Elizabeth Mansfield (10 page)

“I did tell you, didn’t I, that I intended to wash before I came?” his lordship laughed. “Did you think I’d show up in shirtsleeves and breeches?”

“Well, I didn’t think you’d come looking fit to meet Prinny. Though everyone else has dressed to the nines to meet
you.”

“I thought they might, but not because of me. It’s because of the cards your mother sent.”

“The cards?”

“I’m not such a greenhead that I don’t know what a hostess means when she cordially invites one to an ‘informal dinner party and
musicale.
’
That word
musicale
is a clear signal that one had better wear the proper evening clothes.”

“Ah, so that’s it!” Tris exclaimed, chuckling at his own ignorance. “I see I have much to learn of social conventions, even in my own circle.”

Tris led his honored guest into the drawing room and introduced him to all the assembled crowd. His lordship seemed not at all discomfited by their large number and put everyone at ease by exchanging pleasantries with admirable unaffectedness. Meanwhile, Tris’s eyes roamed the room, searching for Julie.

He discovered that she was seated, as was her wont, unobtrusively in a far corner.
I
should have warned her against that,
he thought in annoyance. The girl was never able to think for herself about how to put herself forward. However, all was not lost, for Sir William’s son, Ronny Kenting, was leaning over her shoulder, trying as always to make some headway with her. Tris usually found his persistent attentions to Julie as annoying as Julie did herself, but today he was pleased. It would be good for Peter to see other young men hanging about her. “I say, Peter, there’s Miss Branscombe,” he said to his guest. “Let me take you over to her. You remember her, don’t you? We rode together a few days ago.”

“Of course I remember her, you gudgeon,” his lordship said, bluntly, “so there’s not the least need for you to escort me. With your permission, I’ll make my how-de-dos to her on my own.” With that he gave his host a quick nod and crossed the room to Julie’s chair.

Tris watched intently as the viscount approached her. He saw with real satisfaction that Julie smiled up at the fellow with what seemed to be real pleasure. Furthermore, she responded with a gurgling laugh to whatever it was that Peter said to her. It was such a warm, sincere laugh that Ronny Kenting withdrew with a glower. Could it be that Julie was actually doing what he, Tris, had told her to do? Not only that, but she’d managed for once to look just as she ought. Her hair was neatly but softly drawn back into a bun at the nape of her neck, her eyes had a most becoming glow, and her gown—a full-skirted, rose-colored silk concoction—seemed to radiate its color to her cheeks.
Good girl!
he chortled to himself.
Perhaps I can allow myself to believe that this evening might not turn out to be such a disaster after all.

He could not know, however, that disaster was rapidly approaching—that a carriage bearing the Smallwood crest had pulled into the courtyard of the Peacock Inn in Amberford, and that, at that very moment, the coachman was jumping off the box to inquire of the ostler the direction to Enders Hall.

14

What Peter had said to make Julie laugh was “I’ve lived the last few days in the hope that tonight’s ‘musicale’ will include dancing, Miss Branscombe. I’ve come prepared either to fight the dragon and stand up with you, or to perish on my sword.”

Julie’s gurgling laugh in response had nothing to do with Tris’s orders to “laugh at anything he says that smacks even remotely of wit.” She was truly charmed. But she had to tell him that his hope would be dashed. “Your encounter with the dragon will not occur tonight, my lord,” she said, holding out her hand in greeting, “for the musicale will
not
include dancing, I’m afraid.”

He took the proffered hand and held it for a long moment before making his bow over it. “And I see that my other hope—that you will call me Peter—is also to be dashed,” he said as he made the requisite genuflection. “I am crushed.”

“Oh, dear,” she said with a mock sigh, “we mustn’t have our guest of honor crushed. What if I promise to
try
to bring your given name to my tongue at some time during this evening? Will that possibility revive your second hope?”

“Oh, more than that,” he assured her, his appealing half smile reappearing. “You’ve completely reanimated my spirits!”

At this point she laughed again, causing the disheartened Ronny Kenting to stalk away in chagrin and Tris, across the room, to beam in triumph.

Someone else heard Julie’s laugh, but the sound brought no sense of pleasure to that listener. It brought dismay. Lady Branscombe did not approve of Lord Canfield’s flirting with her daughter. Worse, she could not bear the sight of her daughter flirting with Lord Canfield. Any man who received a favorable gleam from Julie’s eye caused her mother to have palpitations of the heart, and this time her dismay was greater than ever before, because Lord Canfield was a more formidable threat than most. She stiffened at once, ready to do battle. She had not planned all these years for her daughter to wed her best friend’s son only to have the girl snatched away by the first truly attractive man to come along.

As soon as Lord Canfield’s tête-à-tête with Julie was interrupted (as it was bound to be in such a crowded room, in which everyone present wanted a word with the guest of honor), Lady Branscombe inched her way toward him, watching for an opportunity to catch his eye. It did not take long. “I’ve been wishing most eagerly to speak to you, Lord Canfield,” she said when she was near enough to grasp his arm.

“And I to you, ma’am,” Canfield said smoothly. “I have wanted to speak to you ever since the night at the assembly when you expressed some disapproval of me.”

If Lady Branscombe was surprised at his frankness, she did not show it. “Did I express disapproval? I
do
regret having given that impression. I promise that it was unintentional.”

“I’m glad to hear it, ma’am, for I understand that your approval will serve me in good stead in this neighborhood.”

“You overestimate my importance, my lord. Nevertheless, the reason I wish to communicate with you
is
in the hope of doing you some good here.” She used her tight grasp on his arm to propel him to a secluded corner. “You are a bachelor, I understand.”

“Yes, I am.”

“And I suspect that your mother is deceased, is that not so?”

His eyebrows rose curiously. “Yes, for more than a decade now. Why do you ask?”

