by Amanda Scott
Dead silence greeted her words. Even Alicia appeared to lose color. Then, before even Faringdon could gather his senses, there came an interruption, and none too soon, Brittany told herself, hoping she did not look nearly so distracted as she felt.
“I say, Tony,” said Sir Reginald Blakeney, approaching them with his sister Martha on his arm, “you ain’t forgot you meant to pay me that coach wheel you lost at faro last night, have you? Don’t mind telling you, lad, I could do to have the dibs in tune again.”
“Reggie,” murmured Martha, smiling at the others apologetically, “this is not the place to mention such private matters as gambling debts.”
“Dashed if I know why not. Tony’ll forget, sure as check, if one don’t remind him now and again. Always does.”
Faringdon rounded on him, saying furiously, “You’ll get your money, never fear, but I’ve more important matters to attend to now, I can promise you.” The look on his face when he turned back to Alicia frightened even the duchess.
“My lord,” she said hastily, “pray recall where you are.”
“Madam, I have not forgotten where I am,” he said in a carefully controlled tone. “However, I do not intend to remain here longer than it takes to collect her ladyship’s wrap from the attendant downstairs. Indeed, if Miss Waring intends to prattle such stuff to anyone who will listen, I believe we ought all to depart as quickly as may be.”
Penelope colored up to her pretty little shell-like ears. “Oh, I will not, sir, I promise. Indeed, my papa said I was not to say a word, and I never meant to say anything to anyone but Lissa, but, oh, you were listening, though one ought never to eavesdrop upon another’s private conversation, but I daresay I did not speak quietly enough, for Mama is always telling me my voices carries as though it had wings, but indeed, I don’t know why you must needs scold poor Lissa, for truly we did nothing so very dreadful, and if only Papa’s friend had not seen us coming back out to the street through the area gate, no one need ever have known the least thing about it.”
“Hush, dear,” said the duchess sharply when the young woman paused at last for breath. “We cannot stand here like this. Mr. Wensley-Drew, will you be good enough to see Miss Waring back to her mama? And indeed, Penelope, you must say no more of this matter to anyone.”
“Oh, I will not,” promised Miss Waring, nearly in tears. She perked up a moment later, however, when Mr. Carrisbrooke elbowed Mr. Wensley-Drew out of the way, informing that gentleman that he would no doubt lose his way in so crowded a chamber and ought better to allow a taller man to do the honors.
“Well, I like that,” Alicia said, drawing herself up to her full height and attempting to look down her slim nose at the rest of the group. “Poor Pen did nothing at all to deserve to be sent away like that.”
“Alicia,” Brittany said sharply, moving to stand beside her, “hold your tongue, for goodness’ sake.”
“I will send for your carriage, ma’am, while we collect the wraps,” Faringdon said harshly.
“Tom Coachman will have driven it home,” Alicia murmured.
“No, he will not,” Arabella put in, “for he always waits just around the corner in Jermyn Street, as you ought to know very well.”
“That is quite true,” the duchess said, glancing from one to the other, “but truly, my lord, I cannot think it wise for us to leave en masse, as it were. Surely, to do so would occasion just that sort of remark we wish most to avoid.”
“Madam,” said Faringdon, speaking quietly but in a tone Brittany was certain her mother had never heard from him before, “what you choose to do is, of course, no concern of mine, but I cannot remain in this room without losing my temper altogether, and if you do not agree that Alicia has no business to be here at all tonight, after doing such a thing as she did this afternoon, then I cannot agree with you. She ought to be soundly thrashed, and if I were in a position to attend to that matter myself, I should certainly do so. As I am not, I can do no more than offer my services to see her safely home. The decision, of course, must be yours.”
“Well, she certainly deserves to be sent home in disgrace, but I cannot in good conscience send her off with only your escort, sir,” the duchess said. “Not if he means to thrash me, certainly,” put in the miscreant, studiously regarding her toes.
Brittany looked quickly at Alicia, but the younger girl’s face was turned away slightly and a wing of sleek wheaten hair hid her expression.
