A Lady's Point of View (12 page)

One couldn’t deny the beauty of
the setting, with its luxurious flowerbeds, delightfully secluded arbours, and
climbing roses. But he knew full well that the cream of the
ton
had not
driven to Kensington to admire the flora. The object of their attention was
standing beside her mother, smiling demurely and resembling an exquisite flower
in a gown of silver threaded with pink ribbons.

The dress offended him. Why had
she not worn the conventional white? Why had she chosen a costume, however
discreet, that flattered her complexion so outrageously and called undue
attention to her beauty? Far more seemly to have retreated into the obscurity
of plainness until that business of her sister was forgotten.

Edward’s temper was only mildly
improved by his observing the entrance of Lady Darnet with her cousin, the
baronet. She looked as exquisite as ever, but... Did she always have that
coolness about the eyes? And perhaps it was the direct sunlight, but he
remarked a roughness of her skin that had previously escaped his notice.

“My dear countess.” He bent over
her hand. “Without you, our day would have been sadly incomplete.”

“Naturally I couldn’t absent
myself from this lovely entertainment,” she replied graciously. “You know Sir
Manfred, I believe?”

The two men bowed to each other.

Helen approached and extended her
own welcome to Lady Darnet, but it lacked warmth. Edward tried to catch his
sister’s eye with a warning glare, but she ignored him. One would almost think
the chit wanted to ruin his suit.

“You will save me a dance, I
trust?” he asked the countess. “We are to have dancing out of doors. A special
floor has been laid for it.”

“I would be delighted.” She
allowed her gaze to meet his and hold it for a moment. He imagined he saw
relief there, and wondered what it meant.

“Oh, pooh,” said Helen when the
countess and her cousin had moved away. “You’re not still dangling after her,
are you, Edward?”

The coldness of his answering
stare would have chilled a less bold spirit. “If you cannot behave with
propriety, Helen, perhaps we should retire to Somerset,” he said.

“Sometimes I should think you
nine and sixty instead of nine and twenty,” retorted his sister. Before he
could reply, she turned to greet the latest arrivals.

Angela, standing nearby beside
her mother, had caught some of this conversation. Why did it disturb her that
Mr. Cockerell was enamoured of the undeniably beautiful Lady Darnet? And that
he had regarded Angela with such distaste this afternoon?

“Do you think my dress is wrong?”
she whispered to her mother. “Would white have been better?”

Lady Mary didn’t reply.
Unfortunately Meg’s white come-out gown had failed to survive an encounter with
a drunken gentleman’s supper plate the previous year. To maintain their rented
house until August would require the most stringent of economies, and in the
absence of a formal ball, a white dress was not strictly required. So the
silver, trimmed with new ribbons, must serve instead. Lady Mary knew as well as
anyone that this fete’s popularity derived from curiosity rather than respect.
One could only hope that Angela’s lovely freshness would overcome the doubters.

Gradually the gardens filled with
guests, gaily dressed in springtime colours. The small orchestra wafted a
charming melody across the lawn, and couples began to dance beneath a striped
canopy on the specially laid oak floor.

“You’re beautiful.” Helen slipped
her arm through Angela’s. “Come and dance with Edward.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary—”

The hostess refused to listen. To
her embarrassment, Angela found herself thrust upon the obviously unhappy
gentleman.

“Behave yourself, Edward!” Helen
said by way of parting. “Remember, you are the host.”

“I must apologise,” Angela said
as she and Edward strolled toward the pole-supported canopy, which had been
left open to a height of six feet. “You have been most gracious about this
affair, and I promise to restrain Helen if in future she tries to force you to
attend on me.”

Something about this speech must
have touched Edward—perhaps the self-effacing manner in which it was delivered,
or the genuine note of apology in her voice.

“I recognize that this is none of
your doing,” he said. “And I have already acknowledged you to be the victim of
innocent mischance, where your sister is concerned.” It was as far as he seemed
willing to venture toward peacemaking, but at least they were not at daggers
drawn when they stepped out to perform a stately pavane.

Observing from the side, the
countess snapped open her fan and fluttered it angrily. Was the man declaring
his intentions? Why had he requested a dance of Cynthia earlier if he meant to
expend his flatteries on this milk-and-water miss?

