It was a relief when the ordeal was over. At the same time, it was an event that Vanessa knew she would never forget even if she lived to be a hundred.
In the meanwhile Stephen had been presented to the Prince of Wales, who had actually engaged him in conversation for several minutes. There was nothing so very remarkable about that, of course. Stephen was the Earl of Merton after all. But it was still hard to believe.
How could all their lives have changed so drastically in such a short time?
It was a question Vanessa kept asking herself as she dressed for the ball in the evening—a real ton ball in London during the Season. The ballroom at Moreland House had been decorated to resemble a garden complete with masses of pink and white flowers and greenery. The twin chandeliers had been cleaned and polished and fitted with new candles and raised to hang below the coved, gilded ceiling. The air had been filled with enticing aromas all day as the supper banquet was being prepared. And a full orchestra of professional musicians was already in place on the dais when she descended to the ballroom after dinner to join Elliott, her mother-in-law, and Cecily in the receiving line.
Her brother and sisters had come for dinner, and Margaret and Katherine were in the ballroom before her. Margaret was wearing a gown of shimmering emerald green, Katherine a delicate muslin gown of white embroidered all over with tiny blue cornflowers. How different they looked from usual, how much more elegant and poised and ... expensive.
“I wish there were a more powerful word than beautiful,” Vanessa said, looking fondly from one to the other of them. “You would both be that word.”
“Oh, Nessie,” Katherine said, “do you sometimes long for Rundle Park as I sometimes long for my class of infants? This is all absolutely terrifying as well as being more exciting than anything else so far in my life.”
Vanessa laughed. Yes, sometimes she did long for home, though she was no longer sure where that was. The cottage in Throckbridge? Rundle Park? Warren Hall, Finchley Park? The dower house? Perhaps home was really not a place at all but wherever one felt most sense of belonging. Perhaps home now was wherever Elliott and she happened to be together.
Oh, dear, she really must be in love.
“I am very happy for you, Nessie,” Meg said. “This is all yours, and you have a good marriage to go with it. It is good, is it not?”
She looked at her sister almost pleadingly.
“It is good,” Vanessa said, smiling at her and daring to hope that she spoke the truth. Her relationship with Elliott would doubtless suffer numerous other growing pains, but surely the worst was over. The possibility for happiness or at least for contentment was surely there.
There was no time for further thought or conversation. The first guests were arriving, and Vanessa had to hurry to join the receiving line.
For the next half hour or so she smiled and exchanged greetings with a seemingly endless line of guests, most of whom she had not seen before. All were the very cream of society. She tried desperately to commit faces and names and titles to memory, though she suspected it was a hopeless task.
“You will get to know everyone soon enough,” Elliott said, moving his head closer to hers during a brief lull in the arrivals. “You will meet the same people at almost every function you attend during the coming weeks.”
She smiled gratefully at him. Obviously he did not expect the impossible from her. He was looking enormously handsome in black and white again. She would have told him so earlier when he appeared in her dressing room to escort her downstairs to dinner, but he had spoken first. He had told her how pretty she looked in pink. He had actually used that word—pretty.
She did not believe him, of course—or that she was beautiful. But it felt so good to hear the words anyway. She was starting to feel both pretty and beautiful in Elliott’s presence.
If she had told him after that how handsome he looked, it would have seemed that she was merely feeling obliged to return the compliment.
“I wish,” he said now, “I could lead you into the opening set, Vanessa, but I must do that with Cecily.”
“Of course you must,” she said. “It is her come-out, not mine. We have already talked about it. I can wait until later.”
But how lovely it would be ... They had danced the opening set at the Valentine’s assembly.
“Come,” he said when it seemed that all the guests had arrived, “I will introduce Lord Bretby and his brother to your sisters.”
“And then ask Meg and Kate quite pointedly in their hearing if they are engaged to dance the opening set?” she asked.
He looked at her blankly for a moment, and then there was a gleam of understanding and perhaps amusement in his eyes.
“Ah,” he said, “memories of Sir Humphrey Dew and a certain assembly at Throckbridge.”
“I wished,” she said, “that a deep hole would open at my feet and swallow me up.”
“Dear me,” he said, “was I such an undesirable partner, then?”
She laughed and took his offered arm.
Lord Bretby and Mr. Ames needed no such hint. Lord Bretby solicited Meg’s hand for the opening set, and Mr. Ames did the like for Kate.
How easy it had been, Vanessa thought. Her sisters were launched into society, and all she had had to do was marry Elliott.
Stephen was in attendance too. Everyone had agreed that it was quite unexceptionable for him to put in an appearance at a ball in his brother-in-law’s house despite his youth. He was looking extremely handsome, Vanessa thought as she approached him with Elliott, and very intense. And he was attracting a great deal of attention. A number of the very young ladies in particular were eyeing him with considerable interest.
