“There is nothing especially scandalous about the truth. She cannot help the terms of her father’s will.”
“Not that truth, but what about your scheme to provide her sisters’ dowries with a book of drawings of a questionable nature? Drawings produced by the young lady herself? Not to mention all the time the two of you have spent together without a respectable chaperone in sight?”
“Her drawings are art and quite respectable.” Even as he said the words he knew there were a great many people who would not see them as art at all but simply, and scandalously, as drawings of naked people. “And when we worked together, the door was always open. There was never the least bit…that is to say…”
Judith raised a disbelieving brow.
“Yes, well, you may have a point,” he muttered.
“Furthermore, I’m not sure you should declare yourself as of yet.”
“Why not?”
Judith cast him a pitying glance. “She might not believe you.”
“Surely she would….” He narrowed his gaze.“Why wouldn’t she?”
“Did you or did you not use words like responsibility and obligation and even, I believe, guilt?”
“I might have.” He did hate to admit to that particular bit of stupidity aloud.
“You cannot simply go up to her now and say: I was wrong, Fiona, but I have come to my senses. I should have accepted your proposal at once because you are indeed the perfect woman for me.”
“No, of course not,” he murmured, although the thought had occurred to him somewhere between the discussion of grand gestures and discarding the idea of honesty. “Why not?”
“Because she might think your abrupt change of heart had nothing to do with affection and everything to do with an overly developed sense of honor. And she could decide she’d rather marry a man she’s never met than one who is prompted by obligation and responsibility.” She shook her head. “No, you have to start anew. You need to do now what you haven’t yet done.”
“And that is?” he asked cautiously.
“Court her, Jonathon, pursue her. I realize you have never done so with an eye toward marriage before, but I know full well that you do know how to charm a woman. The roses were an excellent start, by the way, if perhaps a shade excessive.”
“I don’t have time.” He waved impatiently. “This American who expects to marry her could arrive at any minute. And then—”
“And then?”
“And then, you said it yourself, I could lose her.” He turned his gaze back to Fiona. Determination sounded in his voice. “And I will not allow that.”
“So you need to claim her before he does? As if she were a new land to conquer? Plant your flag and all that?”
“Rather crudely put, Judith, but yes.”
She studied him for a moment, then sighed. “You don’t need a great deal of time to win her heart.”
The music drew to a close and he watched Fiona’s partner escort her off the floor. “Are you telling me she cares for me as well?”
“I would never reveal a confidence.” Judith huffed. “However, I see no harm in telling you she too asked for my advice.”
“And?”
“And I told her she should do what any woman in her position should do. She should be delightful and flirtatious and do her best to charm every man in sight. With one exception.” Judith cast him a dazzling smile. “You.”
Fiona absolutely refused to look in Jonathon’s direction, at least when he might be looking back, or rather scowling back, although she was certainly aware of where he was and where he had been from the moment she’d arrived. No, to meet his gaze was to acknowledge his presence, and she had no intention of doing so. Beyond that, she was afraid he would see her feelings in her eyes, and that would not do. She was still more than a little furious with him. Besides, Judith had told her the best things for Jonathon were for him not to know exactly how Fiona felt about him and as well for him to see how desirable other men found her. Indeed, although the word jealous was not actually used, Judith’s implication had been clear.
And Fiona was taking her advice to heart. She had never found flirtation the least bit difficult—indeed, she was something of an expert at it. It was as natural to her as her next breath. Besides, she was having a great deal of fun. She hadn’t been to a ball like this one since before her father’s death. Oh, certainly she had gone to the Effington Christmas ball, but only for the purpose of meeting Jonathon, and she had scarcely stayed any time at all.
Now she found herself whirling about the dance floor in the arms of one attentive gentleman after another. And even those who were not especially skilled at dancing were still more than adequate. She’d missed dancing more than she’d realized. Missed the joyous sense of freedom to be found in the music swirling about her and a sensation she suspected was very much like flying. She cast her current partner a dazzling smile and he grinned back at her with what could only be called hope.
She liked that as well.
Aunt Edwina was doing her best to introduce her niece to every eligible man present. In those moments when Fiona was between dances, there was no lack of gentlemen eager to fetch her refreshment or engage her in conversation of a frivolous nature. It had been far too long for that too. Conversation that had no other purpose than to tease and charm and provoke laughter. That was not the least bit significant and did not dwell on stipulations of wills or the prospect of poverty or responsibilities of any kind whatsoever.
Best of all, Jonathon Effington was aware of every dance, every glance, every smile, every laugh. It was apparent from the glower on his face that he didn’t like it every bit as much as she did. Why, the man looked more than a little miserable. Good.
The music ended and her partner, a dashing fair-haired gentleman, offered his arm and escorted her off the floor. Out of the corner of her eye she noted Jonathon speaking with Judith.
“Miss Fairchild,” her escort said, “before we reach your aunt and your throng of admirers, might I ask you a somewhat forward question?”
Fiona gazed up at him, fluttered her lashes and wished she could remember his name. Lord…Something? “I daresay it depends on the question.”
He laughed. “I would very much like to ask your aunt for permission to call on you.”
