B006DTZ3FY EBOK (24 page)

She actually laughed out loud, although she immediately covered her mouth with her hand to stifle it.
“P
ray do not make me laugh,
”
she begged, glancing apprehensively toward the wall. He followed her gaze with his and saw that
Cynthia
’
s eyes had gone to where her mother stood, ostensibly conversing with Lady Ellsworth but, in reality, watching her daughter. The coldness in her gaze was so pronounced, even Derek felt its chill.

“W
hat do you fear?
”
he asked
Cynthia
, suddenly serious.
“D
oes Lady Ballymere not allow you to laugh?
”

“N
ot in public,
”
she said hurriedly.
“N
ot out loud. And I never do laugh in public, so if she sees me
—
here; let me pass before you; we are near enough the wall.
”

It was obviously not a good moment to tease her about which partner was supposed to lead and which was supposed to follow. She had interrupted herself before she could tell him what it was she truly feared. But he could guess. He passed
Cynthia
before him in silence, and they led the procession back down the floor. She seemed to breathe easier once she was on his other side, where her mother
’
s eyes would find it difficult to monitor her every move and expression.

He chose his words carefully.
“I
t strikes me,
”
he said at last,
“
that you live your life on tenterhooks. You seem to especially fear that your mother will discover our
—”

“O
h, hush!
”
Her eyes darted wildly about, as if dreading that spies lurked everywhere.
“D
o not say it.
”

“V
ery well, I won
’
t finish my sentence.
”
He lowered his voice.
“B
ut I have hit the mark, have I not? If your mother sees that I make you laugh, she might conclude that you enjoy my company.
”
He could not keep the dryness from his voice.
“A
nd we can
’
t have that, can we?
”

“N
o,
”
said
Cynthia
, lifting her chin at him.
“W
e can
’
t. As I have told you more than once.
”

“W
hy hasn
’
t she noticed anything yet?
”
he demanded.
“D
oes she know you so little? I can tell from across the room what you are feeling.
”

She looked strangely at him.
“Y
ou are the only person who can,
”
she said softly.
“D
on
’
t you realize that? I am generally thought impossible to read.
”

His eyebrows flew up. He was about to pooh-pooh the notion as preposterous, and tell her she was transparent as glass
—
when he remembered her reputation. He had heard from more than one source that Lady
Cynthia
Fitzwilliam was the coldest fish in nature. He had heard jokes to that effect
—
had even, in the depths of his heartbreak, repeated them.

“E
gad,
”
he muttered.
“Y
ou
’
re right.
”
He digested this revelation in silence for a few seconds. It struck him as further proof, had he required any, that he and
Cynthia
were meant for each other.

Cynthia
spoke, sounding thoughtful.
“I
do wonder, however, why she hasn
’
t voiced more distrust of you. Not that she doesn
’
t view you with suspicion.
”
Ironic amusement lit her voice.
“B
ut she seems no more hostile toward you than she is toward every other personable man who crosses my path.
”

“S
he hasn
’
t noticed my fascination with you?
”
He chuckled.
“T
hat
’
s because it doubtless strikes her as no more than your due. Are you not aware, my love, that I am presently the envy of every man in the room?
”

A tiny frown appeared between her brows.
“R
idiculous.
”

“N
ot at all. We have escaped detection for two reasons: no one can tell what you are feeling, and my admiration becomes lost in the crowd. My single-minded focus on you does not stand out, my lady, because so many other men stare at you with their mouths agape.
”

She looked startled, and not at all pleased.
“T
hat
’
s an exaggeration at best, and utter nonsense at worst. Stare at me, indeed! I would hate that. I am exceedingly careful to draw no attention to myself.
”

Fascinating. She seemed really to believe that circumspect behavior
—
never laughing out loud, for example
—
would keep people from noticing her. Was she really unaware that she could cause a sensation simply by walking into a room? Come to think of it, the way she floated through social events, withdrawn and blank-faced, indicated that she might honestly be too detached to feel the stares.

Why, then, did she react immediately when
he
looked at her?

