Elizabeth Mansfield (15 page)

Tris rolled his eyes heavenward. “If I must,” he muttered in disgust.

This response did nothing to relieve Phyllis’s sense of alarm. She climbed into the carriage with a decidedly anxious heart.

Meanwhile, Julie and her mother had already arrived at the hall. The girl’s entrance had caused a pleasing stir, for she was in especially good looks. She was wearing, at her mother’s insistence, a violet silk gown with a daring décolletage and a deep flounce that she’d not had the courage to wear before, and she’d brushed her hair into a single soft curl that fell over her shoulder. Her color was high, her skin glowed, and her eyes were alight with anticipation. The dowager onlookers put their heads together and agreed that Juliet Branscombe was having her bloom at last. And best of all, Lord Canfield, when he arrived some moments later, smiled across the room at her with unmistakable approval.

When the party from Enders Hall arrived, however, Cleo’s entrance caused more than a stir. The reaction might have been called a gasp. While the dowager circle whispered disapprovingly of the daring color of her gown, the men in the room eyed her in awed delight. She was immediately surrounded by a crowd of eligibles who demanded a chance to dance with her. Tris reluctantly surrendered her arm and made his way to Julie
_t
who’d already retreated to her usual seat in the shadow of her mother. “May I have the honor of the first dance?” he asked his childhood friend with a mockingly formal bow.

Julie rose and took his arm. “I should think you’d want to stand up with your Cleo,” she whispered as they approached the dance floor, where a number of couples had already taken their places. “She is looking spectacularly beautiful.”

“Yes, isn’t she? But Mama ordered me to dance with you first. Besides, it will give us time to go over a few final instructions.”

They took their place in a set. “What final instructions?” Julie asked with a frown.

“On your behavior tonight. If all goes well, it would not surprise me to learn that tonight is the night Peter will make his offer.”

“Don’t be a clunch,” Julie said in annoyance as the music began. “He has no intention—”

They had to break for the first figure. When they came together again, Tris spoke to her through clenched teeth. “Don’t waste time arguing with me, my girl. Just listen. I’m not going to suggest anything daring. You’ve been doing very well so far. Just remember to laugh at his quips. And to—”

They had to break again. When they came together, Tris tried to continue his instructions, but Julie cut him off. “You needn’t go over the same ground again, Tris Enders. I’m quite capable of remembering your blasted instructions. And I don’t see why you feel a need to remind me of them at all, especially when you’ve just said you think I’ve been doing so well.”

“I just wanted to suggest one new tack. When he stands up with you tonight, he’s bound to tell you how lovely you look—and, by the way, with your hair that way, you
do—”

“Thank you for bothering to notice,” she said dryly.

He ignored her interruption. “When he says it, tell him that praise is even better when coming from someone who himself deserves praise. And then add that he, too, looks very fine.”

“Good God!” She peered at him in surprise. “How on earth did you think of
that?
It sounds like a stilted line of dialogue from a particularly bad play! You surely don’t think a man like Peter would enjoy such—”

They had to turn away from each other again, but not before Tris threw her an offended glare.

“Cleo said it to me,” he snapped when they came together for the final figure, “and I thought it was a particularly pleasant compliment.”

Julie wanted to retort that she didn’t need Cleo to compose conversational tidbits for her, but she held her tongue. The dance ended, she and Tris exchanged bows, and she quickly walked off the dance floor, not even waiting for his escort. She’d had more of Tris Enders and his deuced suggestions than she could bear.

She’d just taken her seat again when she looked up to find Peter standing before her. “May I have your hand for this dance?” he asked, smiling broadly at her but glancing sidelong at her mother. “I have it on good authority that it will be a waltz.”

“I’d be delighted,” Julie said, rising quickly to her feet in an attempt to forestall her mother’s inevitable interference.

But Lady Branscombe was not easily forestalled. “I beg your pardon, my lord,” she said at once, her voice loud and icy. “My daughter doesn’t waltz.”

