B006DTZ3FY EBOK (20 page)

She looked askance at him over her toast, and he chuckled.
“W
ell, it isn
’
t really a tale,
”
he admitted.
“I
t
’
s a true story. I need a little advice
—
for a friend,
”
he added untruthfully.
“Y
ou were always better at that sort of thing than I am.
”

Natalie looked mildly interested.
“I
hope it
’
s a love triangle. Those are my favorite.
”

“W
ell, it
’
s not a triangle, exactly, but it is definitely a romantic sort of problem. The very thing at which I
’
m hopeless.
”

She visibly perked up.
“F
ire away. I
’
ll do my best.
”

Derek leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, thinking.
“W
hat would you tell a chap,
”
he began slowly,
“
who has fallen in love with a girl
—”

“C
ongratulations?
”

“I
haven
’
t finished. A girl whom he suspects is a fortune-hunter?
”

“O
h.
”
She thought for a moment.
“H
as your friend got a fortune?
”

“N
o.
”

“I
see.
‘
Congratulations,
’
then, is a bit premature. How certain is he that the girl is a fortune-hunter?
”

“F
airly certain,
”
Derek admitted.
“S
he
’
s told him she can
’
t marry him because he
’
s not rich enough.
”

Natalie choked on her toast and went into a brief coughing fit.
“T
hat
’
s rather conclusive evidence,
”
she said, when she had got her breath back.

“Y
es, but he
’
s not ready to throw in the towel just yet. He thinks the girl has feelings for him.
”

“O
h.
”
Natalie absently reached for more toast.
“W
ell, that does complicate matters a bit. For the girl, at any rate.
”

Derek quirked an eyebrow at her.
“I
f he
’
s right, doesn
’
t that give him some hope?
”

“P
erhaps.
”
She chewed thoughtfully.
“I
t depends on what her feelings for him actually are, and why she wants to marry money. And, of course, whether your friend is facing serious competition. Is there a rich suitor waiting in the wings?
”

“I
believe there is,
”
said Derek gloomily.

“W
ell, do not blame the girl too much if she chooses the rich man,
”
said Natalie. She sounded, to Derek, depressingly chipper about it.
“T
here are all sorts of reasons for fortune-hunting. Some can be quite compelling. Without knowing what her reasons are, it
’
s impossible to judge the situation.
”

He frowned.
“W
hat are you saying? That if she has a good reason to marry for money, there is nothing inherently wrong with that?
”

“M
y dear Derek.
”
Natalie looked amused.
“I
t
’
s the way of the world. Or hadn
’
t you heard?
”

“I’
ve heard,
”
he growled. He felt his frown deepening.
“B
ut it
’
s repellent. Aren
’
t some things more important than wealth?
”

“M
any things. But you don
’
t need to convince me. You need to convince the girl. And if dear old Uncle Joe needs to be rescued from debtor
’
s prison, or Papa
’
s lands have all been mortgaged and the lenders are calling in the notes, or Mama needs an expensive medical procedure, or anything of that sort, you
—
and your friend
—
will have your work cut out for you. That
’
s all I am saying.
”

“W
hat if her reasons are not so compelling? What if she just likes spending money, and having beautiful things? A life of leisure and all that.
”

Natalie rolled her eyes.
“A
ny sensible person, given a choice, would rather be rich than poor. But if she truly has tender feelings for your friend, I should think her desire for him would outweigh her desire for silk gowns and an army of servants.
”

Derek shifted uneasily on his chair.
“A
nd if they don
’
t?
”

“T
hen your friend is clearly mistaken about the lady
’
s sentiments
—
or her sense
—
and ought to withdraw his suit.
”

This was not the answer Derek wanted to hear.
“D
on
’
t you think he could change her mind about the importance of money? If she does care for him, that is, rather than the other chap. Perhaps she hasn
’
t thought it through. If he pursues her ardently
—”

“T
hen he
’
s a fool.
”
Natalie brushed the toast crumbs from her fingertips with an air of finality.
“T
he girl is either in love with him, or she is not. If she is not, he might try to win her heart. But you say she
is.
Or something near it. My dear Derek, in that case the girl is plainly a ninny, and your friend is better off without her.
”

He stared at her, taken aback.
“C
ome, now! You told me a moment ago that it
’
s the way of the world, and that
anyone would rather be rich than
poor, and all that rot.
”

She pointed imperiously at the teapot. He obediently poured her a cup. As he did so, Natalie went on.
“O
f course. But any female who would rather marry a rich man whom she does not love than a poor man whom she
does
love
—”

“H
e
’
s not poor. He
’
s just
... not as rich as she needs him to be.
”

“W
orse and worse,
”
exclaimed Natalie.
“T
hen her choice is not between poverty and wealth, it is merely between rich and richer?
”

“S
omething like that,
”
admitted Derek.

