Belle's Beau

by Gayle Buck

  "Why don't you tell me?" invited Lord Ashdon without change of expression.

  Roland felt a spurt of irritation. "I've come to apologize, as you very well know! I should never have taken Belle— Miss Weatherstone—to that blasted masquerade. I know that. I am heartily sorry for it!"

  "You knew it was wrong yesterday, Roland." Lord Ashdon straightened and took a slow step forward, and another. "You even asked for my advice, which I freely gave."

  Roland eyed his cousin's advance with unease. "Quite right." He threw back his shoulders. "All right, then! Hit me, Adam. Go on, get it over with! I know that I deserve it!"

  Lord Ashdon stared at him in astonishment, then burst out laughing. "What?! I have no intention of hitting you, Roland."

  "You don't?" Roland drew a breath. "Well, that's a relief, at least."

  "Why would you think that I would take a swing at you?" asked Lord Ashdon, his smile still lingering about his mouth.

  "Well, knowing how you feel about Miss Weatherstone, I just thought. . ." Roland trailed off as the viscount's smile disappeared and a shuttered expression entered his lordship's eyes. "I am sorry, Ashdon. I did not intend—

  Lord Ashdon forced a smile back onto his face. "I haven't taken offense, Roland. I was simply taken aback for an instant. So, you believe me to be smitten with Miss Weatherstone."

  "I-I thought you were, but if you say you aren't, then of course I believe you," said Roland quickly.

  Lord Ashdon chuckled. He stepped forward to clap a hand onto his cousin's shoulder and shook the younger man slightly back and forth. "No, you did not misread the signs, cousin. I was very much smitten by Miss Weatherstone. The Belle of London!" He dropped his hand and turned away, to stare abstractedly at the small fire on the hearth.

  "Er, if you don't mind my asking, Ashdon, what happened to change things?" asked Roland with delicacy.

  Lord Ashdon turned to look at his cousin. His firm mouth had thinned. A kaleidoscope of memories flooded his mind, of vivacious conversations and a lovely, laughing face. The time that he had spent with her in London made his recollection of their acquaintance in Bath pale by comparison. He had hoped she felt the same; yet when she had asked him about Bath, implying that she placed no significance on their previous acquaintance by announcing that she had forgotten everything about it, he had been surprised and wounded. "Why, nothing happened, Roland. I merely discovered that a pleasant memory was merely a figment of my imagination."

  "I don't understand," said his cousin, frowning.

  Lord Ashdon sighed and shook his head. He was in no mood to explain. "It is unimportant. Let us simply say I have decided that I and Miss Weatherstone would not suit."

  Roland's mouth dropped open and he stared in open dismay. "Adam! I had no notion that the affair had gone so far with you! I am sorry! Did Miss Weatherstone refuse you?" Before Lord Ashdon could reply, his cousin's eyes narrowed. "No, for everyone would have known if you had offered for her. If Mrs. Weatherstone had not seen to it, my aunt certainly would have!"

  "Roland—" Lord Ashdon threw up his hand. But Roland could not he stopped.

  "You were about to offer for her, weren't you, Adam? But then something happened, something—" Roland sucked in his breath sharply. "Never say it was because of my taking Belle to the masquerade, Adam! You must know that I would never have let her reputation suffer for it, I assure you!"

  "It has nothing to do with you, Roland. It is Miss Weatherstone. I... fear that I was greatly mistaken in her," said Lord Ashdon.

  Roland flushed and his mouth set. "I'll not let you say anything against Belle, Ashdon. She is a dear friend, to me and to others. She may be spirited and hardheaded at times, but there's no harm in her."

  "I am certain of that. Roland, I truly have nothing against Miss Weatherstone. I don't think her fast or disreputable, as you seem to have assumed." Lord Ashdon hesitated, choosing his words carefully, for he had no desire to expose Miss Weatherstone to any censure, nor to uncover the extent of his disillusionment. "I said that Miss Weatherstone and I would not suit because we are too different. I am a disciplined soldier. I do not tolerate shallowness or the frivolous very easily."

  Roland stared almost in incomprehension. "You are saying that Belle is shallow and frivolous?"