But the receiving line had been disbanded a little too soon, it seemed. There was another couple just arriving.
“Oh, famous!” Stephen said as Vanessa turned her head to look. “Here comes Cousin Constantine. And he has Mrs. Bromley-Hayes with him.”
Vanessa heard the sharp intake of Elliott’s breath and looked up at him. His eyes were fixed on the door-way. They were cold with rage. His jaw was hard set.
“Oh, you knew he was coming, Elliott,” she said, tightening her hand about his arm. “Cecily wanted him here. He was invited.”
“But she was not,” he said curtly.
Mrs. Bromley-Hayes was wearing a shimmering gown of a golden fabric so diaphanous that it clung to every curve of her body and looked almost transparent. It was cut low at the bosom—as was the fashion, of course. Perhaps it was only the magnificence of the bosom itself that made the fact more noticeable than it was with other ladies present. Her thick, shining blond hair was piled high and unadorned. It did not need adornment.
Vanessa sighed inwardly. And she had dared to feel pretty in pink?
“We must go and greet them,” she said, urging Elliott in the direction of the door. She smiled warmly in greeting. Constantine was a cousin and she liked him despite Elliott’s warnings.
“Ah, cousins,” he said, bowing low. “I do apologize for being rather late. It took me a while to persuade Anna that she would be welcome here despite the fact that by some oversight she did not receive her invitation.”
“But of course you are welcome,” Vanessa said, reaching out a hand to the lady. She had lovely hazel eyes, and Vanessa suspected that she had used some cosmetics to enhance the darkness of her lashes. “Do come and enjoy yourself, Mrs. Bromley-Hayes. The dancing is about to begin. Elliott is to dance the opening set with Cecily since this is her come-out ball. I am going to ask Stephen—”
But Constantine had lifted one hand, palm out.
“Vanessa,” he said, “do not, I beg of you, dance with a mere brother. Dance with me instead.”
She looked from him to Mrs. Bromley-Hayes in some surprise, but the lady did not look in any way annoyed. She was smiling at Elliott.
“Thank you, Constantine,” Vanessa said. “That would be very pleasant. But are you going to feel obliged to spend half your evening danc
ing with all your cousins, poor man? I know you have promised to dance with both Cecily and Kate, and they are unlikely to let you forget.”
“And there is Margaret too,” he said. “I am the most fortunate man in the room, not being in need of an introduction to any of the loveliest ladies present. Has Elliott thought to compliment you on your appearance? You are looking very fine indeed.”
“He has,” she said. “He has told me that I look pretty in pink.”
She laughed, half in amusement and half in embarrassment that she had said so in the hearing of a lady who did not need any reassurance.
“And I like your hair that way,” Constantine said.
“You will excuse me,” Elliott said curtly and abruptly. “I must go and lead Cecily out and get the dancing started.”
Vanessa turned her head to smile at him, but he was already gone.
Mrs. Bromley-Hayes was strolling away to join a group close by.
“It was a horrible oversight on my mother-in-law’s part not to have invited her,” Vanessa said as Constantine led her onto the dance floor. “She said she had invited simply everyone.”
“Perhaps not quite an oversight,” Constantine said. “Although Anna is a perfectly respectable widow, she also has something of a reputation for being sometimes, ah, overfriendly with certain gentlemen.”
For a moment Vanessa did not comprehend his meaning, but then she did and felt intensely uncomfortable.
“Oh,” she said.
Overfriendly. The lady sometimes took lovers? It was no wonder the real sticklers of society, like the dowager viscountess, forgot to include the lady in their invitations.
Was Elliott aware of her reputation? But of course he must be. Was that why he was angry, then? This was, after all, a ball in honor of his youngest sister, who was a mere eighteen years old.
“It was naughty of you, then,” she said, “to persuade her to come here with you, Constantine. Perhaps you ought to apologize to my mother-in-law.”
“Perhaps I ought,” he said, his eyes laughing at her.
“But you will not,” she said.
“But I will not.”
She tipped her head to one side and regarded him closely. He was still smiling, though there was that edge of something almost mocking in the expression that she had noticed on other occasions. And there was a suggestion of hardness there too though she had not noticed that before. Constantine Huxtable, she suspected, was a very complex man whom she really did not know at all and probably never would. But he was a cousin and he had never been unkind either to her or to her siblings.
“Why do you and Elliott hate each other so much?” she asked. Perhaps he would tell her.