She held out her hand, and he passed her the cup and saucer.
“Y
our friend sounds like an idiot,
”
she remarked, apparently disgusted.
“W
hat does he see in this harpy? She
’
s obviously shallow and grasping. And probably trifling with your friend for her own amusement. I don
’
t believe she cares for him at all.
”

“W
ell, what am I to tell him?
”
asked Derek, nettled.
“I
can
’
t tell him he
’
s an idiot, and his inamorata is a harpy. The chap wants advice
,
not invective.
”

“H
ere
’
s my advice: forget about her. Look elsewhere.
”

“H
e can
’
t! He
’
s in love with the chit. Been mad about her for years.
”

“M
y word.
”
She swallowed a sip of tea.
“H
ow sad. I confess, I do not foresee a happy outcome.
”

Derek
’
s feelings propelled him from t
he chair and sent him prowling
round the room, muttering curses under his breath. Natalie watched these gyrations from the bed, her composure unruffled.
“Y
ou seem to be taking this a bit hard,
”
she observed.

“W
ell, I wanted to give him some advice worth having. Not
‘
give up and go home.
’
How can you be so sure of what you say, when you don
’
t know the people involved?
”

Natalie opened her eyes at him.
“W
hy, then, give him your own advice. You asked for my opinion, and I gave it.
”

He had to acknowledge the justice of this. Still, it rankled.
“I
was relying on you,
”
he grumbled.
“Y
ou generally give excellent advice. But I think you
’
re wide of the mark this time.
”

“W
hy? What do you think your friend should do?
”

“P
ursue her as if his life depended on it,
”
replied Derek promptly.
“G
ive her no peace. Thrust himself in her path. Force her to acknowledge what she feels.
”

“W
ell,
”
said Natalie cautiously,
“
that might do some good. But not in the way you think.
”

“W
hat do you mean?
”

“I
think it may, rather than force the lady to acknowledge her true feelings, force
your friend
to acknowledge her true feelings. Which he seems loath to do.
”
She leaned awkwardly over to set her empty teacup back on the tray.
“A
t any rate, if he chases her determinedly, her response
—
whatever it may be
—
will doubtless be revealing. One way or the other.
”
A peculiar look came over her face.
“D
erek, I need you to leave now. And pray take that
vanity
chair out of my path.
”

Chapter
11
             
             
             
             

He was pursuing her.
Cynthia
felt it. She saw it. And she was terrified that everyone else would see it, too.
             
             
             

Gone was Derek
’
s perfect, circumspect behavior that had so relieved her mind the previous evening. It was as if her words, her explanation, her farewell, had had the opposite effect from what she intended. He did not behave like a man who had been given his
congé.
He behaved as if she had encouraged him! What ailed the man? Was he blind? Was he dense? Or was he merely rude?

She was forced, all day long, to go to extraordinary lengths to avoid him. It wasn
’
t that she minded spending time with Hannah. Hannah was her dearest friend. But she was keenly aware that the only reason she clung to Hannah
’
s side like a burr was her fear that, if she did not, Derek would pounce and spirit her away somehow. And she dared spend no more time alone with him.

The Oldham Park party was to attend a subscription ball at public rooms in Rochdale tonight, and her mother decreed that
Cynthia
should wear the glacé silk they had been saving. By the time she went upstairs to don it, she was as cranky as a two year-old who had skipped his nap. She felt mutinous and unsettled, and it didn
’
t matter one whit to her whether her anger was rational or irrational. She was angry with Derek for ignoring her stated wishes, angry with herself
for failing to resist him
, angry with her mother for ordering her about, angry with Mr. Ellsworth for comparing so poorly to Mr. Whittaker
—
why couldn
’
t he be attractive and interesting? Why must he be so
humdrum
?
—
and angry with life in general, for placing her in a position she wished she were well out of.