  "Perhaps not that so much as spoiled," amended Lord Ashdon. He was recalling again the unsubtle way she had hinted him away during the riding outing to Gunther's and also the curt manner in which she had rejected him at Vauxhall Gardens. Miss Weatherstone had made it abundantly clear that she felt he had become too possessive of her and that she did not welcome his attentions. "Yes, I suppose that is more what I am trying to say. She is used to having her way. And she is not anxious to form a closer connection."

  "I see," said Roland slowly. "I don't know what to say, Adam."

  Lord Ashdon looked at him with only a hint of his easy smile. It did not reach his eyes. "Why, I don't think there is anything to say, Roland."

  * * * *

  Lady Ashdon was appalled when her son informed her that he had decided that he would not attend the Mooreheads' gala at their estate. "Not attend? Are you mad, Adam? It is touted to be one of the crowning affairs of the Season! Why, everyone who is anyone will be attending."

  "I weary of the social rounds, Mother," said Lord Ashdon with a hint of his wide smile. "I am toying with the notion of going down to my estates for a few weeks."

  "Leave London? But that is preposterous! You cannot remove yourself now, not when you are expected any day to make an offer for one of the young ladies you have been dancing attendance on!" exclaimed Lady Ashdon.

  Lord Ashdon contemplated his mother for a long moment. "And just who is it that expects me to betroth myself, my lady?""

  Lady Ashdon raised her eyebrows, not at all intimidated by the question. "Adam, you must realize that in your position you are the subject of generous gossip. Of course you are expected to offer for someone! It would be thought odd if you did not after the way you have made up to Miss Weatherstone, among others."

  Lord Ashdon got up and took a turn around the black-and-gold sitting room. "I detest this decorating scheme," he remarked without heat.

  Lady Ashdon's mouth dropped open. She closed it with a snap. "Well! It is quite obvious to me that you are laboring under some strong emotion. It is equally obvious that your reluctance to go down to the Mooreheads' weekend party has everything to do with at least one of the young ladies who will be attending. I wish you will tell me the truth, Adam!"

  Lord Ashdon swung around, a frown between his blond brows. "The truth, ma'am? Very well! I have discovered in myself a distaste for the matrimonial state. I don't wish to wed."

  Lady Ashdon stared at her son. When she spoke, it was a curiously softened voice. "Which one is it, Adam? Who is it that has so tied you in knots that you are afraid to face her?"

  "What nonsense! I, afraid!" Lord Ashdon laughed the very notion to scorn. "I have faced bayonets and cannon fire, my lady. There is nothing more to fear."

  Lady Ashdon rose from her chair. Her expression was cool. "I am very glad to hear it, Adam. You will not deny me the pleasure of your escort, then, to the Moorehead estate, since there is nothing and no one there for you to fear." She swept out of the sitting room.

  Lord Ashdon stood staring after his parent. By and by, a reluctant grin came to his face. "She carried this one, by Jove."

  * * * *

  Mrs. Weatherstone had her own reservations about the wisdom of attending the Moorehead party. "After this—this start of hers, I am not at all certain that I wish to go, Phineas. What if someone saw her and has said something? What if she does something else outrageous? Oh, I could not bear it to have the Season end badly, not when everything seemed to be going so well!"

  "You must compose yourself, my dear," said Mr. Weatherstone. "It has been a full day since the masquerade, and we haven't seen any ill effects thus far. Perhaps no one but Lord Ashdon found her out. His lordship is an honorable man. He wil
l not betray our confidence in him. Nor will Mr. White, I hope. He comes from the same honorable stock, after all."

  "Yes, but—"

  "It will appear very odd if we do not attend, Margaret. The Mooreheads are among our closest acquaintances," said Mr. Weatherstone quietly. "Our absence would inevitably raise unwelcome questions and could very well offend Lord and Lady Moorehead."

  Mrs. Weatherstone sighed. "You are right, of course. We have no choice but to go. And if Belle's reputation is made to suffer, I suppose I would rather see the results of it outside of London. There it will be easier to claim that Belle is taken ill and must be sent back home than if she was still in town, where everyone will know differently."

  "I agree," said Mr. Moorehead somberly. "But, Margaret, she is to be sent home to the Hall only if her reputation is completely tarnished. My father must be given no good cause to blame us if things do not work out as they should."

