A Lady's Point of View (24 page)

“How well your clothes suit you
both,” Lady Mary remarked. “Do try to appear a bit more cheerful. The season
isn’t over, Meg, and you still have a chance.”

Her elder daughter nodded obediently,
and slipped an arm about Angela’s waist. They had each other. The comfort of a
sister was unlike any other, Mary reflected, and hoped they might continue to
comfort each other after Angela’s marriage.

When their mother turned away,
Meg whispered, “It’s not too late. You needn’t marry him.”

“I must!” Angela had resolved to
accept her fate with good grace. “Else we’ll all land in debtors’ prison before
the year is out. And I told you how Lady Darnet found us. She could ruin me.”

Meg sniffed. “I never did like
her. I find something havey-cavey about all this.”

The sisters joined their mother
in the entrance hall as the creak of carriage wheels and the jingle of
harnesses sounded in the street outside. “Hold my hand when Edward comes in,”
Angela told Meg. “I mustn’t show my feelings.”

“Indeed not.” Lady Mary’s crisp
emphasis proved remarkably steadying.

The arrivals began. These
included Lord and Lady Sefton, the Drummond Burrells, Lady Jersey, the Cowpers,
Lady Darnet in a shockingly low-cut gown, and, of course, Sir Manfred, who
favoured his intended with a knowing wink.

Angela shifted uncomfortably, hot
beneath her gown. Perhaps Edward wouldn’t come after all, she reflected, and
felt both relief and a sharp pang of dismay. For the first time, she truly
entertained thoughts of what her future would be like.

How could she marry Sir Manfred?
The touch of those clammy hands aroused only disgust, and the memory of his
stolen kisses shuddered through her. Angela had only the vaguest notion of what
transpired between husband and wife. But she couldn’t help being aware that it
involved even more physical intimacy than she had yet experienced, and the
notion filled her with revulsion.

She took her cue from her sister.
Chin up,
Angela told herself, and did her best to comport herself like a
duchess.

Meg kept her head high,
pretending not to notice the smirks and behind-the-hand remarks of some of the
guests. Did they recognize the made-over gowns? Had they learned somehow of her
escapade as a governess? Or was this merely the stale scandal left from
Almack’s?

Most of the whispering ended when
Beau Brummell joined the throng, evidence that he harboured no ill will. Meg,
determined not to repeat her former mistakes, had prevailed upon her mother,
and won permission to wear the spectacles. Now she adjusted them upon her nose,
peered at the Beau, and curtseyed prettily.

When she looked up, he had raised
his own quizzing glass in response, and they shared a smile. That was one enemy
won back, at least, she thought with a sigh.

As the crush grew even more
pronounced, Meg excused herself to see to the servants. She hurried into the
ballroom, relieved to be free of the onerous duty of exchanging compliments
with people she scarcely knew. The wine and ratafia were flowing freely, and in
the kitchen Meg found preparations well under way for the midnight supper.
Their cook might lack the elegance of the French chefs employed by dukes and
princes, but she was a dependable, down-to-earth sort who never panicked.

Everything was under control, Meg
concluded, and left the kitchen.

She paused, hearing the clatter
of pans behind her and the tinkle of voices ahead. If only she dared make her
escape. What a strain this evening was, a celebration of a tragic union. How
gleefully the visitors were sure to drink and dance and laugh, visitors who had
only weeks before snubbed Lady Mary’s family.

I have become too cynical for
life in town,
Meg reflected.
One can only dine upon swans’ tongues and
French fruits for a year or so. Then the palate becomes weary, and one longs
for boiled chicken and fresh strawberries.

Against her will, her thoughts
returned to Brynwood. How happy she had been there. How idyllic those few weeks
had seemed, playing with the children and going on picnics...

The memory of a pair of strong
arms and gently insistent lips nearly overset her. She quickened her step
toward the entrance hall.

Scarcely had Meg gone off than the Cockerell party
made its appearance. Angela saw Helen first, and gave her a tremulous smile.
Then came a tall gentleman whom she did not know, followed by Edward. Their
gazes met momentarily, and then both looked away. Edward’s expression was
impatient, as if he longed to be done with the evening.

And so he must, Angela thought,
drawing herself up straighter and recalling the announcement to be made later
that night. It would make no difference to Mr. Cockerell whom she married, but
at least her family would be safe.

“Good evening.” Helen swooped
forward to kiss the cheeks of mother and daughter. “I hope you don’t mind, but
Edward invited an old friend.”