“Would you?” Delight bubbled through her. Lord Something’s request was the sixth she’d received thus far, and the evening was not yet over. “I suspect my aunt would very much like that.”
“But would you?”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly tell you.” She shook her head in a chiding manner. “It would go straight to your head and I would hate to be responsible for such a thing.”
Lord Something grinned down at her. “You, Miss Fairchild, are a delight.”
“And you, my lord, should know such compliments will go straight to my head.”
He laughed again. He really was charming and very nice, and under other circumstances Fiona would look forward to furthering their acquaintance. If she were still hunting for a husband he might well be toward the top of her list.
But she’d done a great deal of thinking since she’d told Jonathon she never wanted to see him again. He was the man she intended to marry and if he didn’t want her, well, she saw no reason not to comply with her father’s will and marry the American. If she were to be trapped in a loveless marriage, she might as well be a dutiful daughter in the process.
Fiona and Lord Something joined Aunt Edwina, who looked as if she were about to burst with the excitement of Fiona’s successes. His lordship kissed Fiona’s hand, gazed into her eyes, then took his leave. A momentary twinge of regret stabbed her that she might have misled him into believing she was available. Although she was, in truth, very much available. If one discounted the American, of course, and the fact that her heart was otherwise engaged.
Aunt Edwina leaned close and spoke low into her ear. “You are quite the belle of the ball, my dear. Why, nearly every eligible man of consequen
ce here this evening has his eye on you.” Her gaze slipped past Fiona and her smile took on a vaguely speculative quality. “No, I was wrong. There is no nearly about it.”
She straightened and her smile widened. “Good evening, Lord Helmsley. What a pleasure to see you again.”
Fiona braced herself and turned toward him.
“Good evening, Lady Norcroft.” Jonathon took Aunt Edwina’s hand and raised it to his lips. “You are looking exceptionally lovely this evening.”
“Indeed I am, aren’t I?” Aunt Edwina laughed.
“There is no one lovelier.” Jonathon returned her grin.
A teasing light showed in Aunt Edwina’s eye. “Except, perhaps, my niece.”
“As she obviously favors you, of course.” He turned toward Fiona. “How pleasant to see you again, Miss Fairchild.” He took Fiona’s hand and brushed his lips across it.
Fiona adopted a noncommittal smile, as if his very touch weren’t enough to make her heart flutter or her knees weak.
“I must confess, my lord, I am pleased to see you here this evening.” Aunt Edwina lowered her voice in a confidential manner. “I wish to speak to you about my niece.”
“You do?” Jonathon said cautiously, his gaze flicked briefly to Fiona, then back to her aunt.
Surely Aunt Edwina could not possibly know anything about Jonathon and Fiona or, good Lord, the book? Fiona’s smile tightened. “You do?”
“Indeed I do.” Aunt Edwina met Jonathon’s gaze firmly. “My dear Lord Helmsley, I wish to thank you for the friendship you have offered my niece since her arrival.”
“I’d scarcely call it a friendship,” Fiona said quickly.
Her aunt ignored her. “I know the two of you have found a mutual interest in literature.”
Fiona released a breath she didn’t know she’d held.
“Ah, yes, literature.” His expression cleared. “We have indeed discovered that we have quite a bit in common when it comes to discussion of literature, particularly in regards to the classical writings of the ancient Greeks. Those works written by Homer, Sophocles, Euripides and others. She is extremely well versed.”
“Really.” Aunt Edwina’s eyes widened. “Euripides? Fiona, I had no idea.”
“I had excellent tutors,” Fiona murmured.
“She is especially fond of Greek myths, legends and the like. Specifically those that explain the workings of nature.” Jonathon smiled pleasantly. “In that respect I have found we have a great deal in common.”
“I must confess I have always been rather fond of myths myself,” Aunt Edwina said thoughtfully. “All those powerful gods chasing after young, nubile—”
“Aunt Edwina!” Fiona stared at the older woman.
Jonathon choked back a laugh.
“Come, now, Fiona, there’s no need for embarrassment. We’re speaking of stories told hundreds of years ago, and therefore they have the respectable veneer of age.” Aunt Edwina scoffed. “After all, it’s not as if they were written yesterday.”
“Absolutely,” Jonathon said smoothly. “Why, that would place them in the category of—”
“Highly improper and not at all the topic of appropriate discussion.” Afirm note sounded in her aunt’s voice.
Fiona winced to herself.
“Quite.” Jonathon’s tone was somber, but a nasty glint of amusement shone in his eye. He turned to Fiona. “Might I have the honor of the next dance, Miss Fairchild?”
“Oh, I am sorry, but I believe my next dance is already promised.” Fiona forced a pleasant note to her voice.
“And yet”—Jonathon glanced around, disregarding a circle of admirers no more than a few feet away—“I see no one here.”
“Dance with the young man, Fiona,” Aunt Edwina said in a no-nonsense manner. “I shall be more than happy to occupy the rest of these charming gentlemen until you return.”
“You have my undying gratitude, Lady Norcroft.” Jonathon flashed her aunt a smile complete with disarming dimple and Aunt Edwina flushed in a most becoming manner. “Miss Fairchild.” Jonathon offered his arm and there was nothing she could do but allow him to escort her on to the floor.