He glanced again at the angelic face beside him, now averted in a futile attempt to avoid his scrutiny.
“Y
ou always seem to know when I am looking at you,
”
he said quietly.
“A
ll this time, I thought you were uncannily sensitive. Aware of every set of eyes that fastened upon you.
”

“O
nly yours,
”
she assured him, then bit her lip. A faint pink suffused her cheeks.
“O
h, I am so vexed with myself,
”
she exclaimed, clearly rattled.
“L
ately I seem to blurt out every rash thought that passes through my brain.
”

“T
hese are trying times for you,
”
he said sympathetically, but his eyes were laughing.
“I
t
’
s difficult to chase after money when your heart is leading you in a different direction.
”

She must have heard the laughter in his voice, for she looked indignantly at him.
“I
s everything a joke to you?
”

“M
any things. Not all. And never this. But it
’
s better to joke than to weep.
”
The tempo of the music slowed slightly, indicating that the piece was drawing to a close. Derek was forced to drop
Cynthia
’
s hand, face her, and bow.

She curtseyed, her expression still stormy. He immediately offered his arm to escort her off the floor, but she ignored it and turned away. He fell into step beside her.

“I
have angered you again. I am sorry for it.
”

She glanced fleetingly at his face and seemed to relent a trifle.
“I
am over-sensitive these days,
”
she acknowledged stiffly.
“I
t must be the
trying times.
”

“Y
ou thought I was joking about that? I wasn
’
t.
”

“N
ever mind.
”
She spoke in a low tone, but she did not sound angry any more. They were nearly back to
where their group had clustered.
Lady Ballymere, Lady Ellsworth and Lady Grafton all
were
seated on spindly chairs while Lord Grafton and Sir Peter lounged nearby. Mr. Ellsworth, Hannah, and Lord Malcolm were nowhere to be seen.

“S
tay a moment.
”
He touched her arm and she halted, turning reluctantly to face him.
“G
rant me another dance,
Cynthia
,
”
he whispered, his eyes searching hers with utter seriousness.
“P
lease.
”

She shook her head.
“I
cannot be seen to favor you over Mr. Ellsworth.
”

“T
hen
—
if I ensure that Mr. Ellsworth stands up with you again? Will you give me equal time?
”

Her lips twitched in a reluctant, nearly invisible smile.
“I
suppose I must,
”
she said softly.
“M
ama told me I must dance only with the men of our party. But that includes you.
”

She turned to go, but he stopped her again, leaning in for one more word.
“
Cynthia
, do not marry a man who cannot tell what you are feeling,
”
he urged her softly, with utter seriousness.
“T
hat
’
s a recipe for misery.
”

“O
n the contrary.
”
She lifted her chin, gazing defiantly straight ahead.
“I
t
’
s a recipe for privacy. Something I have learned to value highly, Mr. Whittaker.
”
And she walked away from him to join the group by the chairs.

Chapter
13
             
             
             
             

Cynthia
was beginning to understand why being angry was sometimes called being
‘
mad.
’
As
Cynthia
’
s resentment toward her mother grew, she more she felt as if she were losing control of her own thoughts.

A dim sense that her dear family was, in reality, taking shameless advantage of her, seemed to be coalescing into a firmly-held and unshakeable opinion
—
despite her frantic efforts to suppress and discourage the notion. A near-mutiny boiled beneath her calm facade, and its rising pressure threatened to blow the lid off her carefully-lived, dutiful little life. Thank goodness she was kept busy tonight, smiling and dancing and making polite, meaningless conversation. She had a strong suspicion that if she were given five minutes alone in which to think, she might very well run screaming into the night.

She had quashed her rebellious feelings and forced herself to dance a second time with Mr. Ellsworth. And during this second dance, she had determinedly set out to charm him. She had smiled. She had flattered. She had made a concerted effort to draw him out and get him to talk about himself.

And the man was dull. There was no way around it. He was a boring little man who led a boring little life, and in ten minutes on the dance floor they could find not a single subject on which to have a sensible conversation. They had no interests in common. They had no experiences in common. She felt no spark of attraction or interest in him whatsoever, and if he felt attracted to her he certainly hid it well.