She stared moodily into the mirror while Lucy dressed her hair. There was no easy way to get through what promised to be a wretched evening. She supposed her best course
—
the one that would simultaneously please her mother and thwart Derek
—
would be to flirt with John Ellsworth, although she shrank from the task. She was not animated enough to be an accomplished flirt, and Mr. Ellsworth was a difficult subject to target. Plus, she suspected that Derek would do everything in his power to get in the way. On top of that, she had no real desire to spend the evening in Mr. Ellsworth
’
s pocket. And on top of
that,
she agonized over Hannah
’
s probable reaction. How badly would
Cynthia
wound her friend if she finally attracted Mr. Ellsworth
’
s interest? How angry would Mama be, if she did not? She hardly knew which outcome she dreaded more: success or failure.

At last Lucy
’
s ministrations were done, and
Cynthia
stood before the pier glass while her mother walked all round her, noting each detail with a critical eye. The pale blue silk, so pale it was nearly white, gleamed beautifully in the candlelight. It clung to every curve of
Cynthia
’
s slim body. Her mother tugged expertly on the tiny, puffed sleeves to lay the dainty rosettes tha
t bordered them perfectly flat. She
smoothed th
e delicate ridge of silk piping
and made an infinitesimal adjustment to straighten the single strand of pearls clasped round her daughter
’
s throat. Mama
’
s eyes sparkled with all the suppressed excitement that
Cynthia
wished she felt, but did not.

“P
erfect,
”
said Mama at last, and she broke into a smile.
“L
ooking at you makes me wish I were young again, facing an evening of flirting and dancing. You will accomplish much in this gown tonight,
Cynthia
. I feel sure of it.
”

Cynthia
forced herself to smile back.
“Y
ou would handle this evening much better than I shall,
”
she confessed.

“N
onsense,
”
said Mama.
“I
was fair enough in my day, but
I never had your beauty, my pet
.
”
Still, she looked pleased, evidently thinking
Cynthia
meant t
o compliment her. Which she had
... but now that she thought about it,
Cynthia
wondered why it was considered such a compliment, to be told, basically, that one could break hearts. Was the ability to hurt other people something to be proud of?

Something of this dark train of thought must have shown in her face, for Mama frowned at her.
“W
hat
’
s amiss? You look lovely,
Cynthia
.
”

That was not what was troubling her. In the irritated state of her nerves, her mother
’
s shallowness disgusted her. It was, she thought cynically, characteristic of Mama that she assumed, when seeing that somethin
g worried her daughter, that whatever it was
must have something to do with her appearance.

“Y
es, Mama,
”
she said automatically. Then, realizing how that sounded, she amended it.
“I
mean, nothing is amiss. Are these the gloves you wanted me to wear?
”

Her mother
’
s brow magically smoothed, her concerns vanishing as she addressed the all-important question of gloves.
“Y
es, I think the short gloves look well enough, don
’
t you? The longer gloves would look well, too, if you prefer them. No? Then let us leave it as it is. If your arms are cold, you may drape a shawl over your elbows
—
the white silk, I think. The wool would be warmer, but its color would not complement that delicate blue you are wearing.
”

Her chatter continued, but
Cynthia
ceased to listen. Few of the things that struck her mother as important mattered to her. This rather depressing fact was reinforced when they gathered in the hall to board the carriages that would transport them to Rochdale. When Mama learned of the travel arrangements that had been made, she was visibly put out. It was obvious to
Cynthia
that Mama had hoped to be placed with the Ellsworths, but the Ellsworths were going in Lord Grafton
’
s carriage. It was the largest, and could seat six passengers, so Lord and Lady Grafton
—
and their daughter, Hannah
—
were taking up Sir Peter and Lady Ellsworth and their son, John. The duke and duchess were not going, and neither, of course, was Lady Malcolm or the younger Chase girls. That left Lady Ballymere and her daughter to ride in Lord Malcolm
’
s coach, with Lord Malcolm and his brother-in-law, Mr. Whittaker.

It was a logical arrangement. But Mama
’
s mouth turned discontentedly down when she heard it, and
Cynthia
—
although careful to give no outward sign
—
felt her heart beat faster with anxiety. How long would the trip to Rochdale be? Nearly an hour. Nearly an hour, confined in
a coach with Derek
... and Mama. She could scarcely think of a worse way to begin the evening.