  * * * *

  Though Belle was not privy to her aunt and uncle's conversation, nevertheless she perceived that they had spoken about her between them. It seemed fairly well agreed that nothing else was to be said to her about the masquerade. Mr. Weatherstone did make it quite clear in a little lecture that he and Mrs. Weatherstone would not tolerate any other such clandestine activities in future. "And I believe that I must ask you to forswear Mr. White's sole company," he ended. "The young gentleman appears to be rather more rackity than I had thought."

  "It wasn't Mr. White's fault, Uncle," said Belle in a low voice. "It was mine. He merely agreed to escort me because he did not wish me to be unprotected at the masquerade."

  "Mr. White's care for you would have been better realized if he had come to us instead," said Mrs. Weatherstone in reproof.

  "Yes, I see that now," said Belle quickly. "I assure you, Mr. White will never have opportunity to be forced into such a position again."

  "Nevertheless, Belle, I must have your promise," said Mr. Weatherstone sternly. "You will not seek out Mr. White's sole company."

  "You have it, of course," said Belle shortly. She was angered by the unfairness of it all. She was solely to blame, yet her friendship with Mr. Roland White was to be curtailed because he had been a party to her stupidity. As she looked from her uncle to her aunt and back again, Belle thought that perhaps it had not been such a wonderful opportunity to come up to London with them, after all. She had not been able to meet their high expectations, nor indeed, her own. It was a bitter thing to realize that she had earned their distrust.

  Chapter 14

  It was a short drive to the Moorehead estates from town. The Weatherstones made an early arrival and were greeted with pleasure by Lord and Lady Moorehead.

  Miss Clarice Moorehead in particular was delighted to see them. She hugged Belle and drew her swiftly aside, while the servants look the Weatherstones' wraps. "Oh, I cannot wait for you to see the ballroom tomorrow. It will be so grand, Belle!"

  "I am anticipating it already," said Belle. "May I help Lady Moorehead with any of the arrangements?"

  "Oh, no! Mama's staff is handling every detail," said Clarice airily. Dimples appeared in her cheeks as she smiled, and her green eyes sparkled. "Besides, it is to be a surprise."

  Since Clarice was the youngest and the last daughter, her parents were universally known to be indulgent of her whims. Never was that more evident than in the decor of the grand ballroom for this affair.

  The ballroom was completely mirrored so that it appeared fantastically large. The high ceilings and walls were draped in white gossamer fabric and massive garlands of sweet-smelling flowers. Countless expensive wax candles were lit, and their hot brilliance was reflected over and over again in the mirrors with marvelous effect. The result was overpowering.

  The following evening when the Weatherstones were ushered into the ballroom, Mr. Weatherstone looked around with a stunned expression. "My word!"

  "It quite takes one's breath away, does it not?" asked Lady Moorehead complacently. "The notion was one of Clarice's, and I must own that it turned out quite well."

  "Very pretty," approved Mrs. Weatherstone, shooting a warning glance at her husband. "Clarice, you are to be congratulated for your creativity. I can foresee that you will be a prominent hostess one day."

  Clarice blushed with pleasure. "It is most kind of you to say so, Mrs. Weatherstone."

  "Why don't you take Belle over to the refreshment table? I am certain that she would like an ice, for it is already quite warm in here," said Lady Moorehead, plying her fan.

  "Yes, Mama," said Clarice obediently. She slid her gloved fingers around Belle's arm and led her friend off, leaving the older generation behind to fall into their own deep conversation.

  As soon as she was certain that she was out of earshot of her parents, Clarice said in a low tone, "Belle, I have something terrible to tell you, something utterly awful!"

  Belle was startled by her friend's intensity. "Why, Clarice, what is it? Are you in trouble of some sort?"

  "Oh, no! Of course I am not! It is nothing to do with me," replied Clarice. "It has everything to do with you, however!"

  "Then tell me quickly!" said Belle.

  "It—it is Lord Ashdon, Belle. He mentioned something about you to Roland, and Roland told Angus, and Angus told me," said Clarice in a tragic tone.

  Belle set down the ice and took hold of her friend's agitated hands. "Clarice, tell me this minute or I shall shake it out of you!"

  "Oh, dear! I don't think I can, now," said Clarice, looking stricken.

  Belle let go of her friend's hands and took hold of her slim shoulders instead. "I am warning you, Clarice."

