Belle's Beau

by Gayle Buck

  "What! Sir Marcus and Miss Bidwell coming up?" exclaimed Mrs. Weatherstone. "Oh, Cassandra! Why didn't you say so at once? Why, I must see to their rooms at once. There will he so much to arrange. A scaled-down guest list, of course, and perhaps a few modifications in refreshments would be in order as well. Phineas, what do you think?"

  "I leave all such arrangements to you, dear wife," said Mr. Weatherstone hastily. He turned his glance on Mr. Raven and his niece. "The only question I have for you is where you intend to be wed."

  Mrs. Weatherstone looked questioningly at Mr. Raven. Rising to the occasion and displaying admirable qualities of diplomacy, he said, "Cassandra and I have not yet decided what will be best. Perhaps you may advise us, Mrs. Weatherstone?"

  "I shall be glad to, Philip," said Mrs. Weatherstone, a smile coming to her face. Her expression was all anticipation. "Come! We shall go into the morning room, where we can be more comfortable while we discuss matters. Oh, it is all so prodigiously exciting, is it not, Phineas?"

  Belle had stood back on the periphery, listening with interest to all of the changes that were taking place in her sister's life but feeling a little detached from it all too. She was at once happy and unsettled. When she looked at Cassandra's happy glow and Philip's smiling face, she was glad for them, but she was puzzled by the accompanying feelings of sadness. Her sister was embarking on a relationship that she dearly prized, while Philip was entering a new and wonderful phase of his career. Belle did not understand why she could not feel unalloyed joy for them, for she loved them both, but she felt almost envious of them and their good fortune.

  "I shall be glad to accompany you, ma'am," said Philip.

  Mrs. Weatherstone tucked her hand into his elbow and drew him out of the breakfast room, already voicing plans. Philip courteously inclined his head toward the lady. Chuckling, Mr. Weatherstone started to follow them, then paused at the door to glance at his nieces. "Are you coming, Cassandra? Belle?"

  "In a moment, dear uncle," said Cassandra with a smile.

  Mr. Weatherstone looked from one to the other and smiled before exiting.

  Cassandra faced her twin sister, her smile fading. She quietly studied Belle's face. "Belle, are you quite all right? You have been so quiet since we arrived," she said softly.

  "Have I?" Belle summoned up a smile. "I just have so many thoughts running riot through my mind, Cassandra. I had wished you to come up to London so that we could be together again, even if it was to be for only a short time before your wedding. And now you have, but you and Philip are leaving England almost at once, and I don't know when I shall see you again!"

  Cassandra reached out and caught her sister's hand. Squeezing Belle's slender fingers, she said sympathetically, "I know just what you mean. Even though I am so very happy, I cannot help but think of all the dear ones that I shall be leaving behind—you, and Uncle Phineas and Aunt Margaret, plus Grandfather and Biddy and all the rest at the Hall. Sometimes I can't bear it."

  "You mustn't say that!" exclaimed Belle, dismayed by the tears suddenly glistening in her sister's eyes. "I am sorry, Cassandra! I never meant to hurt you. You mustn't feel that way. Why, only recall what you once told me—that you would wait for Philip forever because you couldn't possibly live without him."

  "You are right, of course," said Cassandra with a small laugh, though there were still shadows of melancholy in her eyes. "Oh, dear! Why does it all have to hurt so much?"

  "I think love and commitment demand it of us," said Belle seriously. "I have been giving a great deal of thought to that recently. Cassandra, I have been such a selfish little prig."

  Cassandra's expression mirrored her amazement. "Belle! Why, what a thing to say about yourself! And completely untrue besides," she exclaimed.

  Belle shook her head, a smile just touching her lips. "No, it is quite true. I have behaved selfishly all of my life. Why, it was I who talked you into that shameless masquerade so that I could go to that house party."

  "But I wanted to be with Grandfather," retorted Cassandra. "So I was just as selfish in my motives as you were. Belle."

  "And I wished to come up to London, simply to indulge myself with parties and entertainments and lovely clothes," said Belle.

  "While I chose to blight Aunt Margaret's dreams for me of a magnificent come-out and a brilliant marriage," countered Cassandra.

  "But you fell in love with Philip," objected Belle. "That doesn't count as selfishness."

