by Mary Balogh
In the entire length and breadth of his imaginings, this eventuality was not one that had ever occurred him. All unprepared, he was at a loss as to what to do next and so for one blank minute, he merely stared dumbly at her as she inarticulately tried to express her regrets between sobs.
Eventually, however, his breeding came to his rescue and he urged her to dry her eyes, apologizing handsomely for having caused her such distress. “Indeed, if I had had an inkling of your sentiments I should never have—”
He was not able to finish, as she burst afresh into loud wails, exclaiming between sobs that he was “too kind,” “too magnanimous,” “too noble.” It was clear that they had not known each other well.
He tried again to calm her, but all his words seemed only to upset her the more. At last, fearing that they might be discovered together, and despairing of his own ability to soothe her, he left the parlor after assuring himself that there was no more that he could do. As he entered the ballroom he encountered Brandville, whose own mood seemed more bleak than ever.
“I noticed that both you and Miss Fostwick had disappeared. I take it I am to wish you happy?”
Hunsdon’s control over his own emotions was minimal. “She refused me,” he said briefly. “Excuse me.” He brushed past his friend, in his own preoccupation failing to notice Brandville’s ludicrous expression of surprise.
The ball was going on just as before. Fortunately, Brandville seemed to have been the only one to remark his absence. There were no curious looks and no titters. He knew that to put a good face upon matters he should dance, but he hardly felt like it. A footman paused beside him with champagne, and Hunsdon gratefully accepted a glass. He had downed it just as another footman appeared with a tray. He repeated this sequence of events in rapid succession, hardly noticing what he did. All his thoughts were on Mariabella. Could he have been so thoroughly mistaken about her? .
A hand on his sleeve recalled his attention. “Pardon me, but have you seen Mariabella?” asked Mrs. Fostwick, a trace of anxiety in her voice.
He scanned the ballroom. There was no Mariabella. He looked at his pocket watch. He had left her just five minutes before. “I will go and look for her,” he offered.
Mrs. Fostwick made no protest. “If you would be so kind…”
It was odd how hot the ballroom was becoming. Perhaps he should suggest to Mrs. Fostwick that they open some of the windows. Of course, he had to find Mariabella first, then he could tell Mrs. Fostwick about the windows. Mariabella was probably in the same parlor, still crying her eyes out. He bumped into a dancing couple, excused himself politely, and went on.
The door to the side parlor stood open. As he neared it, he could hear a man’s voice speaking. That was odd. It should be Mariabella talking, if anyone were. As he reached the doorway he could make out the words.
“—cannot stand it any longer. Before I leave this room tonight, you must tell me the truth. Why did you refuse Hunsdon?”
Someone was prying into his private affairs, he thought angrily. Mariabella was still crying.
“You must tell me. I had sworn to go away and never trouble you again once you had accepted him. But this! I must know the meaning of it. My darling, tell me. I love you with all my heart. I wish for what is best for you. Shall I leave you? Just tell me that I should not hope and I will go without a murmur.”
“Oh, no! Justin, I love you too!”
As they were seated beside each other on the sofa, their eyes on each other’s faces, they did not notice Hunsdon’s arrival. He stood in the doorway and stared as Mariabella cast herself into Brandville’s arms and the two exchanged a lengthy kiss. His confused mind could not take it in. Mariabella was the first one to look up and notice him. She let out a little shriek. “Oh!” Brandville looked up in surprise. “Charles!” He tried to say something, but his tongue had become most unruly. His best friend and the woman he loved had betrayed him. He dropped his glass, which shattered loudly on the parquet floor, then turned to rush off down the corridor.
He heard Brandville call his name again, but he could not face them, nor could he face everyone else. A footman was headed for the ballroom with a tray. Hunsdon stopped him and lifted another glass as well as the bottle from it.
———
Roger found him in the library some fifteen minutes later. “Ah, there you are. We’ve been worried about you—or Anne has, rather.”
