by M C Beaton
“I have sent out all the invitations for this wretched ball,” fumed Lady Warburton, striding up and down in a flounced muslin gown of eye-searing emerald green. “I do not want to see good money wasted on a celebration of Amaryllis Duvane’s engagement. Donnelly said Merechester seemed much taken with her.”
“It’s all your fault,” said her lord gloomily. “If you had not had the harebrained idea of letting her go off in the middle of a snowstorm with Donnelly, then Merechester’s wretched chivalrous instincts would have remained dormant. Instead of ill-treating Amaryllis and making a martyr of her, it might be better if you appeared to spoil her. Then he would not need to keep springing to her defense.”
“How dare you accuse me!” gasped Lady Warburton. “I have to make all the decisions. I . . .”
Fortunately for Lord Warburton, Lord Donnelly chose that moment to enter the room.
“You!” exclaimed Lady Warburton, casting him a look of loathing.
“And won’t you be glad to see me after you’ve heard the news,” grinned Lord Donnelly, sauntering into the room and sinking into an armchair and thrusting his booted legs out in front of him.
Lady Warburton came to stand over him. “Out with it,” she said wrathfully.
Lord Donnelly thrust his hands in his breeches pockets and smiled up at her. “Now, if I haven’t just been congratulating Merechester on his engagement to Miss Duvane.”
“What!”
“And didn’t he just stare down that long nose of his and say, ‘There is no engagement, nor is there any reason for one. Miss Duvane and I were adequately chaperoned throughout our adventures.’ ”
Lady Warburton sank down suddenly in a chair opposite him.
“But did he not seem to have formed a tendre for her?”
“Not he,” grinned Lord Donnelly. “I said I envied his being alone with the fair Amaryllis for so long and he said coldly, ‘It was to me simply as if I were escorting a female relative, something which is well beyond the grasp of your vulgar mind.’ ”
“But my poor Cissie may still be without hope. He no doubt plans to leave immediately.”
“Now, if that isn’t what I’ve just put to him. ‘Patterns is bad luck for you, Merechester,’ that I said. ‘You’ll be anxious to be shot of the place.’ ”
“To which he replied?”
“To which his lordship, the most high and mighty Marquess of Merechester, replied, ‘I shall leave after the ball.’ There!”
“You have done well to elicit such information,” said Lady Warburton grudgingly. “Now you must play your part. Amaryllis will no doubt be hurt that he has not proposed to her. You must do all in your power to capture her affections. Once Merechester is engaged to Cissie, you may take your leave.”
“With a suitable token of your undying gratitude,” murmured Lord Donnelly.
“You will be well taken care of,” grumbled Lord Warburton, “as long as you play your part.”
“But,” added Lady Warburton, fixing the grinning, lounging Lord Donnelly with a glacial eye, “we will see this evening how matters stand between Amaryllis and Merechester.”
Matters between Amaryllis and Merechester proved to be, on the face of it, everything that Lady Warburton could wish. At first, they had chatted politely to each other, and Amaryllis was looking prettier than she had any right to look. She was wearing a fine white cotton gown with a small woven check pattern in lilac. It had long sleeves with Dorset buttons on the cuff. It was one of the gowns from her debutante wardrobe, skillfully redesigned with Amaryllis’s clever needle.
It had been originally a day gown, but she had cut out the high neck and changed it into a low-necked evening gown. She wore a gold locket around her neck suspended on a lilac silk ribbon. Her hair was washed and brushed and threaded with lilac ribbon. The shadows of fatigue under her eyes served to make them look enormous. The loose, shining curls of her hairstyle softened the thinness of her face.
She and the Marquess had been talking pleasantly enough about their various aches and pains following their recent exertions when the Marquess had suddenly remarked, “Do not let me detain you. You no doubt have had enough of my company. I think Miss Cissie looks most charmingly this evening.”
And Amaryllis had simply pinned a social smile on her face and walked away. The Marquess glared after her, then he went to join Cissie and set himself out to please so much that he had quite obviously forgotten all about his remark that he did not deliberately set out to break hearts.