  "Oh, doesn't it, dear sister?" retorted Cassandra. "In the back of my mind was always the comforting thought that you were here to take my place, so that Aunt Margaret could at least have the satisfaction of making her ambitions come true through you."

  Belle stared at her sister, then a small smile curled her lips. She said teasingly, "Why, Cassandra, that is quite utterly beyond the pale."

  A flush rose in Cassandra's cheeks. "Yes, well. That is what comes of revealing one's deepest reflections to anyone, even one's twin. One comes off looking very much the shallow, selfish individual that one really is."

  Belle threw her arms around her sister. "No, you aren't! You are the very best of sisters and my best friend besides! I would be dying of boredom this very moment at the Hall and you wouldn't be marrying Philip and neither Grandfather nor our aunt and uncle would ever have known what a wonderful pair we are if we had done anything differently! So there!"

  Cassandra burst out laughing. "Precisely! Now, are you through with your burst of self-pity? Which, by the way, is totally unlike you."

  "Yes, I feel ever so much better," said Belle, with a laugh and a nod. "Now you must tell me all about your trousseau and your dress and all of your plans."

  "I will do so, very willingly. But first, dear Belle, I will hear what you have to say for yourself," said Cassandra, growing suddenly serious.

  "Why, whatever do you mean?" asked Belle, opening her eyes wide. She had a sneaking suspicion that her sister had gathered more about her state of mind than she would ever have wished to reveal to her.

  "Belle, what has happened to you since I saw you last?" asked Cassandra quietly. "And don't shrug me off with a laughing glance and a frivolous statement. You know perfectly well what I am referring to. I perceived it immediately when I arrived. Are you in some sort of difficulty?"

  "Of course not! What possible trouble could I have fallen into?" asked Belle with a quick smile. "Why, Aunt Margaret watches me like a dragon. She makes very certain that I make no misstep, for which I am very grateful. She and Uncle Phineas have taken me to their hearts and show me the greatest favor and affection. I have nothing of which to complain."

  Cassandra regarded her for a long moment. She said finally, "Do you know, Belle, I do believe that this is the first time that you have ever lied to me. I wish you wouldn't." She turned and walked out of the breakfast room, leaving the door wide open in her haste.

  Belle stared after her sister, feeling abandoned and ready to burst into tears. Disgusted with herself, she dashed the back of her hand across her eyes. "Oh, what is the matter with me?" she exclaimed aloud. "I have done nothing wrong. I am just a bit under the weather, that is all. I shall simply tell Cassandra the truth. I have been going the pace too much and—and I am tired."

  Cassandra's head poked around the corner. "You are never tired, Belle."

  Belle started violently. "Cassandra! You made me almost jump out of my skin!"

  Cassandra came back into the breakfast room. There was an expression of compassion in her eyes. "Belle, you are hiding something from yourself."

  Belle laughed shakily, not quite able to meet her sister's knowing eyes. "I have never done such a thing in my life, Cassandra. I am not at all self-deceiving."

  "No, you are not. And that is what worries me so," said Cassandra. She hooked her arm through her sister's. With a gentle smile, she said, "I shan't tease you anymore, Belle. Come along—Aunt Margaret will wish to see my trousseau and you must be there as well. I don't wish to brag twice about what nice things
I have, for that would make me appear very conceited."

  Belle laughed, at once relieved that her sister was not going to pursue the cause behind her oppression. She knew the answer, of course, but it was one that she did not wish to face. After all, Lord Ashdon seemed to have become almost indifferent toward her.

  Oh, he had been kind enough when he had perceived her weakness. Belle thought dismally. But that was to be expected of any gentleman worthy of the name. What mattered more to her was the fact that he had not called once since they had all returned to London from the Mooreheads' weekend party.

  Chapter 19

  “Lord Ashdon!"

  Lord Ashdon was returning from his bootmaker's when he heard a feminine voice hailing his name. He turned, surprised to see Miss Weatherstone walking toward him, accompanied by her maid. He bowed, wondering what was behind this show of friendliness. Miss Weatherstone had recently taken to treating him with a certain reserve, quite unlike her manner with her admirers, especially Lord Darlington. At the thought of the young marquis, Lord Ashdon almost ground his teeth. It appeared to him that Miss Weatherstone favored that gentleman a little more than she should.