Hunsdon said nothing, but poured himself another glass.
Roger cleared his throat nervously. “I understand that you had some upsetting news tonight.”
Hunsdon gave a bitter laugh and took another swallow.
Roger took a seat. “I don’t know that it will make you feel any better, but Mariabella’s and Brandville’s attachment is of long standing. Once you appeared, her family preferred your suit, of course—who wouldn’t? Anne took pity on him and invited him to Blakemore in order to introduce him to the heiress, Miss Eldridge—the father’s a cit, of course, but it’s a whopping great fortune. Couldn’t even rouse a flicker of interest in him. I suppose the thing was meant to be, as it were.”
“Great lot of comfort you are. Saying a female’d only want me for my fortune. Letting me look a proper idiot, too.”
“The right female would not want you for your fortune or your position…” He hesitated.
“Well, go on,” said Hunsdon belligerently.
“Are you so certain that you truly wished to marry Mariabella? You’ve hardly seen her since you’ve been in Leicestershire, after all. You’ve seen far more of—”
Hunsdon rose from his seat, enraged. “By gad, so you think it, too! Am I such a poor prospect that you think I’ve no choice but to marry a rag-mannered, half-grown child of a girl?”
Roger remained seated. “She’s not such a child, after all,” he said calmly. “Seems to me that you were the one who said that she wasn’t unmanageable.”
“Well, but…” He could think of no suitable retort.
“Anne was the one who put the idea in my head. Said you came rushing to her defense when those cats showed their claws. Said you didn’t take your eyes from her the entire time she was at Blakemore.”
“Well…”
“I’m not saying you’re in love with the girl, mind. It’s just that you’ve given more signs of it than of being in love with Mariabella. Anne was fair worried about you. Said she hated to see you marry without affection.”
Hunsdon had sunk onto the massive library desk and was shaking his head puzzledly. “But I hardly know her.”
Roger cleared his throat. “It took just one look for Anne and me to… Of course, everyone is different. Just wanted you to see that perhaps you haven’t lost so much as you think.”
———
It was Roger who had put him into a carriage and promised to make Hunsdon’s excuses to the Fostwicks. When Hunsdon awoke in the morning with an aching head, he realized that the details of the trip back to Blakemore were lost from his memory. The rest of the evening, though, remained startlingly clear. So much of Mariabella’s peculiar behavior was understandable now. She had been dazzled by his fortune and his title when they had met in London, and undoubtedly had been encouraged by her family. Reflection and further acquaintance with him had served to show her that she should not wed for those sorts of considerations. If circumstances had not intervened, if she had not had time to consider the matter, she might very well have married him. He shuddered at the thought. Married to Mariabella! Why, they had no interests in common whatever, and though of course she was very beautiful, she had to be one of the most boring women he had ever known. All that perfection of dress and manners and self-command was very well in its own way, but it would have palled on him quickly, he realized. He had been as dazzled by her appearance as she had been by his circumstances. Why had he ever imagined that he could be happy with her?
Despite the ache in it, his brain seemed to be operating particularly efficiently this morning. Roger’s words of last n
ight made perfect sense to him now. Of course he was in love with Barbara. It had taken Mariabella’s refusal for him to own it. He supposed that there was some sort of pride that would not let him admit that he had been wrong in his choice of a mate. Thank God that Mariabella had the sense to see it.
Everything was quite simple now. He had the solution to Barbara’s problem and his own. She would be thrilled by the ring he had selected. Suddenly, even given the pain in his head, the world seemed a brighter, rosier place. He rang for his valet and rose from the bed, whistling a happy tune.
“Morning dress, Johnson. I wish to pay a formal call today.”
He was even able to smile at a nervous Brandville when he encountered him at breakfast, and surprised the latter by congratulating him sincerely when Brandville informed him of his engagement. He thought he managed to conceal his own feelings of relief rather well.