And then Derek walked in.

The sight of him, resplendent in impeccable evening attire, struck her like a physical blow. She felt almost as if the breath had been knocked out of her. There had never been another man as handsome, as desirable, as Derek Whittaker. Not to her. He appealed to her on some visceral level she could neither control nor alter. Everything about him
—
the way he looked, and spoke, and moved
—
his smile, his voice, those magnificent shoulders
—
oh, it was terrible! She felt drawn to him in some unfathomable, deeply rooted, utterly instinctive way. And the sight of him in full evening dress somehow made the attraction even stronger. What a catastrophe.

She could not let her eyes linger on him, much as they longed to. She wrenched her gaze, feeling dazzled nearly to the point of blindness, away from Derek and to his companion, Lord Malcolm. Looking at Lord Malcolm was safer. She gave him a perfunctory smile and bow, still too rattled by Derek
’
s presence to react to the way Malcolm
’
s brows had climbed. But then his lordship strolled over to shake her hand, remarking,
“L
ady
Cynthia
, you outshine the stars tonight. I am allowed to stare and pay you extravagant compliments, you know, because I am a safely married man.
”

She wished she had a talent for easy banter, but she did not. She knew Lord Malcolm was only being friendly. She
liked
Lord Malcolm. And still, from long habit, her Frost Fair persona immediately surfaced. Her face went blank and expressionless.
“T
hank you,
”
she said, in a voice devoid of emotion, and she pulled her hand from his.

A man had touched her and paid her
a
compliment, and
Cynthia
had frosted him the way one swats at a fly: automatically.

Her chilly reception of Malcolm
’
s friendly remark seemed to embarrass him.
Cynthia
was heartily sorry for it, but could not think how to salvage the situation. Beneath her vacant expression, she was horrified by what she had done. She could imagine other girls, less shy, more socially skilled than she, able to apologize to him, or to turn what had just happened into a joke.
Cynthia
, however, became petrified. She simply could not think what to do or say.
             

The last thing in the world she expected was that Derek would save the day
,
but he did. He laughed, drawing Malcolm
’
s attention back to himself.
“S
afely married, my eye! Get back here, you rogue, or I
’
ll call Natalie down to keep you in line.
”

Everyone laughed and Malcolm returned to Derek
’
s side, complaining, in a jocular way, about Derek
’
s suspicious nature.
Cynthia
forced herself to smile, too, and pretend that her icy set-down had been part of the joke. How easily Derek had intervened! How did one think, so quickly, of the right thing to do? It was a talent she recognized and admired, but could not seem to cultivate in herself.
One more way in which you need him,
a treacherous voice seemed to whisper in her ear. She quashed the thought
—
with some difficulty
—
and returned her attention to the room.
             
             
             
             

The assembled persons made an elegant group. Mama wore a dark blue silk specifically chosen to create a suitable background for
Cynthia
’
s palest of pale blues, but despite her altruistic motives, Lady Ballymere was still an attractive woman and looked exceptionally well in dark blue. For their part, Lord and Lady Grafton resembled illustrations in
La Belle Assemblee
come to life. And Hannah looked much prettier than she usually did, dressed in the only pastel shade that actually became her: yellow.

The Ellsworths were dressed more conservatively than fashionably, but John Ellsworth had done justice to the occasion by combing his thinning hair into a fairly convincing approximation of the
coup de vent,
and at least there was nothing of the country squire about him tonight. Lord Malcolm Chase was a tall man and, like most tall men, looked highly distinguished in evening dress. Derek, of course, was simply the best-looking and most naturally elegant person in Creation, and was so gorgeous tonight that she could not bear to look directly at him.

Too soon, the carriages arrived. Too soon, she was seated beside her mother in the dark confines of a narrow coach, with Derek sitting across from her and Lord Malcolm across from Mama. A lurch, a rumble, and the journey to Rochdale began.

Mama and Lord Malcolm carried on a desultory conversation; about what,
Cynthia
could not tell. She could neither speak nor follow what was said. She sat silent, as motionless as the swaying of the coach allowed, enduring a maelstrom of jumbled thoughts and bubbling emotions.