  Miss Weatherstone held out her hand toward him, and out of civility he took it, letting go as soon as he could without giving offense. He would not allow himself to betray more than a friendly interest in her, as he had during the riding excursion. "Miss Weatherstone."

  She was smiling up at him with the greatest friendliness. "I am glad to have met you, my lord. We enjoyed so many good conversations together in Bath. I hope that you recall such times with as much pleasure as I do."

  Lord Ashdon stared at her. "Bath? Forgive me, Miss Weatherstone, you have taken me by surprise." He felt himself to be stiff in his manners, but he did not understand how Miss Weatherstone could suddenly be so cordial.

  Miss Weatherstone did not seem to perceive his coldness.

  "I am not astonished, for I am certain that you did not expect to see me again here. I have come up to London to order a few more things for my trousseau, you see, and—

  "Your trousseau!" exclaimed Lord Ashdon, completely taken aback.

  Miss Weatherstone looked at him, her mild surprise at his startled reaction evident. "Why, yes. Oh, I thought perhaps you knew. I am marrying Mr. Philip Raven. The announcement of our betrothal was placed in the Gazette some months ago." She regarded his odd expression for a moment. "But I suppose that you were not yet in town then, and so did not see it.”

  Lord Ashdon shook his head, feeling thoroughly confused. "Forgive me, Miss Weatherstone. I can't seem to take it in. Did you say that you are betrothed? And to Philip Raven?"

  "Why, yes. Do you know him?" asked Miss Weatherstone, surprise on her face.

  Lord Ashdon felt his way carefully. "Quite. We were fellow officers." He unconsciously touched the scar above his brow. "In fact, it was Philip who carried me out of harm's way when I received this."

  Miss Weatherstone's face lit up. "How very extraordinary! Why, I never knew this. You alluded to someone helping you to safety when you were wounded, but I never dreamed that it was Philip! Of course, his name would have meant nothing to me then. But certainly I would have recalled it upon meeting him." A rueful expression crossed her face, and she shook her head. "It is better that I did not know! Knowledge of that sort most assuredly would have been my undoing then!"

  "You have lost me, Miss Weatherstone," said Lord Ashdon, his fascinated gaze on her animated face.

  She laughed. Her hazel eyes gleamed. "I am not at all surprised, my lord. And it is just as well, believe me. Shall I send you an invitation to the wedding? I do not think that my aunt and uncle will mind, for you are known to them."

  "Miss Weatherstone, you and your maid have several packages. Will you allow me to help you carry them? Do you go to your carriage?" asked Lord Ashdon. He was determined to get to the bottom of what was proving to be a mystery. Miss Weatherstone was acting as though they had not met since Bath, when he had been paying court to her all Season.

  "That is very kind of you, my lord," said Miss Weatherstone, relinquishing two or three parcels to him, the brown paper crackling as he took them. "There is my aunt's carriage. It is but a short walk, as you see."

  Lord Ashdon murmured his agreement, then returned to the main question in his mind. "Miss Weatherstone, I feel that I must be blunt. Do you actually recall our previous acquaintance in Bath?"

  Miss Weatherstone turned an astonished expression on him. "My lord! Why do you ask such an odd question? Of course I recall you! Why would I not?"

  "I thought perhaps that you were pretending to do so now since I alluded to Bath in weeks past," said Lord Ashdon grimly.

  Miss Weatherstone stopped short and turned toward him. Her expression was more startled than before. "You have alluded to—? But, sir, we have not spoken together since Bath."

  Lord Ashdon raised his eyebrow and stared down at her with a frown. "Really, Miss Weatherstone! It seems to me that your memory is wonderfully original, since we danced together not two nights past!"

  All of a sudden Miss Weathers tone's expression changed, and she began to chuckle. "Oh, I see! We—you and I!—danced together. And I suppose that we have also exchanged pleasantries any number of times over these past weeks."

  "You seek to make jest of me, ma'am," said Lord Ashdon stiffly. Anger swept through him. He had never been made the brunt of such a stupid joke in his life. He had thought Miss Weatherstone was merely shallow and indifferent. Now he realized that she was also one of those ill-assorted personages who delighted in humiliating their fellow creatures.

