by Edith Layton
She added nothing to the comment, neither question nor admonition, but she didn’t have to, he knew his manners.
“So it is,” he said easily. “Possibly it’s because I can’t believe my good luck. All this uninterrupted time in your company!”
She gazed at him. It was impossible for that smoothly beautiful face to give away her thoughts, she’d trained it too well for too many years. Emotion destroyed beauty; she’d be lovely into her dotage, and her face would never show more than serenity, because in truth, she seldom felt more than that. Now she was conscious of a slight stirring of displeasure. Julian was amazingly handsome. He was entertaining, charming, she could scarcely think of a better accessory for her own spectacular appearance than he was, and he was entirely devoted to her. He had been, she corrected herself, entirely devoted to her. Lady Marianna Moredon might not notice, or care to note a great deal that went on around her, but on the subject of herself and all those things which centered on that fascinating subject, she was expert. Only three things had the power to distress her; all three had to do with things which threatened to destroy her image: age, illness, and a human rival to her beauty.
She’d immediately seen that Miss Susannah Logan was uncommonly lovely, as striking in her way as she was in her own. It was, Marianna knew, never a question of one being more beautiful than the other; choosing between the two of them would simply be a matter of taste. Mr. Jones, after all, who would have been a very amusing flirt, had no eyes for her own dark beauty, she saw he’d been taken up by the fair charms of Miss Logan. And now, though she could swear he was constant, Julian kept sneaking little glimpses into the wood and running his gaze over the crowd. Inattention was the one thing she was not used to seeing in his face. It was vexing.
Miss Logan hadn’t been seen for over a half-hour; Marianna knew that very well, for wherever she sat or stood, she always noted who watched her, and so like the sunflower that tracked the progress of its chiefest influence as it crossed the afternoon sky, she always felt a rival’s pulling power and knew precisely where she was. She alone was the cynosure of all male eyes now. Miss Logan, then, was still absent.
“Perhaps,” Marianna said in exactly the same tones she used to describe her charming bonnet, “she’s gone off with Lord Beccles. He is not precisely a catch, but away from his mama he might be more forthcoming. Then too, one may not be able to say a great deal about him, but,” she said, so pleased with her turn of words that she twirled her parasol, “whatever one does say, at least it must be said with a ‘Lord’ before it when one does.”
It took a few seconds before Julian fully understood her. It hadn’t been only the slumberous afternoon and his concern about his friends that had dulled his wits. Her tone of voice hadn’t changed and she’d been droning on about her bonnet when he’d caught the tail end of what she’d said and then had to reconstruct the sentences he’d heard but not listened to. Then too, he had the sudden disturbing realization that he’d not been attending to her for some time to contend with, as well. In all, it was a few seconds before he completely understood, and then he was so annoyed with himself that his voice was sharper than usual when he replied, “I doubt she’s run off with Beccles, his title wouldn’t matter to her.”
“I didn’t say ‘run off,’ Julian,” she said calmly, watching him closely, “for how should I know how far they’ve gone?”
She stopped to smile at that play on words—it was mildly naughty and very amusing, really; she felt she was in rare form today. Then she almost frowned when she realized that Julian was not appreciative of her humor. There was, then, she felt, one more thing to be said, “Miss Logan not interested in a title? But she admits her family is in trade, or as she put it, ‘in fish.’ I’m sure she’d find Lord Beccles a fair catch.”
And then she really had to laugh again. And then she actually frowned, for Julian was obviously not at all amused.
“I doubt,” he said quietly, “that Susannah would be interested. She’s too honorable a girl to be after a man for his title.”
“Indeed?” Lady Marianna said.
But she was as shocked as if he’d slapped her, for she couldn’t remember him ever contradicting her before, or not appreciating her humor. And though the word “honorable” was an unusual sort of word to use to praise a female, it was still a compliment, and moreover, one that he’d never applied to herself. Most telling of all, she’d not said a word to him now for several seconds and he’d not noticed.
But he was bedeviled by the fact that he’d never noticed how cruel Marianna’s humor could be at times. He quickly excused her, remembering that, after all, such acid wit was the highest form of cleverness in society. He looked into her calm and beautiful eyes and smiled at her then, in apology for himself, as apology for her. And it was such a winsome smile, and he was so extraordinarily decorative, she thought on a repressed sigh, that she decided to be bountiful and forgive, for she had definite plans for this golden, amusing, charming young man. Although, she mused as she saw the admiration for her on his handsome face slip away, to be replaced by outsize relief when he spied his friend Mr. Jones strolling up the lawn with Miss Logan on his arm, she certainly had no intention of forgetting.
Julian excused himself and went striding across the grass to greet his friends, an expression of such warm welcome on his face that Susannah felt her heart leap up. She raised her face to bask in the approval he bent down upon her, but his smile turned to a scowl as he asked his first question.
“Where the devil have you been? People were beginning to talk. Warwick, was there any difficulty?”