And then, by lucky chance,
Cynthia
mentioned Hannah. Immediately Mr. Ellsworth
’
s eyes lit with enthusiasm.
“N
ow, she
’
s what my old Scottish nurse would call a grand lass,
”
opined Mr. Ellsworth, beaming.
“N
ot a selfish bone in her body.
”

Cynthia
sincerely seconded this, and congratulated him on his ability to see it.
“F
or Hannah is so modest, you know, that she never puts herself forward.
”

“N
o, very true, by Jove. Very true. She never does, does she? But that
’
s one of the things one particularly admires in her. A very quiet, modest spirit, upon my soul! A grand lass.
”

Cynthia
still wasn
’
t sure what he meant by a
‘
grand lass,
’
but was happy to hear her friend spoken of so warmly. They spent the remaining minutes of their dance sharing anecdotes that illustrated Hannah
’
s goodness and loyalty, and eventually left the floor much more in charity with each other than
Cynthia
would have thought possible half an hour ago. For several seconds, she felt almost optimistic.

And then she saw Hannah.

Hannah was standing stock-still near the ballroom entrance, staring at her friend with a stunned, tragic expression that sent a chill down
Cynthia
’
s back.
Cynthia
had never seen such a look on Hannah
’
s face. She knew at once that Hannah had guessed, at last, what
Cynthia
was trying to do. Her poor face was a study in hurt feelings and betrayal. And before
Cynthia
could say one word, Hannah turned and bolted out of the room.

Something inside
Cynthia
suddenly snapped.

Hannah
’
s stricken face was the first thing, she felt, that she had seen clearly all night. Perhaps in years. Seeing her friend so hurt, and by
her
actions
—
her witless, heartless,
scheming
actions
—
was a revelation. She had feared this, had she not? Well, she had been right to fear it. Right to fear it, and wrong to ignore her fears.
Wrong
to obey her mother. She had chosen obedience over her own better judgment.

She had only herself to blame. It was not Mama who had flirted with Mr. Ellsworth. The behavior had been hers, and hers was the responsibility. She saw, in a flash, that it was high time
—
long past time
—
that
Cynthia
Fitzwilliam grew up.

She forgot her duty. She forgot decorum. She forgot where she was and who she was with and what she was supposed to be doing. Nothing mattered but Hannah, and
Cynthia
’
s overwhelming need to wipe that look off her friend
’
s face and make sure it never came back. Without a word to the oblivious Mr. Ellsworth, still at her side and in the middle of a sentence,
Cynthia
picked up her skirts and ran.

She was vaguely aware of Mr. Ellsworth
’
s startled
“B
less my soul!
”
behind her, and the astonished stares of the people she dashed past. Their curious gazes followed her
—
surprised, disapproving
—
but she didn
’
t care.
“H
annah!
”
she called, desperate. She halted in the foyer, looking frantically about, craning her neck. She did not see her friend anywhere.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Derek appeared at her side.
“W
hat is it?
”
His voice, though concerned, was perfectly steady.
“C
an I help you?
”

She looked up and her control crumbled further. Had she been wrong about Derek, too? She would address that later; Hannah came first. As for now, she saw beside her a rock of salvation. Derek Whittaker was exactly the sort of man one turned to in an emergency. Instinctively, she seized his wrist and clung to it.

“H
annah ran out here,
”
she said, her voice quivering.
“I
don
’
t know where she is.
”

He asked no questions. He simply did as she knew he would do: he helped her.
“W
e
’
ll find her. Come along,
”
he said calmly, and led her toward the stairs to the mezzanine.