She consented tersely to dance
with her cousin, and made a point of ignoring the other couple. Why did Edward
smile down at the chit? How could he succumb to a girl who would wear silver at
her come-out?

Lady Darnet’s irritation grew as
she danced with one gentleman after another, and none of them Mr. Cockerell.
Her sore tooth added to her mounting outrage. How dare he slight her in this
fashion? She knew her own worth, as a countess and as heiress to her late husband’s
fortune. The Cockerells might be highly placed, but not so highly as she.

To make matters worse, the other
guests appeared to be enjoying themselves. After the initial inquisitiveness
wore itself thin, the brightness of the day invaded their spirits, and they all
but forgot their reason for attending.

Even Sally Jersey condescended to
speak to Lady Mary, congratulating her on the success of her younger daughter.
She added, loudly enough for others to hear, that Brummell had said he
believed, after reading the elder Miss Linley’s apology, that she had been
woolgathering at Almack’s. Therefore her slight, while a serious breach of
conduct, might not be entirely unforgivable. It was enough to give one the
megrim!

By the time Edward Cockerell
freed himself from his duties and approached Lady Darnet, her mood hovered
dangerously on the brink of fury. Nevertheless, she managed to curtsey and nod
pleasantly. He had no notion that her habitually cool demeanour hid a violent
temper, and the countess didn’t intend to make that fact apparent at this point
in the game.

The musicians began a waltz. Not
only could she hold Edward in her arms, Cynthia reflected with a touch of
cheer, but Angela must stand aside entirely, having not yet received permission
from the patronesses to perform this intimate dance.

Except that Lady Jersey, the
leading patroness, was nodding at some request of Sir Manfred’s. And now he was
strolling across to Angela. After a moment’s conversation, he led her onto the
floor.

Betrayed by her own cousin!
Cynthia could have screamed in frustration.

“You seem perturbed, Lady
Darnet,” said Mr. Cockerell, his hand at her waist as they swayed in time to
the music. “Have I said something amiss?”

Cynthia managed a practised
smile, despite the nagging toothache. “Why, no, of course not.” Her voice
tinkled in the warm air. “Such nonsense, Mr. Cockerell! You are always the soul
of propriety.”

“So I should like to think.” He
beamed with pleasure. What a handsome man he was, large enough to top her tall
figure but graceful and slim nonetheless. And he had this Kensington estate, as
well as the one in Somerset and the London town house. Lady Darnet would enjoy
being their mistress.

“I must say it was kind of you to
bring out Miss Angela,” she murmured. “Poor little soul. She does need one’s
charity.”

His brow knitted. “Forgive me,
Lady Darnet, but I noted at Vauxhall that you avoided her company. Had she
given you offence?”

Dash him! Cynthia clenched her
jaw. Oh! Her tooth! It took a great effort of will to reply sweetly, “You must
have mistaken my intentions, sir. I would never have slighted the girl. Indeed,
I am sure I did not notice her.”

“Of course,” he replied.

Was he defending the sprig? Lady
Darnet’s eyes narrowed. She would not allow herself to be put in an awkward
light. Why had everyone here forgotten so quickly about the Linleys’ disgrace?

The waltz ended, and Cynthia and
Edward joined a cluster of people about the refreshment table. Here were Sir
Manfred and Angela, Lady Jersey, a woman whom Cynthia identified as Mr.
Cockerell’s Aunt Emily, and several others of their acquaintance.

Well, if they had forgotten the
Linleys’ fall from grace, she would remind them.

Accepting a glass of orangeat,
Cynthia observed in dulcet tones, “How unfortunate that Mr. Brummell could not
attend.” A shocked silence greeted this remark, and she added swiftly, “His
presence does always grace an assembly, don’t you think, madam?”

The target of her question, Mr.
Cockerell’s aunt, fixed Cynthia with a cold stare. “Grandson of a valet!” She
sniffed.

The countess gasped and turned to
Lady Jersey for support. “But he is Prinny’s friend!”

“Indeed.” The mistress of London
society remained noncommittal, too fascinated by this exchange to end it.