———
If Hunsdon did not quite present the picture of elegance, the transformation in his appearance-was dramatic enough that Barbara’s surprise was evident upon seeing him. Her eyes widened, she let out an exclamation and would have made some remark but he forestalled her. Taking her by the arm, he steered her into the drawing room, closing the doors behind them.
“I must speak to you alone.” Her presence was having its usual unnerving effect upon him. He could feel an unexplained warmth stealing over him.
“I would hardly know you today,” said Barbara, a half smile of wonderment on her lips, as she sank into a chair. She was wearing the same green-sprigged muslin gown he had seen before. He would buy her dozens of gowns once they were married.
“I have something most important to tell you,” he said with a smile.
“You’re being very mysterious.”
“No.” He shook his head and took a chair opposite her. He drew in a deep breath and took her hand in his. “Barbara, I want to marry you.” It had all the conviction his declaration last night had lacked.
She obviously reciprocated his feelings. Her eyes were shining and her lips parted breathlessly. A frown creased her forehead. “But Mama—”
“You must let me finish. Your mother will present no obstacle—in fact, she will approve of this match. You no longer will have to worry about her or finances or anything else. I will take care of everything.” He drew in another deep breath. “You see, I am actually Lord Hunsdon.”
She stared at him in disbelief for a moment before speaking. “But—but you can’t be,” she finally managed to stammer. “I saw Lord Hunsdon myself.”
“That is Lord Brandville, a good friend of mine. I did not wish for you to have to discover the truth in the midst of the company, so I kept Anne from finishing the introductions. I thought that way you might continue to take him for me,” he said, with some justified pride at his own ingeniousness.
Barbara withdrew her hand from his. She did not appear as delighted as he had hoped. “In the midst of the company, and such delightful company, too. I am surprised you did not want to tell them of your little joke on me. I am sure that they would have enjoyed it.”
Blast! She was misinterpreting what he had to say. “I am sorry. I meant to come and apologize to you for the behavior of those spiteful tabbies, but we had an engagement at the Fostwicks last night.”
She had turned quite pale and there was a, queer look about her eyes. “An engagement. You mean that you had an engagement. You are Mariabella’s ‘London swell,’ aren’t you?”
“Well, yes.” Things did look a little bad in that light.
“And you came up to scratch last night—or so Alfred says. He also says that she turned you down in favor of this Brandville—”
“Well… yes.”
“And so you thought that since she refused you, you might as well offer for this poor, uneducated little creature. How noble of you, your lordship. How magnanimous! So I will never have to worry about money again, will I? You are so very kind. Your conscience may rest easy. You have all the virtue of having sacrificed yourself for a worthy cause, but you will not have to pay the price.” She choked on the sentence, and he thought he might have an opportunity to put in a word, but she rose and continued on, even more wrathfully. “I am sorry to have to be the second female in as many days to refuse you, but I have no need of, nor desire for your charity. I would not marry you if you were the last man on earth.” With these words she turned on her heel and stalked from the room—rather magnificently, he thought.
———
Roger found him giving his valet directions for packing later that afternoon. “Hunsdon, I must speak with you.”
He dismissed his man with a nod and sat down heavily upon the bed. Roger drew up a chair close to him.
“Anne tells me you are leaving us.”
He nodded hopelessly.
“I did not inform her where you went today. I take it all did not go well with Barbara?”
“She refused me.”
Roger looked surprised. “That’s odd. From what Anne said, she appeared to be besotted with you. Said yesterday she was stealing little glances at you when you weren’t looking.”
He sighed. “It seems that Anne was mistaken.”
“Tell me about it.”
Hunsdon had kept the secret to himself for too long. The rough sympathy in Roger’s voice invited confession. “I could have sworn that she was ready to marry me, when I first asked her,” he said unhappily, “but perhaps I should start at the beginning.”
