A Proper Scandal (16 page)

“Oh,” said Elisabeth weakly, looking around. “Well, if you've been to one of them, you've been to them all. But do not let me spoil it for you. Rainsleigh, too, looked forward to this night. I am trying to put on a brave face for him.”

Piety chuckled and snatched up Elisabeth's other hand. “A brave face—ha! But you are stunning! Rainsleigh did not exaggerate.”

“The viscount, er, described me?”

She nodded cheerfully. “Well, he told Trevor, who told me.” She spun, gesturing to a tall, tanned, sandy-haired gentleman making his way toward them. “That's my husband. Trevor, Lord Falcondale. We sailed on one of Rainsleigh's ships, and the two of them have had much to discuss since we returned. But it's not all business, obviously. Trevor says Rainsleigh speaks often of you.”

“Oh, well,” said Elisabeth without commitment, glancing at Rainsleigh and then quickly away. She could feel her cheeks glow with color. She knew of Rainsleigh's enthusiasm for her, but it had not occurred to her that he would discuss their relationship with other people. The realization made her strangely uneasy. They were hardly carrying on in secret, but the more people he told about her, the more people would require excuses if her great secret drove them apart.

Carefully, she changed the subject. “Jocelyn has been looking so forward to your return. How long were you away from England?”

Lady Falcondale made a sound of exaggerated fatigue. “Oh, heavens, since well into last year. Long enough to, er, get our family under way.” She touched her belly again. “We came home to have the baby. But how delighted we were to find Rainsleigh had moved in for good. When we left, the house was a worksite, and he only dropped by now and again. It was a lovely homecoming to have him in residence—and to be getting on so well with you.”

“Yes,” said Elisabeth, barely able to keep up.

Piety went on. “But perhaps my happiest discovery was to learn that dear Jocelyn is working again as a chaperone. All the better. I do worry for her sanity when she is in the unrelenting company of Lady Frinfrock.”

“Please do not joke about the unrelenting company of Lady Frinfrock,” said a male voice behind them. “Far too grave a threat.”

Elisabeth turned. It was Piety's husband, Lord Falcondale. He placed a possessive hand on the small of his wife's back.

“How do you do?” he said, “Lady Elisabeth, I presume?” He made a small bow over her hand. “Thank God. I thought my wife would burst with anticipation.”

“How do you do?” said Elisabeth, smiling more easily now. “Rainsleigh and Miss Breedlowe speak so highly of you—both of you.”

“High praise from Rainsleigh?” said the earl. “Now I know he's besotted.”

“I knew Rainsleigh was over the moon,” gushed Piety, “when I heard about his donation to your charity. He does like to throw his money around, but then I learned of the nature of your foundation. And I
knew
.”

“The viscount has been most generous,” Elisabeth managed, surprised to discuss her work. And Rainsleigh's money. And especially his alleged state,
over the moon
. It occurred to her that she, alone, viewed their courtship as a small, private, experimental thing.

“Ah, but here's the devil himself,” Falcondale said, watching Rainsleigh make his way to them. “Thank God. He's finally screwed up the courage to say hello.”

Elisabeth inclined her head, watching dancers part and the room open to him. Her heart began to pound. He cut a slow, determined stride across the parquet floor. She allowed a small smile, watching him watch her as he came.

“Lady Elisabeth is a peach, Rainsleigh,” Piety enthused when he reached them.

Elisabeth laughed, barely managing to screw on a straight face while Rainsleigh affected a formal bow over her gloved hand.

“My lady,” he said. “It's a pleasure.”

Elisabeth resisted squeezing her fingers around his hand. “The pleasure is mine.”

“Finally,” said Falcondale. “My God, Rainsleigh, I was beginning to think you'd forgotten which one she was. Sporting of you to say hello. Lovely girl, by the way.” He shot Elisabeth a smile. “But my wife and unborn child require sustenance. Who fancies a turn at the buffet? The sooner we eat, the sooner we may leave for home.”