“His presence might have been
awkward,” ventured Sir Manfred, grinning foolishly at the silent Angela. “I
think he means to make his peace with the Linleys, once the dust has settled.”

This conversation was not going
at all the way Cynthia intended. She peeked at Mr. Cockerell, and saw a dark
look upon his visage as he gazed at the girl in silver. Well, he at least
shared her sentiment.

“I should hardly take a
gentleman’s absence as indication of his goodwill,” she replied.

The response, in a mutter almost
too low to make out, came once again from Mr. Cockerell’s aunt. “Granddaughter
of a coachman,” she growled.

Cynthia paled and her hand flew
to her cheek, inadvertently striking the very tooth that troubled her. With a
cry of mingled fury and pain, she rushed away.

Sir Manfred and Mr. Cockerell hurried
after her. “Pray forgive my aunt,” said the young man. “She speaks her thoughts
aloud without considering their effect.”

For the first time in public,
Cynthia’s temper overran her control and vented itself on this convenient
target. “I have never been so ill-used and insulted in my life!” she declared.
“I do not forgive your aunt, nor do I forgive you for sponsoring this jumped-up
baggage. Good day, Mr. Cockerell.”

She swept off, further infuriated
that her cousin made an apology to their host before following.

It was only when she had settled
into her carriage and they were driving back to town that Cynthia realised what
a scene she had created. Indeed, were she an unmarried young miss and not a
widowed countess, she would be excluded from society for such goings-on.

As for Mr. Cockerell, the
consequences remained to be seen. The worst of it, Lady Darnet reflected as she
gritted her teeth and winced, was that his aunt had harped upon Cynthia’s
greatest weakness in front of him and Lady Jersey.

Well, she wasn’t Margaret Linley,
to flee to the country with her tail between her legs, she thought, lifting her
chin. It wouldn’t be long before Mr. Cockerell acknowledged that she was the
lady he should marry.

Had Lady Darnet seen Edward at
that moment, she would have felt less certain. After staring at her retreating
form with his hands clenched, he stalked across the garden to a secluded alcove
where he might resolve his emotions safe from observation. Jumped-up baggage.
That was what the wench had dared to call that sweet Angela Linley! Never had
he imagined that Lady Darnet possessed such a viper’s tongue. Always before,
she had appeared the soul of good breeding.

The branches rustled nearby, and
Mr. Cockerell turned to find himself facing the wide-eyed subject of his
concern. “Miss Linley.” He knew he should declare her presence here unsuitable
and escort her back to the others, but he could only stand and gaze at her.

The countess’s remarks had
brought a deep blush to her cheeks and a turquoise depth to her eyes, and
Angela appeared even more beautiful in the clear daylight than she had in the
harsh shadows of Vauxhall. “Mr. Cockerell,” she replied, “I’m truly sorry for
what you’ve suffered.”

“I?” he said. “Suffered?”

The girl clenched her hands in
front of her. “This unpleasantness would never have occurred were it not for
your generosity toward us.”

“It would never have occurred
were it not for Lady Darnet’s ill-nature,” he corrected.

Surprise flashed across her face.
“You blame her?”

“How could I not?” With
difficulty, he refrained from touching those bare shoulders and the milk-white
skin of her neck.

“I believed she was someone
special to you.” Angela lowered her gaze . “Helen said you were courting her. I
thought I had given offence and forced your estrangement. I didn’t mean to
cause you distress, Mr. Cockerell.”

“You have not,” he said.
“Although I have called on her, I had never witnessed this aspect of her
character before.” Edward paused to stare broodingly down at Angela. Having so
recently been enlightened as to the true spirit of his former inamorata, he
could not immediately trust any woman. Was Angela’s modesty mere pretence? Was
she, like Lady Darnet, a shrew in disguise?

“Perhaps we should go back,”
Angela suggested. “I came after you without thinking. I suppose it might be
considered improper.”

Wordlessly he crooked his elbow
and she placed her hand upon it. Together, they strolled back into the midst of
the assembly.

Throughout the afternoon and
evening, Edward continued to watch the girl. Her expressions fluctuated. Here
she smiled warmly; there she nodded politely; once or twice a frown flitted
across her delicate face, but was quickly banished.