His Heart's Delight

by Mary Blayney

  ~ ~ ~

  Christiana tried to catch up with her sister and Lord Morgan as soon as the dance ended, but Lord Monksford seemed inclined to chat with the group who had been part of their set.

  Joanna was still upset with her, despite Christiana’s morning confession. The closeness they shared had been damaged by her lie and Christiana knew that Joanna was not yet entirely sure which story was the truth.

  Lord Monksford took Christiana’s arm and held it with a firmer than necessary grip. Christiana twisted her head round for one more look at Joanna and Lord Morgan, desperately wondering what they were speaking of with such serious faces.

  “My dear Miss Lambert, if you continue to watch them so assiduously, you will attract exactly the sort of gossip that your mother wishes you to avoid.”

  Lord Monksford spoke in a conspiratorial whisper that did not entirely rob his words of paternal reproach. “You need not worry. Your sister has enough maturity not to be taken in by Braedon’s sort of charm.’

  Christiana stiffened. “His sort of charm, my lord?” She made it a question, and tried to control her irritation. I hate your supercilious smile, you arrogant paper scull!

  Monksford was not wise enough to leave the subject alone. “My apologies, Miss Lambert. My concern for your sister has made me less than gracious to Lord Morgan. The Braedons have more charm than any one family needs. I would wish that they will always use it wisely.”

  Meaning Lord Morgan did not? It was a weak apology and Christiana decided that no matter how rich he was, Lord John Monksford was too severe to suit Joanna at all.

  When Lord Morgan finally sought her out for a dance, it was Monksford’s admonition as much as the touted Braedon charm that caused her to respond with radiant enthusiasm.

  “Miss Lambert, if you continue to smile at me that way I will not be able to see clearly to follow the steps.”

  She made a face at him. “You say it charmingly, but still I hear censure. ’Tis only that I have been waiting all evening to have a word with you.”

  The dance floor was not the place for their conversation. He did not need to raise his eyebrows in warning. With a small sigh, she gave her attention to the music. By the time the dance was over and they bowed the conclusion, she was in charity with the world and everyone in it, even Lord Monksford.

  Lord Morgan took her arm. “Our dance and this walk about the room are my reward for the time I have spent with each of my partners this evening. I thought to have a word with you without attracting attention. To do that I have had endless conversation with endless partners and their mamas so that this tete-a-tete would not appear singular. You may congratulate me on my foresight, my dear Sprite.”

  She laughed instead, charmed by the nickname, wondering what he meant by it. “Oh, I am certain it was a trial to dance with Miss Perry.” She knew her sarcasm was at least saucy and at the worst an impertinence. “And Miss Halersham is, by all accounts, the prettiest girl here.” It was so lovely to have someone she could gossip with and not feel as though she were being malicious.

  Morgan squeezed her arm. “That is all a matter of opinion. But I swear by the gods of chance that not one of them dances like you do.”

  It was even lovelier to have someone who knew how to give a compliment. “That might be the truth, my lord, but only if you were always my partner.”

  “You seem in amazingly good spirits considering your sister’s reluctance to approve our plan.”

  That brought their progress to a halt and erased her smile. “Did she say she opposed it?”

  He shook his head. “But the last time I received such minimal approval was when my sister told me it would be all right for me to jump into a stream and try to catch a fish with my bare hands.”

  “Yes, Joanna was the same with me”—Christiana nodded slowly—“but she did agree even if it was halfhearted. The truth is we had words, an argument.”

  Lord Morgan took her arm again, urging her toward the chaperones, even though Mama did not seem the slightest bit interested in their whereabouts.

  “I am sorry if I was the cause of difficulty with your sister. It is the last thing I would wish.”

  Christiana studied him, trying to gauge if his regret was sincere. The smile was genuine, but there was a reserve behind it that made her wonder how much of the true man she had yet to meet. She trusted him, of that she was certain, but she knew that she did not understand him at all. Oh, nonsense, she was being as romantic as she accused Joanna of being.