“But of course she does,” his lordship contradicted blandly, taking Julie’s arm firmly in his. “She told me so herself.”

Lady Branscombe’s mouth dropped open at this brazen effrontery. She gaped, immobilized for a moment by astonishment.

Peter moved quickly. Before the shocked, white-lipped dragon could rally herself and think of a reply, he’d drawn Julie several steps toward the dance floor. “Don’t look back,” he muttered to the wide-eyed girl. “There’s nothing your mother can do now. She’s hardly likely to shout or to jump to her feet and dash after us, not with everyone’s eyes on us.”

They stepped on to the floor, where several other couples were also gathering for the dance, Tris and Cleo among them. Peter placed his hand on Julie’s waist. “You
do
know how to waltz, don’t you?”

“Not very well,” she admitted in a shaking voice.

But he was not going to lose the battle for so insignificant a reason as that. “Well, don’t worry, I do. We’ll be fine.”

She smiled up at him uncertainly. “Will we?”

“Take my word. Besides, you look so lovely tonight that you’ll be the object of admiration no matter how you waltz.”

A deep, gurgling laugh escaped her as she realized that Tris had been right. “Oh,
Peter,”
she breathed, following Tris’s instructions in her own way, “so will you!”

He didn’t know why she’d laughed, but the sound of it delighted him. For the first time in many years, he found himself actually enjoying being with a girl on the dance floor. As the music began, he tightened his grasp on her waist and smiled down at her with real warmth. “Ready?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Good. Then just take a deep breath and follow me.”

He started slowly. She took only a moment to understand how the hand on her waist was guiding her. Soon she was following easily. The waltz was not difficult, she realized, when one’s partner was so expert. After a few moments, they were swinging round the floor as if they’d been partners for years. Julie, her feet almost flying and the flounce of her gown whipping about her ankles, was ecstatic. She felt lithe, graceful and utterly free. It was as if she, Peter and the music were all alone in the world and had somehow, miraculously, become one beautiful amalgam of music and motion.

Peter too was finding this dance a remarkable experience. The waltz was nothing new to him, but the girl was. It was not merely that she was light on his arm and completely responsive to his lead, for many of his partners in the past had been equally adept. It was Julie herself. He’d never known a young woman so fresh, so unspoiled, so open and frank in her responses, so unself-conscious. Julie Branscombe was more than beautiful, she was lively, witty and constantly, delightfully surprising. He looked down at her glowing face and found himself wishing that this moment would never end.

The excitement they both were feeling must have communicated itself, at least in part, to the others on the floor, for two by two they stepped aside to watch. But Cleo and Tris, watching with the others, had very different reactions. Cleo was irritated; she did not like watching another young woman take center stage away from her.

She knew the feeling was petty and ungenerous, and she hated herself for it. But she couldn’t seem to help it.

She would have felt a great deal worse if she’d guessed what Tris was feeling. For some ridiculous reason that he couldn’t understand, he found that he was furious. His emotions churned in his chest in an inexplicable, illogical turmoil. What right, he asked himself, had the damnable Lord Canfield to embroil Julie in such a crass, vulgar display? And why was Julie so lost to the rules of decorum as to smile so beatifically at her partner, looking for all the world as if this indecent exhibition were inspiring her with heavenly joy? If he had his way, he’d give her a tongue lashing she’d never forget! And as for Canfield, he deserved the trouncing of his life!

On the sidelines, watching every move, Lady Branscombe was experiencing emotions as livid as Tris’s. How dare Lord Canfield behave in that high-handed way and take her daughter to dance in spite of her declared opposition? Had the fellow no manners, no proper upbringing, no respect for his elders? “I’d like to wring his neck, the impertinent coxcomb!” she muttered to her friend.

But on the other side of Lady Phyllis, Lord Smallwood was interpreting the scene in quite a different way. “I do believe you’re right after all,” he remarked to Phyllis sadly. “Your Tris is indeed in love with Miss Branscombe. Cleo has been wasting her time.”