Elisabeth did laugh then; Piety too. Rainsleigh offered his arm, and Elisabeth took it, grateful to feel the solidness of him at last. She tightened her hand around his bicep and saw his jaw clench, as it always did. It thrilled her to see him respond to her.

“How are you enjoying the evening, my lord?” she asked.

“Well enough,” he said. “I had a moment's . . . unease that you had changed your mind and wouldn't come.”

“Oh, yes, how anxious you looked when I arrived, rushing to greet me.”

His eyes narrowed, but she saw him fight a smile. “You look . . . verdant,” he said.

“As I am not a forest, may I assume that means nice?”

“You may assume that means beautiful. You've left your hair to hang down your back. My preference.”

“Is it? What luck; it's mine too. But of course you know that long, loose hair is hardly current. People will talk, and not in a good way. Individualism is not to be encouraged in settings such as these.”

“Hmmm. Another stroke of luck, as you seem impervious to ‘talk.' ”

“I've made the effort to turn up here, just to be with you. So that people will talk about that too.”

“You
came here
,” he whispered into her ear, “to enjoy the evening with me; everyone else and their
chatter
be damned.”

Elisabeth pressed on, enjoying herself. “The gossip in the ballroom is positively echoing in my ears.” She affected a meddlesome tone. “ ‘But who is the gentleman we've never before bothered to invite? Oh, it's Lord Rainsleigh. And how well-heeled he is. I cannot imagine what took us so long to include him. But who is that
verdant
spinster beside him with the unkempt hair?' ”

“Ha!” Rainsleigh barked a laugh. “I assure you that is not what's being said. In fact, I could stand for a little less talk in this ballroom, as ‘spinster' is hardly the word the men here are ascribing to you. I was unprepared for the amount of male attention you would receive. I don't like it.”

“Pity to wait your whole life to go to a fancy party, only to discover it's no fun at all.”

“Let me be very clear. I can take or leave the bloody ball. I don't enjoy the other men staring at you. Is your dress, perhaps, missing some part of the neckline?”

Now she laughed. “Perhaps you should do something possessive and demonstrative—and quick.”

Rainsleigh made a growling noise. “It's reckless to be without Miss Breedlowe. I don't care what your aunt says. She will be a hapless chaperone, I fear.”

“You have no idea.”

“Beg your pardon?”

She shook her head. “Come now, what possible impropriety could happen in a crowded ballroom?”

“If only you knew my parents.”

“I'm glad I did not know them.”

He stopped, looking down at her. “Yes. So am I.”

“But we will be nothing like them,” she assured him, hugging his arm more closely. “I am only here to meet your friends—who are lovely, by the way—and because it is important to you. You are only here because you
can be
. Where's the risk in that?”

“Careful, my lady, you might just enjoy yourself.”

“I already am.”

In that moment, she longed, deeply, to rise up on her toes and kiss him. If they had not been in a crowded ballroom, swirling with watchful strangers, she would have done it. “I want to kiss you,” she whispered.

Rainsleigh growled again and swept her along.

“L
et me guess,” Beau Courtland drawled, sidling up beside his brother. “It doesn't live up to your expectations?”

A footman passed with beef pies on a tray, and his brother scooped up two, eating the first in a single bite. “Too much idle diversion? No ledgers to tally? Certainly no boats in sight.”

“Clever . . . ” mumbled Bryson, not really listening. Across the room, he watched the Countess of Banning introduce Elisabeth and Piety to yet another circle of guests.

“Have you seen Kenneth?” Another footman passed, this time with drinks. Beau juggled the pies and took up a glass. “He has no guile, the sod. Standing vigil beside the drinks table as if he's just come off Lent.”

Bryson tore his gaze from Elisabeth and stared at his brother. “Kenneth Courtland is
here
?
Why?
”

Beau shrugged, making a face. “I don't monitor the comings and goings of our cousins, but it was hard to miss him. Strolled in on your coattails. I thought you saw him. I told you last month that he was back in town, trying to use the family as currency.”