Lord Donnelly almost leaped to Amaryllis’s side. She was so hurt by the Marquess’s blatant flirtation that she encouraged the Irish peer’s advances, and the more she encouraged them, the more the Marquess flirted with Cissie and the better pleased the whole Warburton family became. Sharp-eyed Lady Evans decided that the Marquess and Amaryllis were in love with each other, wondered whether to do anything about it, and almost decided to have a word with Amaryllis, but she then decided that she might run up against another of these peculiar English taboos, and would merely find herself snubbed for her pains.
The Giles-Dentons, like the Evanses, were quite reconciled to their fate. Both couples had planned to leave. But first the bad weather had kept them and then Lady Warburton had insisted they could not think of leaving before the ball.
Miss Felicia Gaskell looked absurdly surprised to see all the attention the Marquess was paying Cissie, but she quickly rallied and turned her full battery of charms on Mr. Chalmers.
Unhappiness was making Amaryllis brave at last. She no longer cared what the Warburtons thought of her. Anger lent a sparkle to her eye and color to her cheeks.
At one point Lady Warburton drew her aside and said that a seamstress had been engaged to finish Cissie’s ballgown. “You work too hard, my dear,” she said, smiling on the startled Amaryllis. Amaryllis put this sudden rush of affection down to Lady Warburton’s very understandable pleasure in the Marquess of Merechester’s behavior.
To Amaryllis’s surprise, Lady Warburton continued to be pleasant during the following days, despite the Marquess’s erratic behavior. Sometimes he would spend practically a whole day with Felicia Gaskell, and then would promptly turn his attention to Cissie in the evening.
Other times, he would turn his charm on Agatha, who would promptly stop her battle with Felicia for Mr. Chalmer’s affections and bask in the glory of her sister’s envy.
But as the day of the ball drew nearer, the Marquess spent more and more time out of doors, hunting and shooting, not returning home until dusk.
Amaryllis began imperceptibly to thaw toward Lord Donnelly. He was unfailingly good-humored. His very pursuit of her—although Amaryllis was still sure he was being paid for his services—was balm to her injured soul.
His proposal of marriage, nonetheless, came as a surprise.
The Marquess and the other men of the house party, with the exception of Lord Donnelly, had gone out shooting. It was the day before the ball. Amaryllis, now that she had no longer any sewing to do for the Warburton sisters, was quietly engaged in refurbishing her own ballgown. It was possible to mend the loose stitches in the silver thread embroidery of the gauze overdress. But the white had turned sadly yellow. Perhaps it might be possible to dye it. The other females of the house party were in their rooms, and so Amaryllis was alone when Lord Donnelly found her.
“Faith, I am in luck,” he said, coming to sit beside her. Outside, the day was dark with great, ragged clouds flying across the sky. An apple-wood fire crackled cheerfully on the hearth, and a bowl of potpourri sent all the faint, warm smells of summer past drifting about the room.
“I’ve been anxious to have a word with you in private, Miss Duvane . . . or may I call you Amaryllis?”
“No, you may not,” replied Amaryllis calmly. “It would occasion comment.”
“Not if we were engaged to be married, it wouldn’t.”
Amaryllis let her sewing lie on her lap and turned her clear gaze on him. She was feeling better than she had
felt since her return from her adventures. She had schooled herself to believe that the Marquess cared nothing for her, and with that hope gone, she was once more able to face the world with a certain serenity. The fact that Lord Donnelly had gone down on one knee in front of her filled her with a strong desire to giggle.
“Is this a proposal?” she asked.
Lord Donnelly put his hand on his heart. “It would make me the happiest of men if you would accept my hand in marriage.”
“And a trifle richer?” said Amaryllis, smiling down at him.
“I do not know what you mean. Ah, yes, I would certainly consider myself rich if you would become my bride.”
“That is not what I meant, Lord Donnelly, and well you know it. I am persuaded that Lady Warburton has promised you a certain amount of money to pay court to me.”
Lord Donnelly blinked. He kept a smile pinned on his face while his brain worked furiously. She could not possibly have guessed anything. She must have overheard something.