  “It is not your scheme that upset her precisely. It was something else I said and most profoundly regret now.” Oh, she sounded so maudlin. How foolish to be sad-hearted when tonight was made for gaiety. She looked at Lord Morgan, and looked away as quickly, when tears filled her eyes.

  “If we have failed to amuse her then we must see if my brother can make her laugh.”

  How sweet of him to share the blame, when it is all my fault. She drew a deep breath and denied the melancholy.

  “Look at your sister,” Lord Morgan encouraged. “My brother Rhys has a charm for young ladies that totally escapes me.”

  Christiana saw Rhys handing a glass of lemonade to a laughing Joanna. “Oh, yes, that is so much better. It is how I truly love to see her. That gentleman is your brother? He must be charming.”

  “Let me introduce you to him and you may form your own opinion.”

  “But, my lord, we have not discussed—”

  “And what is there to discuss? No matter how you wrested it from her, your sister has given her approval and neither of us needs convincing.” He bowed over her hand.

  It was all for show, of course, to prove to any curious observer that he was gracious and she was charmed. Then Lord Morgan straightened and smiled at her in a way that caught and held her heart as well as her eyes. It was a conspirator’s smile, but there was enough of the lover in it to make her cheeks warm. “And so, my dear Miss Lambert, we begin.”

  Seven

  By the time Sally was helping them out of their finery, Christiana’s mind was filled with a dozen anecdotes for her journal, moments she wanted to remember even if Richard would not care about them. “Lord Rhys was so amusing.”

  Joanna nodded. “His imitation of Sally Jersey made me laugh aloud, but I was so afraid that someone would overhear him.” Joanna yawned hugely. “You know if the patronesses knew of it, he would never receive a voucher again.”

  “Do you think he cares? I doubt it.” Christiana sank into the slipper chair by the fire that had burned to coals, watching as Sally brushed Joanna’s hair.

  “Who else did you dance with?” she asked with carefully guarded curiosity.

  “I think I enjoyed my dance with Lord Monksford the most.”

  She could see Joanna’s considering gaze reflected in the mirror. It was not the name that Christiana had been hoping for, but her sister’s tone caught her attention. Not dreamy, precisely. How could anyone be fanciful about a man as stuffy as Lord Monksford? “He certainly has been dancing long enough to have acquired some skill.”

  “He does dance beautifully,” Joanna agreed, “but what I enjoyed the most is that he did not pay me one compliment. I detest compliments.”

  Christiana caught Sally’s eye in the mirror and they shared a puzzled glance. It was the maid who spoke their common thought. “But, Miss Joanna, how can that be so? You be so deservin’ of them and all.”

  Joanna shrugged, not sharing the smile the other two exchanged. That sobered them both immediately. Here was something that was really bothering Joanna.

  “My hair is not the color of corn silk. Why do men think you need to hear that sort of thing?”

  “Oh, miss,” the maid answered again after a glance at Christiana, “I think that they are just looking for something to say that will please you.”

  Christiana nodded her approval.

  “I would prefer real conversation like the kind I had with Lord Monksford and not idle compliments.” Joanna warmed to her subj
ect and spoke with true vexation.

  “Yes, miss.” Sally handed Joanna her cap and gathered up their clothes. She looked at her younger mistress with raised eyebrows, handing the subject off to her. This was a conversation that would be better finished between the two sisters, alone.

  Christiana went to the bed and climbed up beside her sister as Joanna settled under the covers. “Remember that wide bed in the nursery we shared?”

  Joanna nodded and smiled. “Covers pulled up to our chins with the moonlight coming through the gaps in the curtain. What did we talk about then?”

  “What our dolls were doing while we slept. How annoying George and his friends were. All those things that are so important to little girls.” She paused. “Sometimes I miss that.”