“I do not hate him at all,” he said. “But I offended him, you see, when Jon was still alive. I used to encourage the boy to tease him, not realizing that he would take the whole thing so seriously. He used to have a sense of humor before my uncle died and left him with so many responsibilities. He used to be up for all sorts of larks. But somewhere along the way he lost the ability to laugh at himself—or at anything else for that matter. Perhaps you will help him regain his sense of humor, Vanessa. I do not hate him.”
It all sounded very reasonable. But as she stood in the line of ladies and watched him take his place opposite her, she could not help feeling that there must be more to it than that. Elliott was moody and often irritable and downright morose. She herself had accused him of lacking a sense of humor. But he would surely not still hate Constantine with such passion just because once upon a time Jonathan had been encouraged to make something of a fool of him.
Then the music began and she gave herself up to the almost unbelievable joy of dancing at an actual ton ball. She looked about her, feasting her eyes on all the flower arrangements, breathing in their scents, and smiling at all their guests.
Her eyes met Elliott’s at the head of the line, and it seemed to her that he looked at her with the intensity of ...Well, not of love exactly. But of something. Fondness, perhaps? She smiled dazzlingly at him.
Ah, yes, she thought, theirs really was turning into a good marriage.
She was happy.
Elliott was so furious that he was surprised he had been able to cling to some control.
His first instinct had been to ask her to leave—to ask them both to leave.
To demand it, in fact.
To have them tossed out.
To do it himself.
But how could he do any of those things without creating a very public scene? They had timed their arrival with care—late but not too late. They had known he would not make a scene before so many people—and in his own home.
Nevertheless, a large number of the people present must know. Including his own mother!
No decent gentleman would ever invite his mistress—even his ex-mistress—into his own home. Especially when his wife was there, for God’s sake. And his mother and his sisters.
Of course Con knew too—and it was Con who had brought her. He was as much to blame as she was. Probably more so. It was the sort of bold idea he was far more likely to have concocted than she.
Elliott tried to give his full attention to Cecily during the opening set. She was bright-eyed and nervous and chattery. This was, after all, one of the most important nights of her life. After dancing with him, she would dance with a succession of eligible young men, all carefully picked out for her by their mother. One of them might be her future husband.
But it was hard not to let his attention stray. What was Con saying to Vanessa? It appeared to be very little. He was smiling at her, and she was positively sparkling—as she had at the Throckbridge assembly. Con could not have said anything to upset her, then.
Anna was not dancing. She was standing on the side-lines, part of a group but not paying attention to the conversation of its members. She was fanning her face languidly and half smiling and watching him dance. She was not even trying to disguise that fact.
She was wearing the gold gown he had bought her last year because it was daring almost to the point of vulgarity and he had told her that only she of all the women he knew had the figure to do it justice. She had always worn it in private, for his eyes only, when they had dined together or sat together in her boudoir.
He must assiduously avoid her for the rest of the evening, he decided, and hope that would be the end of the matter. He would try to see to it that Vanessa avoided her too.
Good Lord, how avidly interested half the guests must be, watching and waiting and—for the malicious element—hoping.
She was not to be so easy to avoid, however. As soon as he had finished dancing with Cecily, Con came to claim her hand for the second set. Vanessa was with her brother and sisters, introducing them to Miss Flaxley, Lord Beaton, and Sir Wesley Hidcote. Lord Trentam, Jessica’s husband, spoke in Vanessa’s ear even as Elliott looked, and she smiled at him and set a hand on his sleeve. Apparently he was asking her for the next set.
And then Anna appeared at Elliott’s side before he could make any move to avoid her, waving her fan languidly before her face, still half smiling. He had little choice but to bow politely to her and listen to what she had to say.
“I fear, Elliott,” she said in her low, musical voice, “that you must have taken mortal offense.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“I believe,” she said, “one of my slippers hit you on the shoulder. I had forgotten when I threw it that it was one of the pair with the sharp heels. Did I hurt you?”
“Of course not,” he said.
“I have a volatile temper,” she said. “But you have always known that. You have always known too that it cools as quickly as it flares. You ought to have returned later that very day. I was expecting you.”
“Were you?” he said. She had forgotten, perhaps, that her temper had cooled even before he left on that
occasion.
“But of course.”
“I was busy,” he said. “I have been busy ever since.�
�
“Have you? Poor Elliott,” she said. “Doing your duty? It must have been a sad chore.”
He raised his eyebrows again.
“It cannot have been much of a pleasure,” she said, laughing that low laugh that had always been able to raise his temperature a notch.
“Indeed?” he said.
“Pleasure and duty were never a good mix,” she said, “which is why a marriage between you and me would not have worked well. It was wise of you to have seen that before I did. When may I expect you?”
First Came Marriage Page 28