Lady Mary was staring at the tall
man with a curious expression, Angela noted. Who could he be?

“Meg isn’t ill, is she?” Helen
continued, leaving her two escorts waiting to proffer their greetings.

“No, just gone to check on the
preparations,” said Angela, since her mother remained speechless. Whatever had
got into Lady Mary?

Thankfully, Angela saw her sister
approaching down the hallway, extending her hands to Helen. “How good to see
you!” Meg said.

“And you as well.” Helen glanced
at the gown meaningfully and winked.

Catching sight of the men, Meg turned as white as a
come-out gown. Minutes seemed to tick by before she said, scarce above a
whisper, “Lord Bryn.”

At once Angela understood her
mother’s reaction. She wished they had cancelled the ball, and to the devil
with what society would say! Oh, Lord, how were they—and their reputations--to
survive this night?

Lady Mary recovered well enough
to extend her hand to the marquis. “How delightful to see you,” she said.
“We’re honoured to have you as our guest.”

“Charmed, madam,” he replied,
bowing politely over her hand.

Meg’s initial numb reaction
sharpened into disbelief touched with fear. Was it his intention to embarrass
her at her own sister’s engagement party? Surely he would not stoop so low, but
what could account for his unexpected presence in London?

Her anxiety was in no way
relieved when the marquis requested the first dance. She knew that stormy glint
in his eyes too well to imagine that he had forgiven her transgressions.

“Why have you come?” she asked
bluntly as he escorted her into the ballroom. Although his touch contained no
hint of tenderness, her body swayed toward him of its own accord. Whatever
bonds tied them had not yet fully unravelled.

Taking her question at its face,
he said, “As you may recall, I have need of a governess. I resolved to hire one
in person this time, and one usually finds the best governesses in London.”

“But why come to our ball?” Meg
avoided his eyes. She could not bear the coldness there.

Before replying, the marquis
placed one hand upon her waist, as required by the waltz, and pressed his palm
to hers. As the music began, they set off together with a natural rhythm, each
sensitive to the other’s slightest motion. “Edward invited me, and I thought it
might be amusing.”

“Amusing?” Would he never cease
this sneering demeanour? Was this truly anger, or a side of him she had merely
failed to observe through blind infatuation?

Lord Bryn gave no sign of
noticing her distress. “I was interested to learn that you spread word of your
prank among your friends.”

Meg gasped. “So that’s why
everyone was gossiping about me! But I told no one outside my family. Except my
dearest bosom bow, of course.”

“Indeed.”

He could have given deportment
lessons to a block of ice. Justifiably, perhaps, she must concede. Being on
such intimate terms with Helen, she had felt it only natural to confide in her,
but she could understand how different such an act must appear to his lordship.
Still, Helen would never gossip.

“It must have been Edward who
tattled.” The man dropped even lower in Meg’s esteem. “He read the letter I
wrote to his sister, who is my closest friend. The information was meant for no
eyes but hers.”

“ Ah.” Lord Bryn’s countenance
shed a trace of its superciliousness. “Perhaps I misunderstood. It was Edward
who spoke to me of the matter, and I assumed you had intended it to be general
knowledge.”

“I certainly did not!” exclaimed
Meg. “You came here to punish me, then?”

“That entered my mind.” The
marquis looked almost, but not quite, ashamed of himself. “I care little for
what others may say, but it is not in my nature to sit idly by while I am made
a laughingstock.”

“Well, you may return home to
Brynwood assured that 1 have kept my word,” Meg snapped. “I, my lord, have
never behaved toward you in a mean-spirited fashion. Nor shall I in future,
though you give me provocation.”

The music concluded at that
fortuitous moment. Angrily she removed herself from his grasp and stalked away,
leaving Lord Bryn standing in the centre of the floor.

Meg’s fury surprised her. When
she first saw the marquis this evening, she had felt shame, longing, sorrow,
and the awareness of a deep abiding affection. But that he would come into the
bosom of her family and seek to humiliate her was outside of enough.

Taking refuge in a bower of
potted palms, she clenched her fists and forced her temper under control. She
could not, must not, disgrace herself this evening. No sooner had the heat of
her anger abated, than misery took its place. The man she loved purposely
misinterpreted her every action. He sought only blame and revenge. No
possibility existed now for reconciliation.