He asked the last in sudden concern, for it seemed his questions made Susannah color up and drop her gaze, and his friend Warwick wore such an innocent expression it was immediately suspect. If he hadn’t known Susannah and Warwick both better, Julian thought at once, he knew what he might have imagined they’d been up to, but the thought that had come to him unbidden was so patently impossible that he wondered if they had, indeed, met up with some misfortune.
“Susannah,” he asked again, “where were you? And whom were you with?”
“Nowhere,” she spoke at once, guiltily, “with no one.”
“Thank you,” Warwick said sweetly.
“Oh, but that’s never what I meant,” she said, wheeling about to stare at Warwick, one hand over her mouth.
Warwick gave her such a warm and tender smile in return, and she colored up so then, that Julian’s eyes widened and then he grew a troubled frown at his next thought. But he had no chance to say another word on the matter, for Marianna joined them then, and asked Susannah very politely where Lord Beccles was. And then Julian shot such a cold, affronted glance at Marianna that she scarcely heard Susannah’s confused reply, she was so busily observing him, as was Warwick. In all, there was no one regretful in the least when the contessa approached to end the conversation and remind them that the other guests were beginning to leave.
As Lady Moredon was staying the weekend with the Fowlers, Julian took her up in his curricle to deliver her to the great circular drive in front of the country house, in order to save her the walk and say farewell to her there. For the sake of propriety, Warwick then took up her chaperon in his own carriage and followed them. By the time both carriages had reached the house, Julian and his lady seemed in better accord, and by the time Warwick had helped the ladies down so that they all might say a proper farewell, they all seemed in perfect charity with each other again.
Indeed, they made a handsome sight as they stood and chatted and said their good-byes on the wide and rolling green lawn. The two young couples were becomingly dressed and perfectly balanced: the golden-haired young gentleman smiling so sweetly at the famous dark beauty, the elegant Mr. Jones gazing down with something perhaps even beyond fondness at the unknown flaxen-haired girl at his side. But that was a thing that only a very closely observant viewer might perceive. Still, the man who was observing them very closely did see that, and a great deal mor
e besides, even from where he stood at the window of the drawing room where his hosts had told him he might wait for his sister’s return. He missed nothing. He stood and watched, his hands locked together behind his back, and he rocked back and forth from heel to toe as he did. And Lord Moredon smiled and smiled at what he saw.
16
The thick cream-colored card fluttered down and landed upside down on the desk. Before the gentleman could turn it over to read it, it was snatched up again.
“Oh no, get your own, envious Warwick,” Julian said merrily as he held the card up and out at arm’s length and read it off in rolling, plummy tones. “Lord and Lady Hoyt request the pleasure of the company of Lord Julian Dylan, Viscount Hazelton, at a Midsummer’s Night Ball in honor of their daughter, Miss Lillian Mary Cornelia Hoyt, on Tuesday evening, the twenty-first of June, at eight o’clock, at their home, Broadoak Court.”
“Behold me ill with desire,” Warwick said on a yawn, pushing himself away from the desk and looking up at his bright-eyed friend. “What has you in such alt? The lovely Lillian? As I recall, she was the plump little party at the picnic who dissolved into shrill giggles every time you looked her way, which, fortunately for our ears, and your reputation as a man of some taste, was not very often.”
“Sweet Lillian can dissolve into a puddle for all I care,” Julian replied blithely. “Marianna will be there, that’s all I know. She’s staying with them now, but since it’s a very exclusive do, I never expected to be able to go. After all, I wasn’t invited when I should have been, when everyone else was, weeks ago. I was in London then, and so they can explain the thing away that way to save face, even though it’s clear I wouldn’t have been asked then even if I’d lived next door. They’re trying to get little Lillian popped off, you see, and wouldn’t want any impoverished viscount-coachmen who made her giggle around her. Maybe they were afraid I could spirit her off faster, since I had a coach to do it with,” he said on a suddenly bitter laugh, “but,” he added, his face brightening again, “now I have been asked. And I understand, from the note which accompanied this perfectly proper and valid and indisputably correct ticket of admittance to the festivities, that it was all due to Marianna’s efforts.”
“I hate to deflate you, Cinderella,” Warwick sighed, “but it can’t be that exclusive a soiree, since I was asked weeks ago, and sent my regrets long since.”
“Ah, but you,” Julian said, interrupting him, “are a hermit, so you’re sent invitations whether they want you or not, since no one expects you ever to come anyway.”
“True, but lately I have been in evidence at a great many tedious affairs, since, if you’ll recall, my entire reason for being here is to get Susannah safely into the social swim. Unfortunately,” he said softly, “that’s a singularly apt choice of words, since in the last week I’ve been made to suffer quite needlessly—at picnics, simple suppers, and musicales—only to be reminded each time that our Susannah may never be allowed to swim freely in such waters, simply because of how her father took his money from more tangible seas.”
“Yes,” Julian said seriously, his smile vanishing, “that’s true…damnably true. But this ball, I’ll be there, and perhaps I can get Marianna to put in a word or two…”
“The only words the lady ever addresses to her are ‘Good evening, Miss Logan,’ and even if she did say more, when Lady Marianna is there, for all intents and purposes, so far as Susannah is concerned, you might as well not be.”