  "Belle! You wouldn't dare do so right here in the ballroom!" exclaimed Clarice, her green eyes widening.

  "Oh, wouldn't I just!" Belle gave her friend an experimental shake. "Now, pray do not tease me any longer! What did Lord Ashdon say about me?"

  Clarice capitulated. "Roland said that he was just talking to his cousin, the viscount, you know, and your name came up. Lord Ashdon said that he thought you were spoiled and shallow and frivolous." She spoke in an increasingly hurried fashion, as though she had to get everything out at once or choke on it.

  Belle released her friend and half turned, so that Clarice was not able to see her face. She feared that if her expression was any mirror of her emotions, then Clarice would certainly know how deeply she had been wounded.

  Belle drew a shuddering breath and pinned a smile on her face as she glanced fleetingly at her friend. "I see! Well! That is something, to be sure!" She opened her fan and waved it to and fro, scarcely noticing the effect of the breeze on her heated face, so turbulent were her thoughts. So this was to be the outcome of her rebellious desire to attend the masquerade. She had forfeited the respect of the one gentleman who had come to mean something to her.

  "I am sorry, Belle! You are upset. Oh, I knew it would upset you. I shouldn't have said anything," cried Clarice, genuinely dismayed.

  Belle gave a light laugh, though she had rarely felt less like it in her life. "Why, I am glad that you did, Clarice. It is better to know how one stands with someone, don't you think? I shan't need to waste my time on the viscount anymore, which is a very good thing."

  Clarice regarded her in some amazement. "Why, Belle, I thought that you liked Lord Ashdon. That is why I was so torn about telling you what Roland said, though I knew I should."

  "Oh, I rather thought that I liked Lord Ashdon, too, for a little while," said Belle blithely. She snapped her fan shut, tired of the silly toy. Her knuckles whitened on the fan's ribs as she attempted to maintain her nonchalant appearance. It was vitally important to her that no one, not even her good friend, should realize how her heart was shattering. "But truly, what is his lordship to me? He is only one of my several admirers."

  Clarice heaved a sigh. "I am so very glad! I was afraid that you would be quite, quite cast down."

  Belle forced another laugh. "Why should I be?"

  Clarice squeezed her arm.
"If it is any consolation, Belle, the Crockers and Miss Fairchilde will not be coming this weekend. Mama received a message. Miss Fairchilde has the spots, and so she is to be sent home before the Season is over."

  Belle stretched her mouth once again in a semblance of her usual smile. With effort she turned her mind to the other young lady. "Poor Miss Fairchilde. I do feel for her."

  "Well, and so do I, naturally. But let us be practical, Belle. At least Lord Ashdon will not be able to make up to her anymore," said Clarice.

  Belle wished that her maddening friend would be quiet. "Do let us forget Lord Ashdon! We have the whole evening ahead of us, Clarice, and I, for one, intend to enjoy every moment of it."

  Later that evening, Belle had occasion to put her brave boast into practice. Lord Ashdon arrived, escorting Lady Ashdon, and paused to survey the crowded ballroom.

  Belle watched him surreptitiously, anxious to see whether he would acknowledge her. His eyes passed over her without stopping, and her heart dropped to her toes.

  She had been hurt by Lord Ashdon's sudden coolness toward her. That he had been the one in all the world to catch her cavorting in an unacceptable place had been disastrous. She had looked for him without success in the early morning after the masquerade at the park, hoping to offer an apology to him; but he had not appeared. Nor had he any other morning that entire week.

  Never one to allow setbacks or obstacles to throw her for long, Belle nevertheless was depressed by Lord Ashdon's desertion. She had come to look forward to seeing him as she exercised Rolly. Indeed, those hours had come to be her favorite times in the viscount's company. She had learned a great deal about him and his hopes for the future and even his odd insistence that Napoleon Bonaparte would once more appear on the world stage.

  Now she wished that she had known more about Lord Ashdon's personal character. She was certainly aware that he had taken offense at what she had done. That had been transparently obvious from the way he had spoken to her that night. She had hoped that their friendship was such that she could apologize and assure him that she did not habitually divert herself with scandalous behavior. She had hoped that Lord Ashdon was not so high in the instep that he could not forgive a stupid lapse in propriety.