“It's one thing to lie to bookmakers and card dealers but quite another to show up at a proper ball. My God, why did they let him in?”

“God only knows. The butler is better dressed. Do you send him money?”

“I've never sent him a shilling. I keep Aunt Fay in small house in Wales, but nothing more. She has no other means.” He turned back to the ballroom, seeking out the degenerate relative. “He should not be here.”

“Fancy I should speak to him?” Beau sighed. “He knows better than to come close to you.”

Bryson shook his head. “Stay away from him. If there's any justice, he'll be ignored and scuttle out before there's any harm. Best not to associate.” They watched Kenneth, standing alone with a tankard, his dated, threadbare suit near to bursting at the seams.

After a moment, Bryson added, “I intend to make an announcement before the night ends. Hopefully, he will have loped away before then.”

Beau chuckled. “What announcement? Playing the shipbuilder extraordinaire so soon? Just because you've been invited, doesn't mean you have an audience. No one discusses business at these things, Bryse.” “Not an announcement to the room,” he grumbled, “to you. To Falcondale and his wife. Lady Banning and Elisabeth.”

“Announcement? About what?”

“It's a . . . proposal.” He cleared his throat.

Beau choked on a mouthful of champagne. “Proposal for what?”

“Clever. Very clever. Not
for what.
To whom. Marriage. To Elisabeth. It's why I wanted you here.”

“Well, it's not why I came!” Beau wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

“And I thought it was because I'd asked nicely.”

“I came”—Beau was shaking his head—“because a certain lonely diplomat's wife suggested she'd save a dance or two—or
more
—for me. My God, Bryse. All this bloody marriage talk again? You've only known this girl for a month.”

“I have wanted to offer for her since the first night we met.”

“Oh, right. How could I forget: ‘When you know, you know.' There's a term for this phenomenon, you know.”

Bryson sighed. “Hmmm, and what is that?”

“
Love
.” Beau laughed. “I never thought it would apply to you, but why not? Even the mightiest sometimes fall.”

“Stop, before you injure yourself. God save me from your dramatics.”

“You're besotted. Smitten. Shot by cupid's arrow. Naturally, a wedding would be next.”

“
The wedding
will unite two esteemed families, so you may cease your romantic drivel.”

“Oh, it's drivel now, is it?” asked Beau. “Well, I'm not the one racing to the altar with a girl I've only just met.”

“Yes, but not because you lack romance. You're not headed to the altar at any speed because you detest the idea of monogamy. So be it. I do not have the same luxury. As viscount, it is expected that I should marry. It's the proper thing to do.”

“I'm not suggesting that you avoid marriage, Bryse—in fact, I like Elisabeth very much. Congratulations on your . . . how do they say it?
Love match
.” Beau took a long sip. “It's sweet, really. And to think, not six months ago, all you loved was money and title and your great bloody house.”

“I cannot expect you to understand,” Bryson said on a sigh. He waited a beat and then added, “Elisabeth and I are fond of each other. And I desire her. But it would be reckless and silly to base a marriage on anything quite so fanciful or fleeting as
love
.” Bryson thought for a moment longer. “It would be irresponsible.”

“God save us from that,” Beau mumbled.

Bryson narrowed is eyes. “Elisabeth's manners and breeding, her chastity and modesty make her exactly the bride for whom I searched—or would have searched, if I hadn't met her on that first night.”

“Ah yes, here we go with the manners and breeding and chastity and modesty,” Beau recited. “Is she to be your wife, Bryse, or your nun?”

Bryson looked away. “Make no mistake. If I did not marry her, I would not be able to resist her.”