Cheriton said quietly, “If I don’t mistake the matter, your grace, Lady Uffington has just this moment entered the ballroom and is coming this way. Perhaps she will agree to remain with the ladies Arabella and Brittany while you accompany Alicia home, if that is your wish.”
“Aunt Uffington!” Arabella exclaimed, turning to regard in dismay the stout, rigidly corseted figure approaching them with the dignity of a flagship of the realm in full sail. “Of all the coils. Not a word, Lissa, I beg of you.”
“No,” Brittany added hastily, “we will say you are unwell.”
“Won’t be far off the mark,” muttered Faringdon.
“Hush, Tony, for goodness’ sake, you know what Aunt Uffington is,” Brittany said, turning and smiling widely as she added, “Hello, Aunt, how do you go on? We have missed your company.”
“Have you indeed?” responded her ladyship haughtily. Her elaborately coiffed head was held high, as though there had never been the slightest whisper of scandal in her family, and she looked down her high-bridged nose at the lot of them, twisting her thin lips in disapproval. “Alice, my dear, I cannot think why you are all standing about like this. People are staring. Cannot you hear the music? Mr. Willis has signaled for the grand promenade. Whatever are you about to be letting these young people hold up the others?”
“The grand promenade?” The duchess’s tone was vague, as though she had never heard of such a thing.
“Dear me,” said Lady Uffington, shaking her head, “have you lost your senses, Alice?” She turned to the others. “Get along with you, now. You should pay better heed to those around you.”
Seeing that her sisters and mother were bemused by her aunt’s high-handed manner, Brittany forced herself to speak up. “Alicia has been overcome by the heat of the room, ma’am, and we were just discussing whether we ought all to retire, since Mama ought by rights to accompany her home.”
“Heat? Never felt the heat of a ballroom in all my life,” retorted her aunt, regarding Alicia searchingly. “Gel don’t look overcome to me. What is this, Alicia?”
Glancing wickedly at Faringdon, Alicia managed to control her features before turning back to her redoubtable relative. “I daresay ’tis no more than momentary dizziness, Aunt. I shall be right as a trivet in no time.”
“No, you won’t,” muttered Faringdon, scarcely bothering to hide his anger.
“Lady Brittany, will you allow me to accompany you to your place in the line?” Cheriton asked smoothly just then.
Startled, she looked up to discover an expression of determination on his face. “Why, I … surely, I ought to remain to discover what Alicia intends—”
“Come along,” he said more firmly, taking her elbow.
She smiled at Lord Toby Welshpool, who hurried up to the group just then. “Hello,” she said, finding herself tossing the words over her shoulder as Cheriton pressed her on.
Behind them she overheard Lord Toby demand to know why Arabella had not found her place in the line of ladies waiting to begin the promenade. “Step to it, my lady,” that gentleman said, laughing.
“We should not have left Mama like that, sir,” Brittany said to the marquess.
“Nonsense, your mother will manage a good deal better without us, I assure you,” he retorted. “Have I signed your program?”
“Twice,” she assured him. “The country dances, as you always seem to do, and the second waltz, the one before supper, though I doubt we shall be here so long.”
“Yes, you will,” he told her, moving away then to find his own place
in the procession.
Her partner for the minuet turned out to be Mr. Carrisbrooke, who soon had her laughing again, and when he returned her to her family group, she found it diminished by three persons.
Lady Uffington frowned at her. “It isn’t like you, Brittany, to take yourself off without so much as a thought for anyone else. I had to convince your mama myself that she ought to take poor Alicia home. Gel was quite flushed with heat prostration. Ought to be home in bed. But I saw no reason for that young man of yours to accompany them. Your mama has a sea of footmen at her beck and call, after all. Faringdon’s place is at your side, not that you’ll be glad of that match. But no one saw fit to consult me, of course, so you’ll lie in the bed of your making.”
“Aunt,” said Arabella, coming up with her escort in time to hear these last words, “surely one ought not to speak of beds at Almack’s.”