It wasn’t until he was three-quarters of the way through with his story that Hunsdon realized that there was something wrong. Roger had turned his face away from him and odd sniggering noises occasionally escaped him. Hunsdon began to watch him more closely, and it seemed to him that Roger’s shoulders shook once or twice. His suspicions were confirmed when he finished his pathetic tale and Roger could no longer contain himself, but broke into a loud guffaw.
“Confound me if I’ve ever heard of a more mismanaged affair,” he exclaimed between chuckles, wiping his eyes with a handkerchief.
Hunsdon was not amused. Roger patted him on the shoulder, still not quite able to contain his mirth.
“I’m sorry, lad. Tell me, though, did you offer her any apology for your deception?”
“No.”
“Did you tell her that you had realized that you didn’t wish to marry Mariabella?”
“No.”
“Did you at least tell the girl that you loved her?”
Hunsdon did not even reply. Roger, having regained command of himself, patted his shoulder again sympathetically. “It’s your upbringing, I expect. You’ve always had every obstacle removed for you, so that you don’t know what to do when you encounter—well, enough of that. You came to Leicestershire to woo Mariabella, didn’t you?”
Hunsdon nodded.
“Well, you must do the same for Barbara. She has a right to it, doesn’t she?”
“But she said that she wouldn’t marry me if I were the last man in the world.”
“I take that as a good sign,” said Roger wisely. “She feels strongly about you, there’s no doubt of it. You humiliated her. Now it’s up to you to win her affections back. Stay here another few weeks and give it a try, anyway. There’s no sense in throwing away your happiness—or hers.”
He sat and thought for several minutes after Roger had left. There was a great deal in what he said. Perhaps there was hope, after all. And St. Valentine’s Day was still two weeks away. Barbara had said she’d never had a valentine before. She had seemed to think highly of his foolish, romantic gestures. He crossed over to the chest of drawers, opened it, and stared at the neglected parcels of ribbons and lace. He extracted one before calling his valet and ordering him to unpack. Then he went downstairs to seek his hostess.
“Anne,” he said forlornly, “could you show me once again just how to tie a love knot?”
———
It was almost St. Valentine’s Day, and as far as he was concerned, there was no reason to be o
ptimistic. He had sent posies from the Blakemores’ greenhouse, chocolates from London, love knots, issues of the Sporting Magazine, and earnestly collected and painstakingly copied specimens of poetry. It was true that each of his daily offerings had been accepted, but still Barbara refused to see him. Hunsdon would have sent her jewels and gowns, but Roger thought it would suggest to the proud girl that he was attempting to purchase her affections.
Roger thought it encouraging that she no longer returned his notes unopened, but Hunsdon merely sighed, “I daresay that her mother won’t let her. At this rate, we should be married when we’re both in our seventies.”
“Don’t be so discouraged. Anne has a scheme that may well answer.”
“I thought you were the one who said we should avoid becoming mixed up in her schemes.”
Roger ignored him. “She means to invite the De Neresfords to a dinner on St. Valentine’s Day. Barbara can hardly avoid seeing you then.”
Hunsdon refused to be optimistic. “Why should she come? After their last reception here, I daresay she would want to avoid it.”
“The Eldridges and most of the others are already gone, so she will not have to worry about them. Besides, I am certain that mother of hers will insist upon her coming.” He smiled at Hunsdon’s gloomy countenance. “Faint heart never won fair lady, as they say.”
———
Given Roger’s assurances, he supposed he should not have been too surprised by the De Neresfords’ acceptance. The party would be a small one, with only ten of them there. He should have a chance to be alone with Barbara. It was odd how much the thought brightened him as dinnertime drew near. He had sent nothing to her today, preferring to give her his valentine in person. An awkward construction of satin, ribbon, and lace, it had taken him a good part of the night to finish. He had never felt so inadequate as when he was cutting and pasting and arranging everything upon it, but surprisingly, his gentle hostess had refused to lend him any aid.