His air of certainty was a balm to her agitated spirit.
“T
hank you,
”
she gasped, with real gratitude, and hurried to keep up with his longer legs. They started up the stairs.
“Y
ou saw where she went?
”

“N
o, but there are only a few places in this building where she might have gone.
”

She glanced at him, confused.
“H
ow do you know?
”

He looked nonplused.
“I
—
ah
—”
He cleared his throat.
“L
et
’
s just say I have an instinct.
”

Puzzled, but intuitively trusting him,
Cynthia
hurried up the stairs at his side. When they reached the top, the wide balcony stretched to her left, overlooking the ballroom below. She saw the musicians out of the corner of her eye, clustered in a niche. Her heart pounded when she heard the sound of muffled weeping; she could not tell from which direction it came. But Derek strode unhesitatingly to a narrow door on the opposite side of the landing and tapped gently on it.

The weeping stopped. Derek leaned closer, listening.
“L
ady Hannah? Are you in there?
”

A pause ensued, during which, evidently, the weeper on the other side of the door considered her options. She eventually said, with every sign of embarrassed reluctance,
“W
ho
’
s there?
”

“D
erek Whittaker.
”

Another pause. Then Derek added,
“A
nd your friend, Lady
Cynthia
.
”

More silence, thick and ominous.
Cynthia
could bear it no longer. She stepped to the door and tried the handle. It turned easily, and within seconds she had flown into the room and hugged Hannah, who immediately burst into fresh tears.

Hannah had evidently been indulging her bout of weeping while pacing, for there was nothing to sit on. The room was small and dark, its only illumination coming from french windows that opened onto a tiny balcony. It seemed odd to have tall windows and a balcony in a storeroom, which was what this evidently was, but the windows had probably been designed more for exterior ornament than any practical use. Spindly chairs, similar to the ones lining the ballroom, were stacked neatly along one wall. Everything else was under holland covers.

Cynthia
was dimly aware that Derek had closed the door behind them for privacy. But her focus was on her unhappy friend. She held Hannah at arm
’
s length, her own eyes filling with tears as she beheld Hannah
’
s misery.
“O
h, Hannah, how could you think I would serve you such a trick?
”
she exclaimed.

Hannah gulped.
“I’
m sorry. It looked... it looked as if
...
”

Guilt struck anew as
Cynthia
realized that her last remark, although heartfelt, had been a bit misleading.
“W
ell, it was,
”
she said, in a burst of candor.
“I
t was exactly what it looked to be. But, Hannah, I
’
m so sorry! I won
’
t do it anymore.
”

Hannah
’
s face started to crumple again.
“I
can
’
t compete with you,
Cynthia
. You
’
re so beautiful and I
’
m so plain
—”

“Y
ou
’
re not plain,
”
said
Cynthia
fiercely.

Derek coughed discreetly.
“I’
ll just wait outside the door, shall I?
”
he said mildly.

Hannah gave a little gasp; she had apparently assumed that she and
Cynthia
were alone.
“O
h, pray
—
pray do, Mr. Whittaker!
”

Cynthia
threw him a grateful glance and he stepped outside to the mezzanine, closing the door quietly behind him. Hannah, meanwhile, was pulling herself together. She had found a handkerchief somewhere about her person and began mopping her face with it.
“I’
m sorry to be such a baby,
”
she said shakily.

“Y
ou
’
re not. And it
’
s my fault,
”
said
Cynthia
remorsefully.
“T
his is all my fault. I
’
ve been thoughtless and wicked.
”

“O
h,
Cynthia
, no! You mustn
’
t say such things.
”

Cynthia
held up a warning hand.
“D
o not defend me, Hannah! Do not even
tempt
me to forgive myself, or I shall very likely do so. And I mustn
’
t go on as I always have. I see, now, that I desperately need to mend my ways.
”

A faint smile lightened Hannah
’
s features.
“D
o you? You seem perfect to me.
”

“T
oo perfect,
”
said
Cynthia
bitterly.
“T
oo dutiful.
”
Doubt shook her.
“I
s that possible? Can one be too dutiful? Too obedient?
”

Hannah thought for a moment, then nodded, still sniffing a little.
“I
suppose any virtue, carried to an extreme, becomes a vice. I
’
ve heard it said that love taken too far becomes idolatry. Modesty taken too far becomes prudery. What does obedience become?
”