She must not cower here, giving fodder to idle
speculation. As a hostess, she must maintain composure. Struggling to put on
the false face required by society, Meg remembered that Angela’s happiness lay
in the balance. In a few hours, the engagement would be announced and her
sister’s fate sealed.

Edward. If only he could be
brought round somehow. He might be, to her, almost as unworthy as Sir Manfred,
but Angela loved him. Could he be made jealous? Might that serve to awaken his
finer feelings?

Meg took three deep breaths, a
trick her mother had taught her for controlling the emotions. Yes, she must
turn her attentions to the haughty Mr. Cockerell. It would distract her from
her own sorrow, and perhaps show a way to win him back for Angela.

A survey of the room found Edward
dancing stiffly with his sister, nodding to acquaintances and casting not a
single glance at his former love. The very manner in which he ignored Angela
bore mute testimony to his attachment, for only with deliberate intent could he
avoid her so completely.

Meg gazed about. Sir Manfred, wearing a self-satisfied
expression, was swapping tales with an earl and a viscount. He clearly saw no
need to woo his own fiancée at their engagement ball.

Courage
, Meg counseled
herself, and moved into the trio of men. Immediately the talk halted as they
acknowledged her courteously.

“May I speak with you a moment,
Sir Manfred?” she asked after returning the men’s greetings. Laying her hand on
his arm, she drew aside her future brother-in-law.

“Nothing wrong, I hope?” he said.
Not a bad man, Meg reminded herself, but his hair had an oily glaze, and red
veins showed in his eyes.

“Not precisely.” She forced
herself to gaze earnestly into those puffy eyes. “It’s my sister.”

“Angela? What the devil! Not ill,
is she?” The fellow bristled with concern. Had he not smelled so strongly of
the brewery, Meg might have felt more sympathy.

“No, but—this is merely a
suspicion of mine, nothing that she’s spoken of outright—I think she may be
having second thoughts,” Meg said. “The normal sort of thing among young girls.
I think it best that you reassure her of your affections.”

“Eh? Oh, right, right you are.” Sir Manfred tossed
back the last of his sherry, handed Meg the glass, and set out in search of his
prey.

Forgive me, Angela,
Meg
begged silently. She turned to greet a party of latecomers, trying to ignore
the painful sight of the marquis dancing with one of the season’s
Incomparables, a giddy girl whom Vanessa and Tom would have routed from the
nursery inside of five minutes.

The image of that gleeful pair
brought a fleeting smile to Meg’s lips. Oh, she did miss them! But she must
attend to what an elderly dowager was saying, or risk insulting her guest.

She certainly did not wish to
give offence to anyone. Her sins toward the Beau might be forgiven, but it
would not take much to sully her reputation once more.

Edward was relieved to finish the
dance with his sister. “How soon can we leave?” he murmured.

“Not for at least another half
hour,” she replied imperiously, and smacked him on the arm with her fan.

Another partner claimed Helen,
and, left alone, Edward surveyed the room. He caught Lady Darnet’s eyes upon
him. Dash it, she was splendid in silver gauze over a blue underskirt, and
never before had she exposed so much of her creamy bosom. On any other woman,
the gown would have been brazen, but despite the décolletage, the countess
still resembled an ice queen.

Might as well dance with the
woman, he supposed, and set off toward her. No point the evening’s being a
complete waste.

The crowd kept him dodging, and
occasionally bowing, and so it was that despite his best intentions, his vision
swept across the figure of Angela Linley talking to that fop Sir Manfred.
Edward halted. What the devil did that fat fool think he was doing, laying his
arm about Angela’s waist in such a familiar manner?

None of my concern, he told
himself, and resumed his journey. With a modest curtsey, the countess agreed to
join him in a gavotte.

Remembering Bryn’s interest in
the widow, Edward looked for his friend. Ah, he stood across the room, swirling
his wine and staring fixedly at Meg Linley as she darted to and fro exchanging
pleasantries.

The opening strains of the music
floated through the air, and Edward turned to the impatient countess. Bryn
could jolly well straighten out his own life without anyone’s help.

Now how had Sir Manfred and
Angela come to join this set for the gavotte? Oh, yes, the chap was Lady
Darnet’s cousin. Damned annoying, these relationships and entanglements,
thought Edward. The rotund fellow was making a cake of himself over the
ashen-faced girl. Not that Mr. Cockerell cared in the least, but he did think
the man might have the good breeding to refrain from publicly squeezing the
chit’s hand and whispering in her ear.