“Aha! And so the truth comes out.” Beau lifted his glass in a mock toast. “Pity you cannot find some manner of discreet interlude that might preclude immediate shackling. Something to hold you over for six months . . . the summer, perhaps. I suppose you'd never considered some time alone with her in the carriage on a moonlit night? Or another ‘interview' in your library? An idle tryst to smooth out the edges, rather than bolt to the altar on your way to the bed.”

“I will not dishonor Elisabeth,” Bryson said harshly. “She is chaste and unsullied and wholly pure. It would be an insult to . . . have my way with her in a bloody carriage seat. She is a lady. She deserves the sanctity of marriage and a proper bed—at the very least.” His expression blazed. His brother had taken the joke too far, as usual.

Beau whistled again, shaking his head. “So you say. But I urge you not to disparage a nicely sprung carriage seat until you've tried it.”

“
Beau
,” Bryson growled warningly.

“After you're married, of course! When that sanctified marriage bed of yours grows tiresome.”

“I'm beginning to wonder why I asked you to come.”

“That's another thing! Marry her if you must, Bryse, but why offer for her tonight? Why
here?
”

Bryson nodded. This was fair. “I had planned to approach her at home. Next week, perhaps. But I've already spoken to her aunt. I have the jewelry in my pocket. I thought perhaps tonight would add a little bit of romantic flourish. Borrow a page from your book.”

“Don't pin this on me! I'll never propose marriage—not here or on the bloody moon. This is your choice, Bryson, and I, for one, am shocked. What does your society rule book say about this sort of song and dance? You've just said that love was ‘reckless' and ‘fleeting.' What about spectacle? Surely there's at least a chapter on discretion, subtlety, good bloody taste.”

“I do as I please.” Bryson sighed. “And now it pleases me to do this. I wish to be very clear. To Elisabeth and to her aunt.” He turned, studying his brother. “Don't you see? With this ball, we've come full circle. We've not been included before tonight. Did you see where we were seated at dinner?”

“Yes,” grumbled Beau, “nowhere near the diplomat's wife.” He shook his head. “Count the accolades if you must, Bryson; that was always your dream. I've done nothing but hold you back. Congratulations. You're soundly revered. Now you may attend a society party every bloody night of the week. But why cause a stir at your very first one? If you propose tonight, what will be your next trick?”

“It's not a trick, and the proposal isn't meant to put on a show. It's a gesture. I will demonstrate”—he lowered his voice and looked away—“that I am worthy of her.” A pause. “This ball proves it. I am accepted everywhere she may wish to go.”

“You were always worthy of her, and from what I know of Elisabeth, she doesn't even enjoy balls for all that.”

“It's a symbol,” he said through gritted teeth. “I cannot expect you to understand.”

“No, you cannot. Exclusion doesn't trouble me. In fact, I prefer it. Far less bother. You cannot find this evening jacket comfortable, Bryson, you cannot.” He tugged at his stiff collar.

“There are more important things in life than comfort.”

“Obviously, as you're racing to the altar at breakneck speed.”

“You think my life with Elisabeth will lack comfort?”

“No, no, I think your life with Elisabeth will far exceed comfort. I think it will be an exercise in constant compromise—and good for you both for finding each other. Pity you don't
love
her, but far be it for me to assume. The less I know about love, the better.”

Bryson took a long drink, watching Elisabeth and her aunt return from the dining room with drinks and saucers of cake. “Before this conversation devolves any further, I would like to gather up everyone and get on with it. She and her aunt will not stay much longer. The dancing has preoccupied most other guests. I should like to do it without an audience.”

“Have you considered what a small, dare I say
nonexistent
audience you would have had in the privacy of her parlor?”

Bryson shook his head. “Her aunt is here. You are here. My friends are here. I won't make a spectacle. Just a small announcement before we all go. A bit of flourish. Something special for all of us to remember.”

“Afraid she'll turn you down if you go it alone?”

Bryson finished his port. “Perhaps a touch,” he said, smiling grimly. His brother shook his head, wisely making no further comment, and Bryson tapped the lapel pocket that held the ring.