“Because if she were alive, she would not have permitted you remain a bachelor for so long. You are, what, thirty? Thirty-two? She would have advised you that bachelorhood is not a desirable state, and that it is time for you to settle down.”

“I suppose she would have felt so,” he murmured, somewhat at a loss. “And I would completely agree.”

“Good. Then you won’t object to my acting in a motherly role and pointing out to you all the very desirable, marriageable young ladies who are here tonight?”

“No, I won’t object at all.” He suddenly guessed what her purpose was, and he realized with some amusement that his first joust with the dragon was about to begin.

“Then, first,” she began, her tone seductively sincere, “there is Elinor Severn, over there at the window. She is a charming girl, barely twenty-one, with a fine education in all the arts. She paints very well—one of her canvases is hanging in this very house, in the hallway near the door—and she has a lovely voice. You will hear her sing later tonight.”

“How very enchanting. I look forward to it.”

“And over there, standing with Tris Enders, is Sally Halloway. She is past her first bloom, I admit, but her appearance is very youthful, is it not? And her conversation is so lively one never has to strain to find something to say to her. And just there, to your left, the girl in the pink brocaded gown, is Emmaline Frob—”

“Yes, I’ve met her,” Canfield interrupted. Fully aware of the approaching dangers, he decided to waste no more time but throw himself into the fray. “But surely your ladyship realizes that the loveliest girl in the room is your own daughter.”

He could feel her arm stiffen. “Thank you, your lordship,” she said coldly, “but that is quite beside the point. We are speaking of eligible girls, those who are suitable for you to pursue. I must inform you that my daughter is not eligible.”

“Oh, is she not? Why?”

“She is promised to another.”

Canfield looked down at her with eyebrows raised. In this first tilt with the dragon, it was time to make a jab. “Is she indeed? I take it you are referring to Tris Enders. But Miss Branscombe told me quite explicitly that she was
not
betrothed.”

The dragon barely flinched. “It has not been announced, but the betrothal has been in effect for years.”

He kept jabbing. “If that is so, then why hasn’t it been announced?”

“When the agreement was reached, they were too young to make an official announcement,” Lady Branscombe explained, excusing the lie by telling herself that it was, in a sense, true. An agreement
had
been made, if not between Tris and Julie, at least between their mothers. “But it will be announced one day soon.”

“I see. But until it is, surely another suitor may try to court her, may he not? Isn’t that what society agrees is perfectly permissible?” She couldn’t argue the truth of that, he told himself. She
had
to say that he was free to try his hand. Believing that he’d struck a wounding, if not mortal, blow, he waited for her capitulation.

But this dragon was not so easily slain. “Whatever society may say, my dear boy,” she said so complacently that he realized he’d not even wounded her, “is quite beside the point. Anyone with motherly feelings toward you, as I have, would warn you not to try. Julie
loves
Tris. I, her mother, know this well. I tell this to you in confidence, for your own good. I don’t wish to see you waste your efforts on a hopeless venture that would, in the end, only bring you pain. Now, as I was saying, Miss Frobisher there—”

“Yes, ma’am, I do thank you for your advice. But the butler has just announced dinner, and I’m ordered by our host—Tris himself—to escort your daughter to the table. So, if you’ll excuse me...”

He bowed and walked off, but not before he caught a glimpse of chagrin in her eyes. Yes, he’d had the last word and made the last point. But he hadn’t defeated her. In his first fight with the dragon, he wasn’t even sure he’d achieved a tie.

15

The seating arrangement at the dinner table was as formal as the setting. Lord Canfield, the guest of honor, was placed at his hostess’s right. And Tris had made sure that the seat at Peter’s other side was occupied by Julie. But not being content to let matters take their natural course, Tris had seen fit to take her aside, just before the viscount had come to claim her arm, to remind her of the instructions he’d given at least twice before: be saucy, and keep laughing.

Julie took her place feeling sick to her stomach. Tris’s whispered instructions had completely overset her. She had believed that she and Lord Canfield were getting on very well, but Tris must have disagreed. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have found it necessary to remind her of how she should comport herself. She wished he hadn’t spoken to her; his deuced reminder did no good at all. She didn’t know how to be saucy or how to laugh on cue. All he’d done was destroy her confidence and cause her to become instantly self-conscious and tongue-tied.

Julie glanced over at his lordship, who’d just settled in on her right. He seemed completely at ease. He complimented Lady Phyllis on her table, exchanged pleasantries with the vicar, Mr. Weekes, who sat opposite him and attacked his pickled salmon with cucumber dressing with gusto. Julie, barely able to eat a bite, was occupied with trying, without any success, to think of something saucy to say to him. In desperation, she glanced down to the foot of the table where Tris sat, only to find him watching her.

When their eyes met, he made a motion with his hand urging her on. To do what, though, she had no idea.

Lord Canfield, noticing that she was not eating, looked at her curiously. “Can it be you don’t like the salmon? I find it delectable. Had I a poetic bent, I’d write an ode to it.”

Julie wondered if Tris would consider the remark witty enough to qualify for a laugh. To be on the safe side, she tried to force one out. The sound that came from her throat rang out more like a high-pitched hiccough than a laugh. Canfield was taken aback by it. “I’m not joking, my dear,” he said earnestly. “You really should try it.”

Again she had the sensation of wishing she could die to avoid this feeling of humiliation. The smile on her face was so forced, she was sure it looked like a grimace. Her reaction to what was merely an innocuous comment on the food had been ridiculously inappropriate, and the realization made her feel so foolish that she couldn’t utter a word. She could only lower her head and play with the fish with her fork.

When she sensed that Lord Canfield had returned his attention to his food, she glanced down the table toward Tris to see if he’d noticed her blunder. He was frowning at her as if he had.