Phyllis stared at him. “Whatever drew you to that conclusion?” she asked in astonishment. “When Tris and Julie danced the country dance together, they seemed to be squabbling like cat and dog. And now that Julie’s waltzing with Lord Canfield, she looks positively in alt!”

“Yes, but take a look at Tris. He’s so riddled with jealously I fully expect his face to turn green.”

Phyllis looked. It was true! No one could mistake the look on Tris’s face. Could it be that Lord Canfield’s interest in Julie might be the very factor that would bring her and Madge’s dream to fruition? She leaned over to her friend. “Madge,” she hissed, “take your eyes from your daughter and look at Tris!”

Madge looked. After a moment, her mouth dropped open. “Heavens!” she whispered back. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“He’s green as grass!”

Madge Branscombe’s eyes widened, and a smile slowly suffused her face. “Dare I trust my eyes? Have Canfield’s detestable attentions actually shaken Tris up?”

“It certainly seems so,” Phyllis breathed, her gaze fixed in awed astonishment on her son’s face.

“I can scarcely credit it.” Lady Branscombe fell back against her chair and used her fan to cool her overheated cheeks. “Good God! To think that a moment ago I was ready to scratch his lordship’s eyes out. Now I only want to take him to my bosom. The dear,
dear
man! Whoever would have thought—? I never dreamed I’d say this, Phyllis, but I do believe I shall live to bless the day when Lord Canfield came among us!”

21

The next evening, a half hour before dinner, Lord Smallwood requested his daughter’s company on a stroll round the rose garden. Cleo was perfectly aware that her father had no interest in roses (which, incidentally, were not yet in bloom), so she was quite prepared for a fatherly scolding. The April atmosphere, however, did not seem appropriate for scolds. The air was mild, the breeze gentle, the sky a glowing purple, and the setting sun, like a Midas, was tipping everything it touched with gold. But Cleo was too uneasy to enjoy the view. “Well, Papa, let’s have it,” she said as soon as they set foot on the gravel path.

“Cleo, my love,” he began, his tone gentle and full of sympathy, “it’s time for us to take our leave.”

In spite of having anticipated this, the girl was not ready to face it. “I thought you were enjoying this rustication,” she said evasively.

“That is neither here nor there. When you persuaded me to join you in this venture, you had a specific purpose: to determine the extent of Tris Enders’s feelings for you. A fortnight has passed, during which you have been daily in his company. If you haven’t determined it by this time, you are not the clever girl I take you for.”

She cast a quick, guilty glance up at his face. “Perhaps I’m not very clever,” she mumbled.

“You know better than that, Cleo. I would say, instead, that perhaps you’re letting your wishes cloud your good sense.”

She pulled her lace shawl more tightly about her shoulders, though there was no chill in the breeze. “You mean that I’m unwilling to face the truth, is that it?”

“I’m afraid so.”

She stalked a few steps away from him, but then she paused. “I don’t think so, Papa. If I were certain Tris loved Julie, I would depart at once. But until last night, he behaved in so adoring a manner toward me that I could not doubt him. He seemed as much in love with me as I could wish.” She sank down on a stone bench, her head lowered. Her voice cracked on her next words. “Until l-last night.”

“Are you saying that his behavior last night was an aberration?”

She nodded. “The evening started out so beautifully. You saw that for yourself. Then he watched Julie waltzing with Lord Canfield, and his mood changed. For the remainder of the affair, he was glum... and completely unresponsive to every attempt I made to distract him. I don’t know what to make of it.”

Lord Smallwood leaned on his cane for support while he peered at his daughter speculatively. Then, after a moment, he came to a decision. Seating himself beside her, he took her hand. “Did you know, my dear, that Tris is
betrothed
to Miss Branscombe?”

She swung round to him, her eyes wide with shock.
“No!
”