Brittany choked back the surge of laughter that threatened to overcome her, and stared in surprise at her sister. “Bella, what a thing to say.”
The chuckle from behind served as her undoing, and her laughter surfaced in a ripple that grew to a wave as she looked at the grinning Arabella. Cheriton clapped her on the back.
“Can’t dance and chortle at the same time, my dear, and they’ve called for our country dances. Come along.”
“Yes, do go, Brittany,” said Lady Uffington, “since you cannot manage to control your unseemly mirth. Really, I do not know what the younger generation is coming to.”
“An upright dame,” murmured Cheriton as he guided Brittany toward their set. “I have not had the pleasure of her acquaintance before.”
“It is not always a pleasure, I fear,” she told him. “She is more easily offended than Lady Jersey. Indeed, she prides herself on that fact.”
“A stickler, eh?”
“Yes, and she has been disappointed many times. Her family find it difficult to live up to her demands and expectations.”
“Lord Uffington?”
“Deceased, and my cousin lives abroad.”
He nodded. “I have heard something of your cousin, I believe. He courted your eldest sister for a time, did he not?”
She nodded. “Mostly after her marriage, unfortunately.” Then she frowned. “You attempt to distract me, sir, to avoid hearing me tell you that you have disappointed me tonight.”
“Have I?” He guided her to her place but hesitated before stepping back into his own. He looked down at her with an enigmatic expression in his eyes. “How, then?”
The words stopped in her throat as a wave of warmth washed over her body. It was all she could do to keep from looking around to see if the others in their set had noticed anything untoward in the way he was looking at her. Drawing a steadying breath, she said quietly, “I had expected you to manage Mama and Tony the way that only you seem able to do.”
“I cannot be expected to mend matters all the time,” he said evenly, “for soon Tony and everyone else will have to deal with their own problems.”
Her eyes widened. Was he going away, then? But she could not ask him, for the musicians had finished playing the first tune through and the dancing was about to begin. Country dances allowed little respite for conversation, and Cheriton returned her to her aunt immediately when they were done. She did not see him again to speak to until the second waltz was called. By then she had stopped watching the door for her mother’s return, for the time had passed when the doors were closed and further entrants denied.
“I had thought Mama and Tony might return,” she told Cheriton as he placed his hand firmly in the small of her back and whirled her into the pattern. He was an excellent dancer, and she was well skilled in the steps of the waltz, so it was easy to converse as they moved.
He looked down at her, smiling gently. “You ought to have known they would not. Faringdon is in a fiery temper and will remain so until he has doused his head in a bucket of ice water, and your mama will be in no spirits to return after the sort of scene your darling sister and Faringdon no doubt treated her to on the drive back to Malmesbury House.”
“Oh, surely Tony would not scold Alicia with Mama right there.”
“Do you think not? For my part, I did not notice any particular restraint in his behavior when quite half the room was watching him here. He seems to have forgotten altogether that he is your husband-to-be.”
She heard unmistakable anger in his voice and looked up into his face, trying to read his expression. “No doubt,” she said hesitantly, “you believe I ought to remind him of his position instead of attempting to achieve a happy relationship between him and Alicia.”
“I think you ought never to have agreed to marry him in the first place,” Cheriton said more harshly than she had heard him speak to her before. “It was a damn-fool thing to have done. The man is a rake and scapegrace. He is no husband for you, my girl, and that’s a fact. I cannot think how you were ever allowed to do anything so idiotic.”
Brittany stiffened. “You have no right to say such things to me, sir. If my parents see nothing wrong in my betrothal, then I cannot imagine how you think your opinion could matter in the slightest to me, or to anyone else.”
“I never said it did matter. I only said you were a fool.” When she attempted to pull away from him in anger, his hands gripped her waist and hand more tightly. “No, you don’t,” he growled. “You’ll not add more fuel to whatever gossip your sister may have begun tonight. You’ll remain here with me until this dance is done, and then you will go down to supper with me, and you will smile as though you are enjoying yourself, if you please.”