  Joanna reached over and took her sister’s hand. “We are as close as ever, even if we do not share the same room or the same bed anymore.”

  “I hope so, Joanna; I hope that I did not spoil it all last night.”

  “Of course not. You shocked me, I will admit it, but then I can think of a dozen other times that you have shocked me and we are still as close as sisters can be, are we not?”

  “That is such a relief.” Christiana felt her heart lighten. “A dozen times, Jo?”

  “Oh at least, Christy.” She smiled and settled back against the pillows. “The time you put a frog in Miss Andrew’s drawer and then let George take the blame. That was wicked, sister dear.”

  Joanna was grinning now and Christiana guessed that her shock then had been more pleasure than pain.

  “Or the time you told Papa you were going to visit the sickly tenants and instead spent the hour spying on George and the Wiltons.”

  Ah, yes. She was fourteen then and beginning to realize her feelings for Richard were not at all sisterly. “But that time I was punished.”

  Joanna laughed. “If you can count being sent to your room without dinner when everyone knew Sally would smuggle you a tray.”

  “But it was missing the family’s companionship—that was the true penalty. I was so sure that I was missing something wonderful. It really was a punishment.”

  “I love you for trying to distract me from my sullens.” She settled back, pulling the covers closer to her. “We both know it is fatigue that brings on these megrims. A good night’s sleep and even Mr. Bathright’s silly suggestion that no lemonade would be sweet enough for me will seem more amusing than stupid.”

  “It is much as Sally says, Joanna, those absurdities are just a nervous young man’s way of filling the silence.”

  “I know, and I must learn to be a better flirt, I suppose.”

  “There is a way of looking from under your lashes that can be very effective.” Christiana paused to make sure she had her sister’s attention and then demonstrated. “Have you tried it?”

  Joanna mimicked the gesture and they both laughed.

  Christiana climbed down and pulled the covers around her sister, happy that she was smiling again. Perhaps she would try one final time to get some information on the only name her sister had failed to mention. “Lord Morgan made you smile.”

  “He did.” Joanna turned on her side and looked at her sister, propping her head on her hand, the ghost of a smile hovering. “He told me any number of things. One of them was that my wariness and concern for you was everything that was admirable. And that he would rely on me not to let him make a mull of your charade.”

  Christiana waited for more, but Joanna let her hand fall and settled back into her pillow. “Is that all?”

  “All I have the energy for tonight.” Joanna yawned. “Did you know he had a sister who died?”

  “No I did not know that!” Christiana had been about to pick up the candle and move to the door, but that piece of information ended her thoughtful inclinations. “What was her name? Why did he tell you about her?”

  Joanna turned away from the light and settled into the pillow. “Her name was Maddie and you remind him of her.”

  “Oh.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “Well, that should be flattering but somehow it is rather deflating.”

  “I knew I should have waited until tomorrow to mention that.” With a yawning sigh, Joanna turned back toward her. “You must admit, Christy, that his comparison is so much better than a more romantic analogy, for your whole plan hinges on avoiding such complications.”

  “Hmmm,” Christiana acknowledged. “But, Jo, to remind him of his sister is so plebeian. You must admit, that you would run miles from anyone who reminded you of George.”

  Joanna smiled but otherwise ignored that comment. “The thing is, there is always the chance that one of you could mistake the game for the real thing. I worry that someone will be hurt in this.”

  “Are you doubting my devotion to Richard?” She did not want to argue again, but this lack of faith could not be borne.

  Joanna reached out and touched her sister’s arm as though trying to bridge a gap. “I would not doubt you for one minute, especially after what you told me last night. No, it’s Lord Morgan I wonder about.”

  “Oh, Joanna, never worry about him. He has been at this game since before we learned to dance. The whole thing was his idea even if it does suit my needs perfectly. He only wants to appease his family. By his own admission he is not ready for a wife. No, if there is anyone who can control his emotions it is Lord Morgan Braedon.”