Edward performed the elaborate
movements of the dance out of habit. How sad and lost Angela seemed. Why did
she allow that Manfred chap to take such liberties? Instead of protesting when
he patted her shoulder or fingered one of her curls, the girl merely lowered
her eyes in resignation.

Someone ought to plant the cad a
facer!

Lady Darnet could not help but
notice her partner’s preoccupation. Edward was far more besotted with that
simpering Angela than she had imagined. Well, the marquis presented a superior
prospect, she decided, and shifted her attention to him as she wove through the
dance.

The tall figure across the room
stood aloof from the merriment, but one could not mistake the way he followed
every gesture Meg Linley made. How could he be so fascinated by a girl who had
played a scandalous jest at his expense? the countess wondered.
I shall put
him off her quick enough.

When the gavotte ended, Sir
Manfred tugged at Angela’s hand and led her out into the garden. With a
disbelieving stare, Mr. Cockerell followed. The countess, free to pursue her
goal, made her way through the crowd to Lord Bryn.

A large purplish matron and a
thin pinkish girl had the marquis cornered and from the trio’s facial
expressions, Cynthia concluded that the women were seeking, and failing, to
impress him with the chit’s attractions.

“My lord, how pleasant to see you
so soon after you called on me,” she said, letting her words drop like a
blanket across the conversation.

“Ah. Lady Darnet.” As she had
hoped, the marquis disengaged himself, and asked her to dance.

Yet another of her wishes was
granted. The dance proved to be a waltz.

“London has sorely missed your
presence,” she said as they whirled about the room together. He danced
correctly but without emotion, as if partnering a broomstick. Having never
encountered such a response, she did not know what to make of it.

“I find that difficult to
credit.” The marquis’s lip curled. “The
ton
is an animal which, unlike
the fox or hare, can replace a missing limb without any but the most
superficial discomfort.”

“Perhaps I should have phrased my
statement differently.” Though mildly vexed, Lady Darnet was determined to
redirect this conversation. “While I cannot account for the inconstancy of
others, I meant you have crossed my mind from time to time, and I hoped you
were well.”

She caught a spark of response in
his gaze. Yes, there were few as skilled as she in engaging a man’s interest
when she wished to.

To the best of the marquis’s
recollection, he and the countess had known each other only slightly at best
before her marriage and before he succeeded to his title. On the other hand,
why should he cavil at her compliments? Hadn’t he been considering only the
previous day that he might take her as a wife? True, she was shallow, but so
were most women he had encountered.

The countess leaned closer in
what many men would consider an enticing manner, although her natural coldness
precluded any physical response on his part. “Did you notice that gown Meg
Linley is wearing?” she asked in a confiding tone. “It formerly belonged to
Helen Cockerell.”

“Did it indeed?” The marquis
recalled his companion’s remarks of the previous day about the Linleys’ lack of
funds. Why should Lady Darnet think that of interest to him?

“They say the Linley girl is
hanging out for a rich husband.” Cynthia appeared to be doing her utmost to
blacken Meg’s reputation. “Likely to take the first man she can bring up to
snuff, or so they say.” At that moment Meg was chatting with an elderly baron,
and the countess nodded meaningfully.

Bryn regarded at the pair with
distaste. Surely his Meg wouldn’t leg-shackle herself to an old wrinkle-face
merely to obtain money.

Lady Darnet persisted. “Lady Mary
will have scarcely a feather left to fly with after this ball, shabby as it is.
Plans to sell off her daughters, I’ve heard.”

Her words altered the complexion
of Lord Bryn’s thoughts. Meg, forced into a marriage of convenience in order to
save her mother from poverty? That was a different matter than trading oneself
off for baubles and carriages.

Could his own wealth have
accounted for her conduct at Brynwood? Unbidden, an image sprang to mind of her
imploring face as she declared her love for him. She must be a good actress to
have played the role of heartbroken maiden so convincingly. Yet she hadn’t
hesitated to rip up at him this evening when she learned of his ignoble
intentions. Was that the conduct of a chit seeking a wealthy match? The girl
was certainly a puzzle.

The marquis felt a surge of
relief when it came time to relinquish Lady Darnet to another gentleman. Her
malicious chitchat had been sorely trying.

The countess watched him go, her
face pinched sourly. Then he caught a glint of pure malice, before she turned
to her new partner with a strained smile. What a peculiar woman she was,
indeed.