going for a ride, surely?”

  “I must go see Barbara and apologize.”

  “You did nothing wrong.”

  “I don’t care for that. She must be feeling so… so—”

  “But my dear fellow, it is time to dress for the ball tonight. I daresay Mariabella is the most understanding girl on earth—but she just will not understand your absence.”

  Roger’s words checked Hunsdon. He glanced at his pocket watch. It was well after four. Roger was right. He didn’t have time. It occurred to him abruptly that this was the night he meant to ask Mariabella for her hand.

  Roger gave him a commiserating pat on the back. “If you still feel so strongly about it tomorrow, you may go call upon her then. Can’t think why Anne invited this group of mushrooms, anyway.”

  Yes, he could go talk to Barbara tomorrow. And whiL he apologized to her for the cruelty of the guests, he could tell her that he had deceived her from the beginning as to his identity and he could also mention that he was now engaged to Mariabella. It was a bitter thought. His own deception prevented him from being able to offer Barbara any comfort. He tried to think more optimistically. Perhaps once Mariabella became Lady Hunsdon they might be able to see a way to help Barbara. Once Mariabella realized all the resources that were at their command… In any event, he had no other ideas at the moment. Somberly, he began to dress for the ball.

  Mariabella was looking particularly lovely tonight in a round dress of white satin, finished with a double fall of blond lace at the hem, and a single fall about the neck, headed by a rouleau of white satin. The short puffed sleeves were composed of a mixture of satin and lace, while the dress was finished by wide white gros De Naples sash, tied in a bow behind. She looked striking all in white, but to him there seemed to be something wrong with the picture she presented. He could not quite think of what it was. He was frowning as his name was announced, and as he looked up, he saw that she had turned almost as white as her dress. He looked around to note what might have upset her, but he saw nothing except Brandville, who had ridden in the carriage with him and who appeared more grim than ever.

  Hunsdon walked over to Mariabella and took her by the hand. “My dear! Did I upset you with my scowling looks? I was merely thinking to myself. How lovely you are tonight.”

  She murmured something inaudible, but her eyes were fixed beyond him and he saw that Brandville had followed him.

  “Have you met Lord Brandville? He is one of my greatest friends.”

  “We have met before.” Brandville’s tone was cold and Hunsdon objected to it. Anyone might succumb to a fit of the dismals now and then, but it was sheer ill-breeding to remain in the sulks for so long.

  “I hope that you will save me the first dance tonight”—her mother had already promised it to him—”and perhaps two others?” It would give them the opportunity to slip away together so that he might ask her for her hand.

  She murmured an affirmative, seeming more like herself, though she was still dreadfully pale. He turned back to Brandville, but saw to his surprise that his friend was gone.

  ———

  Every minute seemed an eternity this evening. He could do nothing but smile and make polite conversation and drink champagne. It was his favorite wine and it seemed a good omen that the Fostwicks should serve it tonight. It seemed hours before the musicians began and he finally led Mariabella out to the floor. She danced as gracefully as ever, but she hardly spoke at all. Perhaps she was preoccupied. He was himself. Again and again his mind turned to Barbara and how miserable she must be, all alone as she was. Perhaps it was just as well that the Fostwicks had not invited her. Mrs. Fostwick had confided that Barbara did not possess a ball gown.

  “And I would be happy to give her one of Mariabella’s old ones—though they are not of a size—but, of course, both she and her mother are too proud to accept it. It is such a pity.”

  It seemed odd that she did not have even one ball gown. Of course, Mariabella’s gown would probably look no better on Barbara than her mother’s did, since Mariabella was so much taller. She met him at eye level, while Barbara’s head only reached his shoulder.

  He needed to turn his attention back to his partner. He asked how she was this evening and she made an appropriate response. He asked if the snow had discommoded them and she made an appropriate response. He remarked that they had quite a company tonight and she made an appropriate response. She was still pale. Perhaps she was not quite well, even though she said that she was fine. It seemed to him that her attention was elsewhere. Once he caught her eyes upon Brandville, standing glowering in a corner.

  “Brandville is usually a much more pleasant fellow,” he offered. “I do not know what has put him in such a cursed mood lately.” He was struck with a sudden idea. “Perhaps if you dance with him, it may help to lift him out of the dismals. Come with me.”

  “Oh, no. My card is already filled,” she was protesting, but as the music was ending, he dragged her unwillingly over to Brandville’s corner.

  “As you are the two friends dearest to me in the world, I should like you both to know each other better. Brandville, wouldn’t you care to dance?”

  To his credit, his friend did not protest, although he cast Hunsdon a black look. He took Mariabella’s arm wordlessly and led her to the floor. Hunsdon sipped from his glass of champagne and watched them in growing dissatisfaction. Although they performed all the measures correc
tly, they avoided each other’s gaze and hardly exchanged a word. When the dance was over, they parted with alacrity and unmistakable relief. Had they quarreled sometime in the past? It certainly looked it. Well, they must come to a better understanding. His wife and his best friend should be on speaking terms, at least.

  He would have to talk to them about it, but tonight was certainly not the night. He had the next dance with Mariabella himself.

  As the dance progressed, he saw that it was a perfect opportunity. They were in the farthest corner of the room. It was unlikely that anyone would notice them slipping away from the rest of the company. With a whisper, and a pressure on her hand, he led her from the ballroom into a small side parlor. He seated her on a gilt-and-satin sofa, and began.

  “Mariabella, you must know how much I admire and respect you.” Blast! It wasn’t coming out quite right. Still, he persevered.

  “Because of the unfortunate circumstances, I was not able to speak to you before you left London. I came here with the sole intent of renewing our acquaintance.” That had been his intent. He felt as if he knew her even less well than before, though.

  “I wish… I think that no one would be better suited to be the future Countess of Wittenham than you.” It sounded cold, even to his ears. He knew he should be murmuring compliments and words of love, but none occurred readily to him. Well, there was no point in delaying, then. “I would like to ask for your hand—”

  He was not able to complete the sentence. Mariabella burst into tears. Never having seen her cry before, he was startled and utterly at a loss. As she dug in her reticule for her handkerchief, he could make out some disjointed phrases such as “very sensible of the honor,” “most sorry to cause pain,” and somewhere in the middle of them he heard “would not suit” and realized to his astonishment that she was refusing him.