She plastered a smile onto her face and lowered her voice. “You are incredibly high-handed tonight, Lord…” She narrowed her eyes as if trying to place him. “Helmsley is it?”
He chuckled, took her right hand in his left, and placed his right hand gently but firmly just above the small of her back. There was nothing even remotely untoward about where his hands were or the distance between them. Even so, a delightful sense of warmth and anticipation washed through her simply being in his arms. “But you may call me Whatshisname.”
“Whatshisname is already taken,” she said loftily. “As am I.”
“Not yet you aren’t,” he murmured, and swept her into the dance.
At once the world around her was nothing more than a kaleidoscope of bright colors twirling around the floor in perfect step with the three-quarter time of the music, as if they one and all were part of a magnificent ballet of beauty and passion and light. The four corners of the dance floor itself were bounded by groupings of large palms, creating a sense of exotic places and promises far from the here and now. And for a moment it was easy to forget how angry she was with him and revel in the warmth of his body close to hers and the solid, steady feel of her hand in his and believe that he did indeed care for her as much as she cared for him.
She lost herself in the music and the magic of being in his arms and made the mistake of meeting his gaze and knew she was lost there as well.
Before she realized it, he’d danced her behind one of the clusters of potted palms. This one served as a screen, concealing an open doorway. He drew to a stop and briskly escorted her out of the ballroom.
“What are you doing?” She glared at him.
“I must speak with you.” His tone brooked no protest. “Alone.”
“People will notice if we go off together.” She glanced over her shoulder, but the palms obscured the ballroom and everyone in it. “There will be talk. I shall be completely ruined.”
“In that immense crowd no one will note your absence. And I shall have you back before the next set.” He had a firm grip on her arm and it was obviously futile to resist. He directed her down a short corridor.
She huffed. “You’re no doubt taking me to Lady Chester’s library. You obviously have a penchant for libraries. Or rather, for clandestine meetings in libraries.”
He ignored her.
“Do you have a rendezvous with a lady in Lady Chester’s library every Twelfth Night ball?”
“Don’t be absurd.” He pushed open a French door. “Judith has never had a Twelfth Night ball before.”
“Oh, so it’s just the Effington House library on Christmas Eve that’s the site of an annual assignation?”
“What?” He pulled up short and stared at her. “How do you…Did Oliver say something to you?”
“Oliver, Lady Chester.” She shrugged. “Your holiday traditions are not a well-kept secret. Besides, I took Lady Chester’s place this year, remember?”
“That I will never forget,” he muttered, and released her arm. “If you would prefer the library, Judith’s is small but serviceable. However, I thought you would like this.”
For the first time she noticed her surroundings. It was as if she had stepped into a garden, and a distinctly tropical one at that. The outer walls, from what she could see that wasn’t completely obscured by greenery, were made of glass, as was the ceiling. The air was moist and there was the faint sound of water coming from somewhere. The room was softly lit with gas sconces, flagstones were laid underfoot and the stars twinkled overhead.
“Oh, my.” She gazed around in amazement. “This is…”
“Magic.” He grinned as if he were responsible. “Welcome to Judith’s conservatory.” He nodded at a pathway. “You should see the rest. There is a banana tree in here somewhere. I must admit I know scarcely anything about plants, b
ut Judith does go on and on about them, so I daresay I’ve picked up a fact or two. Come on.”
He held out his hand. She hesitated for a moment, then placed her hand in his.
He led her down the path lined with palms and ferns and plants she didn’t recognize, most blooming in a profuse manner that defied the season. “Judith had this built shortly after her husband died, long before I knew her. It’s been ten years since his death and she’s never talked about him. At least not to me. I’ve always thought she poured the affection she had for him into all this.”
She glanced at him in surprise. “What a romantic notion.”
“I have any number of romantic notions,” he said in a dry manner. “I am a most romantic chap.”
They reached an open area dominated by a tall fountain, made of white marble and simple in style yet elegant nonetheless. The water splashed from one level to the next with a joyous abandon, the drops sparkling like fine diamonds or stars freed from the night sky.
“It’s lovely,” she said softly. “Truly lovely.” From here one could well believe one had left the bonds of earth entirely and stepped into a grotto straight from Paradise itself. “It must be enormous.”
“Not really. I don’t think it’s much larger than a fair-sized parlor, but it does give the illusion of size. Perhaps because it’s so”—he glanced around wryly—“full.”
“It is indeed,” she murmured. Everywhere she looked, there was something new and unique to see: huge hibiscuses in bloom, numerous varieties of orchids and she caught the distinct scent of jasmine in the air.
“Miss Fairchild. Fiona.”
She pulled her attention from what appeared to be a gardenia although much larger than others she’d seen, and turned toward him. “Yes?”
He squared his shoulders. “I owe you an apology.”
“For?”
“For…” He shrugged helplessly. “Everything.”
She studied him for a long moment. Her immediate inclination was to forgive him—for everything—and throw herself into his arms. That, however, did not seem like an especially good idea. She drew a deep breath.
Let It Be Love Page 22