  At once sobering, Miss Weatherstone laid a gentle hand on his arm. "Forgive me! I do not make merry with you, my lord. It was not I who danced with you, but my sister. I am Cassandra Weatherstone. You have obviously made the acquaintance of my twin sister, Anabelle."

  Lord Ashdon stood rooted to the spot. The full scope of his mistake was suddenly open to his horrified scrutiny. The maid murmured a request that he give the packages to her, and he relinquished them without even glancing at the woman. "Your twin sister? Belle Weatherstone? The Belle of London! What a fool I have been!"

  Miss Weatherstone nodded sympathetically. "Why don't you ride back to the town house with me, my lord? I left Belle at home. I think that it would be very good for you to see us together in the same room."

  "Yes," agreed Lord Ashdon. He felt as though he had been poleaxed. He was still not quite able to grasp it. Cassandra, Belle—his memory had not been at fault at all, then. He had not forgotten her name, but he had taken her sister to be her. He had made himself known to her that first incredible morning on the basis of an acquaintance that had never existed, and he had measured her every word, her every action, against a memory that she had never been a part of.

  Lord Ashdon handed Miss Weatherstone up into the carriage and absentmindedly gave a polite hand to the maid as well. The woman flushed, but he did not notice. His mind was wholly occupied with what he had just been told.

  As he settled back against the velvet squabs, he shook his head. "I cannot believe it! I cannot believe that I could make such a dreadful mistake."

  Miss Weatherstone laughed again. "It is not an uncommon experience, my lord. My sister and I embarked on a masquerade only a few months past. Not our grandfather, nor our aunt and uncle, nor any of the household suspected that we were not who we were thought to be." She glanced at her maid. "At least, there was not more than one or two who suspected. Am I not right, Morse?"

  "Quite, miss," said the maid with the smallest of smiles.

  Lord Ashdon looked fixedly at the maid, then turned his head to study Miss Weatherstone's face. She looked precisely as she always had. Her thickly lashed hazel eyes held brown flecks, her nose was small and straight, her mouth was generous, though now in repose rather than in its usual laughing state.

  Miss Weatherstone met his hard stare unwaveringly. There was only the slightest blush in her cheeks to reveal that she felt an
y discomfort. Could there really be two young women who bore such an uncanny resemblance to each other? he wondered. He shook his head. "I cannot grasp it yet."

  "You shall, Lord Ashdon," promised Miss Weatherstone, a smile touching her face. "Ah, here we are. Pray let us go in at once. Morse, I will have the porter help you bring those in."

  "Very good, miss."

  Lord Ashdon escorted Miss Weatherstone up the steps of the town house, keenly anticipating what was about to happen. He felt that he was on the verge of a discovery that would make a tremendous difference in his life. Either Miss Weatherstone was completely delusional or she was the greatest jokester imaginable, or there was indeed a second, identical Miss Weatherstone to whom he had lost his heart.

  Miss Weatherstone led him to the drawing room. A splash of harp music wafted out of the room as she opened the door. "Belle is practicing," said Miss Weatherstone in a hushed tone. "Pray go in, my lord."

  "Come with me, Miss Weatherstone," said Lord Ashdon quickly.

  Laughter lit her eyes. "Afraid, my lord?" She preceded him and then moved slightly to one side, holding the door open for him.

  Lord Ashdon stepped past her and then stood in stunned disbelief.

  There was Miss Weatherstone, seated at a golden harp. Her eyes were closed and her cheek rested against the body of the instrument. Her mouth drooped a little in an attitude of melancholy. Her slender, strong fingers strummed and plucked a sad, shimmering melody that floated on the air. A shaft of sunlight coming through the window sparked fiery highlights in her chestnut hair and limned the folds of her white daydress.

  The viscount felt something tighten in his chest. Never had he beheld or heard anything quite so beautiful. He drew in his breath sharply.

  From out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement. Realizing at once that Miss Weatherstone was walking past him toward her sister, he instinctively shot out his hand, catching her wrist.

  Miss Weatherstone stopped, looking up at him in surprise. He shook his head, murmuring as softly as he could, "No, pray do not disturb her just yet."