“That’s not true,” Julian said angrily, his eyes becoming lighter as his voice grew colder.
He couldn’t defend his lady’s treatment of Susannah, for it did appear that she wasn’t fond of her. So he seized on a thing he could hotly deny. “I’ve spent a great deal of time with Sukey, even when Marianna’s present,” he said.
“Yes,” Warwick answered calmly, his lids drooping to cover the expression in his eyes, “but only when you’ve deemed it unwise to start gossip by taking up too much of your lady’s time, and even though you’d said you had no plans for the girl and so wouldn’t continue to encourage her.”
“Chatting with her, joking with her, commiserating with her—do you call that encouraging her?” Julian demanded.
“Yes,” Warwick said quietly, “since it’s so apparent you take such enjoyment in it.”
“Oh?” Julian asked after a pause. “What do you suggest I do then, Warwick, snub her as the rest of them do?”
When there was no reply, but his friend only looked up at him, arrested, his startled silence conceding the point, Julian went on. “You chat with her too, and take similar pleasure from it. And why not? She’s a delightful baggage, is our Sukey. But do I lecture you about enticing her? Really, Warwick, what am I supposed to do? I’m getting tired of having you read sermons at me for being a friend to her,” he said gruffly.
He also felt slightly guilty because he admitted to himself that he might well have passed too many merry hours with Susannah even after he’d decided not to any longer, and even after he’d not intended to. So he added, half-thinking the ludicrousness of the statement would end the discussion, half-uneasy that it might not, “Is it that you resent the competition, Warwick? If so, I’ll step aside and never give Miss Logan so much as a ‘good-morning’ again, I promise you. Sukey’s a rare delight. But only a friend, and though I’d miss her, it’s simply not that important to me now that I’ve my Marianna.”
His friend looked up with something very like shock registered in his dark blue eyes. Then the shock became a parody of itself as he recovered himself and said haughtily, “What, resent your competition, Julian? Do you think I’m ready for Bedlam? I, resent your competition? Why, my good fellow, you may look like Apollo, have the tongue of an angel, and have to hire sweepers to clear your path of fainting females every time you go out into society, but do you honestly believe, for even a minute, that you might be able to compete with me?”
Warwick’s avowal of his beauty and charm being one of their oldest jokes, tension faded and they laughed together. “So, do you change your mind and take Susannah to the ball,” Julian asked, when they’d done, “or shall I escort her there?”
“Neither, I think,” Warwick said sadly. “I believe she’s had enough for a week.”
“Enough?” Julian asked incredulously. “One paltry picnic and a few tame evenings out? That’s hardly enough amusement for anyone.”
“Enough insult, I meant,” Warwick said, rising, “or don’t you remember the reception she was given at each of those outings? Ah, I see you do. And there’s nothing we can say or do, since it’s all so politely done. It’s never the cut direct, nor is an insulting word ever to be plainly heard. But their eyes slide over her, they brush past her as though…” He shook his head.
“But,” Julian said, “if I go, and you stay home with her, it will look very bad.”
“Indeed?” his friend asked with great interest. “Are you still casting me in the role of chief competitor, or is it vile seducer you now have in mind? Speaking of which, have you seen my bottle of laudanum? I’d thought to put a great deal in the contessa’s wine tonight,” he confided, “and will need only a drop or two to render Susannah senseless enough to work my wicked ways on her once her chaperon is insensible, she’s so much more slender, and drug dosages go by body weight, you know,” he explained reasonably.
“No, and if you ask where your whips and chains are,” Julian laughed, seeing his friend’s sparkling eye and anticipating his next outrageous claim, “I’ll leave. It’s only that I thought Susannah’s likely to be more offended at being kept away from the ball than she’d ever be by being insulted there. At least I’ll dance with her, and you will, and we two might start a trend. Those other affairs were small and stilted ones, run by the dowagers. A ball’s another matter, and a merrier one. Brighton’s not London and Broadoak Court isn’t even precisely Brighton, it’s far from being Prinny’s set. A dance isn’t a commitment, everyone knows her by now, and she’s lovely enough to temp
t any gentleman to fly in the face of convention.”
“Julian, my friend,” Warwick said slowly, and with some apparent amazement, “I do believe you’ve acquired some sensibility. Good heavens, is our little boy growing up? But you’re absolutely right. I’m a fool for not having seen it. She’s courageous, and if I saw her staying away tonight as a way of avoiding unnecessary pain, she’d see it as cowardice…which I suppose it would be.
“Do you know,” he asked slowly, incredulously, as if to himself, “there’s absolutely nothing to being brave when you’ve only yourself to consider? But it’s very easy to be a coward when it comes to protecting the feelings of someone you care for, when all your instincts call for you to save her from pain at any cost. It seems having a Susannah to take care of is changing us both, or is it just that it’s ennobling to look after anyone besides oneself? In any event, yes, we’ll all go. But never fear, we’ll not step on your toes. We’ll go separately, I’ll see that you’re left plenty of room to do your courtship dance, my peacock. For I wish you luck with your lady, Julian, I really do, you know. I don’t believe you know how much I do, in fact.”