“And if I do not?” she demanded, smiling through her teeth at Sir Reginald Blakeney as he and his partner whirled past them.
“You will.” His tone made it clear that the discussion was ended, and Brittany found herself wondering rather fiercely what he would do if she were to stamp upon his foot and wrench herself out of his arms. Only the decision that such action would result in nothing more than a sore foot and a number of bruises deterred her. Her silk sandals were not the stuff for stamping, and she was quite certain that no matter how hard she might wrench, she would not succeed in freeing herself from his firm embrace. That such behavior as she contemplated would be more characteristic of her sister Cicely than of herself did not, for once, occur to her.
There was no further conversation, and when the music stopped, if she did not precisely smile while he escorted her to the supper room, neither did she scowl. They joined Lord Toby, Arabella, Sir David and Sally Lynsted, and several other friends, Brittany taking a chair next to Sally while Cheriton obligingly went to fetch her a glass of orgeat and some sweet biscuits.
“Is Alicia really ill?” the irrepressible Sally demanded at once. “Bella will not tell us a thing, but we saw Tony, and his face looked like thunder. I told Davy your sister was very likely in the briars again.”
“Well, I hope you will tell no one else,” Brittany said, smiling in spite of herself. One could not retain annoyance around Sally. By the time Cheriton returned with her refreshments, her good humor was restored and the subject had changed.
“What sex do you think the Kent brat will be?” Sir David demanded as the marquess took his seat beside Brittany. “The betting book at White’s shows three to one against a boy.”
“Early days yet,” Cheriton said.
“Early? Not by a long chalk. The duchess is ready to p—” Catching his wife’s laughing eye, Sir David broke off with an apologetic grin.
“Royal duchesses give birth, Davy me boy,” said Lord Toby sternly. “They do not pop. And since Kent’s child is unlikely to become the heir to the throne, no one will care a whit even if it does turn out to be a girl.”
Arabella smiled at him. “Would it distress you to have a queen, sir, instead of a king? I for one think a woman’s hand at the helm would be a vast improvement.”
Lord Toby grinned back at her. “I wish we might have Faringdon’s comments on that subject. He was vocal enough
when poor Princess Charlotte was the heir apparent, and I daresay his views on the matter have intensified of late, if anything.”
“I can tell you precisely what he would say,” said Cheriton in an unexpectedly sour tone of voice. “He would insist that any woman needs a man to protect her from those excesses to which women are prone. And I, for once, would agree with him.”
While the others stared at him in surprise, Brittany leapt up and whirled to face him. Before he could get to his feet, either out of good manners or to defend himself, she had poured the remainder of her glass of orgeat over his head. “You and Faringdon have much in common, sir,” she snapped, “and if he were here, I should be happy to reward him in a like manner. Good night to you.” She turned sharply away, her breast heaving with the fury that had so suddenly overwhelmed her. “Mr. Carrisbrooke, if you will be so good as to lend me your arm, I wish to find my aunt and tell her I am ready to depart. Arabella, you will come with me.”
“Y-yes, of course,” said that young lady, scrambling to her feet and avoiding Lord Toby’s eye. That gentleman, however, was watching Cheriton with a look of unholy glee. Only when the marquess had wiped his streaming face with his handkerchief and managed to look up did Lord Toby pass a hand rapidly over his own countenance as though to wipe the laughter away. The twinkle remained in his eyes, though, and he turned quickly to offer his services as escort to Arabella.
As they moved off to find Lady Uffington, Brittany glanced back over her shoulder to encounter a look of such blazing anger in the marquess’s dark eyes that she shuddered and turned quickly away again, hoping he would not demand a confrontation at once, only to be strangely disappointed when he did not follow her at all.
11
IN LADY UFFINGTON’S TOWN carriage it was easy enough to discourage conversation, and back at Malmesbury House, Brittany said good night to Arabella in a tone grim enough to discourage that young lady from suggesting a comfortable coze before they retired. But then, noticing that light still shone beneath the door of the duchess’s bedchamber, Brittany tapped lightly and was at once bidden to enter.