He rose to his feet, pulled his chair close to her, sat down, and smiled at her ruefully.
“Well, I may as well admit the truth,” he said. “The Warburtons did suggest they might express their generosity suitably if I kept your attention to my fair self. Now, what is a gentleman who would take money for such a thing doing proposing marriage? In truth, Miss Duvane, I have always lived on my wits, and it seemed easy money, and a pleasure into the bargain. But I did not expect my feelings to become seriously involved, but that they did. Perhaps a man such as I has no right to be offering such a poor marriage portion to a gently bred lady such as yourself. But love does not heed these matters. My heart is yours to do with as you will.”
This last was said with such sincerity that Amaryllis was almost tempted to believe him, and Lord Donnelly was almost tempted to believe his words himself.
Amaryllis remained silent, looking at her hands lying among the piles of silver gauze on her lap.
“I think we should forget all about your proposal,” said Amaryllis at last.
“I assume you have to engage my affections and attention until Lord Merechester leaves?”
Lord Donnelly nodded.
“In that case, we will continue to play your game. We can at least be friends. I . . . I am very much in need of a friend.”
She looked almost pleadingly at Lord Donnelly, and for a moment his not very active conscience gave him a sudden jolt. He wondered fleetingly what it would be like to be married to Amaryllis, to lead a straight and honest life. They could manage on the little income from his estates. By George! They could pay a bit more attention to his lands. But the thought of all the hard work and discomfort this would entail sent all the rosy dreams of respectability flying from Lord Donnelly’s brain.
“Of course we are friends,” he said, taking Amaryllis’s hands in a fervent clasp. She gently disengaged herself, wondering why it was that for a few moments he had seemed almost endearing, almost someone she could learn to love, and why he should so quickly revert to his usual air of frivolous cunning.
But Lord Donnelly was not the only one who could change. At that moment Amaryllis heard the sounds of the gentlemen returning from their day of shooting and turned a bewitching smile on Lord Donnelly.
“Now why do you not care for blood sports, my lord?” she asked brightly.
“Well, I do and I don’t,” rejoined Lord Donnelly, fighting down a sudden recurrence of that wish for respectability which her smile had engendered. “It brings to mind a tale of going out one winter’s day. . . .
His voice went on, and Amaryllis smiled and pretended to listen. She was carefully practicing the role which she knew she must play until the Marquess left.
When the company assembled that evening for dinner, even Lady Evans was persuaded that Miss Duvane was much taken by Lord Donnelly. Cissie and Agatha had been warned not to “tease” Amaryllis until Lord Merechester’s departure, and both watched sourly as a new and beautiful Amaryllis flirted quite disgracefully with that useless Irish peer.
Mr. Chalmers worried about his friend the Marquess, who, he felt sure, was about to contract some awful mésalliance with one of the Warburton girls, and all because he was still in love with Amaryllis Duvane, although it would take a friend such as himself to realize the fact. Certainly to the company in general, even to the sharp-eyed Lady Evans, the Marquess seemed completely at ease. First Felicia was the glad receiver of his attentions, then Cissie, and then Agatha.
Felicia was beginning to become quite cross with him, for no sooner had she succeeded in charming Mr. Chalmers than the Marquess would be at her elbow to distract her and to raise her hopes again.
“Was he always such a tewwible flirt?” she asked Amaryllis crossly.
“I cannot remember,” said Amaryllis. She looked across the drawing room to where the Marquess was sitting beside Cissie.
At that moment, he looked at her, and she felt trapped by the steady blue gaze. Her color rose, and she dropped her eyes.
“Well, there you are!” said Felicia crossly. “Now he is even flirting with you . . . of all people.”
“Why me of all people?”
“You haven’t even got a dowry,” said Felicia, fanning herself so vigorously that the candle flames on a branch of candles on a table at her elbow streamed sideways. “Of course, you look very well, but that is a disadvantage in your position.” Felicia was not troubling to lisp, since no gentlemen were in earshot. Her pretty face had a hard, rather mean look.
“If you were to marry Donnelly, then everyone would heave a sigh of relief. Nobody wants him and nobody wants you, if you take my meaning.”
“The only thing I understand,” said Amaryllis equably, “is that you have become a spiteful cat, and you already have little pouting lines about your mouth.”
Mr. Chalmers wandered over, and Felicia quickly said, “So dear Amaryllis, you must realize I am ever concerned for your welfare. Having such charges as Cissie and Agatha must be very taxing. Why, Mr. Chalmers! You must not interrupt our female confidences.”
“Then I shall take myself off.”
“Naughty man! I shall walk with you a little, just to tease you.” Felicia arose, shaking out her skirts. “You must not ask for every dance at the ball, Mr. Chalmers.”
“Good lady, you malign me,” he laughed. “I was under the impression I had not even asked for one!”
Something unlovely flickered in the depths of Felicia’s eyes and then was quickly gone.
“Let us sing for the company.” Amaryllis found Lord Donnelly beside her. She hesitated a little. Playing the piano while others danced was a welcome escape from care. Performing with a gentleman for the entertainment of the company was something else. Playing the piano meant sitting with her back to the room, absorbed in the music. Singing meant facing them all—meant facing the Marquess. But then it would be a way of showing him she didn’t care about his flirtations.
“Pray silence!” cried Lord Donnelly. “Miss Duvane and I will sing for you.”
Amaryllis flushed as all eyes were turned upon them. Then she realized one of them would have to play the accompaniment, and she sat down on the piano stool, glad to escape from all those stares.
But Lady Evans came up and volunteered to play, and so that was that.
They began to sing some familiar ballads, Amaryllis’s voice faltering at first, then growing stronger. She saw the Marquess lean forward and murmur something in Cissie’s ear, and Cissie laughed and blushed. Defiantly, Amaryllis turned and smiled up at Lord Donnelly. He smiled back and took her hands in a strong clasp. Amaryllis deliberately allowed herself to become lost in the music. She pretended she was singing love songs with the Marquess. Her color was heightened, her voice throbbed with emotion. Lord Donnelly had too much of the actor in him to let such a splendid opportunity of showing off go by. His voice blended with that of Amaryllis, and he sang his heart out.
When they finished, there was a long silence and then a loud burst of ap
plause. Even Cissie and Agatha applauded warmly. Only the Marquess seemed displeased, and his very displeasure made the Warburtons even warmer in their praise.
“I really don’t think we have anything to worry about, Warburton,” said Lady Warburton complacently. “Donnelly is behaving beautifully.”
“He may even take her off our hands,” whispered Lord Warburton.
Lady Warburton frowned. Amaryllis had proved very useful. She did not want to lose her. But then, Donnelly, she was sure, was only earning his keep. Who could look at Amaryllis when faced with the fair beauty of Cissie and Agatha?
Amaryllis was glad to retreat to a chair in the corner of the room. Lady Evans joined her and talked pleasantly and easily of this and that. She asked Amaryllis for an account of her adventures, and Amaryllis briefly outlined the hardships of trying to get back to Patterns.
“Your troubles are over, nonetheless,” said Lady Evans with an arch look. “I think Lord Donnelly’s intentions are become serious.”
“Perhaps,” said Amaryllis. She looked at Lady Evans’s kind face and had a sudden longing to confide all her fears and insecurities and lost love.
But she dismissed the thought almost as soon as it was formed. How sad it would sound! A woman of her mature years pining after a handsome Marquess who, quite obviously, did not care a rap for her.
Unaware of her sad scrutiny, Lord Merechester laughed and chatted with his female admirers. He was surrounded by Felicia, Cissie, and Agatha, Felicia having abandoned Mr. Chalmers. He was flirting expertly with first one and then the other. Candlelight shone in the burnished gold of his hair. His lazy, caressing blue gaze lingered on each female face in his small court as if privately assuring each one that she was the one he really wanted.
And then he glanced briefly at Amaryllis, a quick, hard, searching glance.
Amaryllis felt a lump rising in her throat. Lord Donnelly was approaching. She felt she could not bear any more of his Irish gallantry. She mumbled an apology to Lady Evans and quickly left the room.
