Elizabeth Mansfield (26 page)

“And I,” Madge sighed, “will return at once to Amberford, where I will try to find some way to mend my daughter’s broken heart.”

“Why don’t you remain here for a fortnight?” Phyllis suggested. “You’ve always wanted to give the girl a little town bronze. Now is the perfect time. You can take her to parties and routs and theatricals and all that London has to offer. I’m certain the Chalmondeleys will see that you are invited everywhere. Who knows what may transpire in a fortnight? And by then, I shall be back, and we can all return to Amberford together.”

Madge considered the idea but then shook her head. “I don’t think Julie will agree. She wants to go home.”

“Since when have you ever let Julie make such decisions?” Phyllis teased. “Don’t tell me, Madge Branscombe, that you are growing soft!”

“Everyone else around me seems to be changing,” Madge sighed as she pulled herself to her feet, “so why shouldn’t I?”

36

Madge Branscombe did not change nearly as much as Phyllis had thought, for she remained as firm with her daughter as she always had, hardening herself against Julie’s heartfelt desire to go home. “We
must
stay, for a little while at least,” she told her daughter. “With Phyllis and Smallwood gone off to Scotland, Tris and Cleo have no one left to help them with their wedding plans but us.”

“But Mama,” Julie objected, “the wedding will not be held until fall. Phyllis will be back in plenty of time to make arrangements.”

“You don’t understand, my love. These matters cannot wait. Weddings, especially fashionable ones of this sort, must be planned months in advance. I promised to help Cleo choose a pattern for her gown. And Phyllis has asked me to make the decisions regarding the date, the guest list, the menu, the wines and all sorts of details. Don’t look so stricken, dearest. I promise we won’t remain in town one day longer than necessary.”

Julie, as usual, surrendered to her mother’s pressure with as good grace as her depressed spirits permitted. She did everything her mother suggested without argument. She shopped for gloves and bonnets at the Pantheon Bazaar. She allowed herself to be fitted for two new gowns. She went to the opera at Covent Garden, to the theater at the Haymarket, to a dinner-dance at the home of Lord and Lady Hertford and an excursion to Vauxhall Gardens under the escort of the cocky young Horace Chalmondeley, all in one week. She was sampling all the delights of London social life and feeling absolutely miserable.

Tris and Cleo, on the other hand, were enjoying themselves immensely. Besides being feted by all their acquaintances every evening, they spent every day together in pleasurable activities. They rode in the park, drove to the country for picnics, visited the Elgin marbles, went to the races and shopped for the dozens of items—such as china and linen and plate—that a betrothed couple would need in their new lives. Tris had never before realized that London offered so many delightful things to do.

It was on one of these shopping expeditions that Tris ran into Lord Canfield. He and Cleo had gone to a linen-draper’s to choose fabric for the bed hangings in their bridal bedchamber, but Tris, bored with this feminine chore, had excused himself to go outside and stretch his legs. He was strolling down the street, whistling cheerfully, when he saw Canfield coming toward him. He had not seen him since he’d landed the fellow a facer at the fair. “I say, Peter, old man,” he shouted in excited greeting, “what a piece of luck! I’ve been hoping I’d run into you.”

“Have you?” Peter asked, shaking his hand. “Why is that?”

“To apologize, of course.”

“Apologize? Whatever for?”

Tris made a rueful face. “You know what for. For making a deuced cake of myself that day at the fair.”

“There’s no need for apologies,” Peter assured him. “I goaded you into it, you know. Besides, the whole incident is ancient history ... of no importance now.”

“You’re right, of course,” Tris said, falling into step beside him, “especially since everything’s turned out so well. Have you heard the news? We’re betrothed at last.”

“I supposed as much.” Peter offered his hand again. “Congratulations, Tris. You’re a damned lucky fellow.”

“I know it very well. I say, Peter, would you care to come and give your best to the bride-to-be? At this very moment she’s choosing fabric at the draper’s, right there up the street.”

Peter, tempted to catch a glimpse of Julie again, hesitated for a moment. But then he thought better of it and shook his head. “No, I’d better be getting along. Besides, I gave her my good wishes when I saw her at the Chalmondeleys’ the other night.”

“At the Chalmondeleys’?” Tris blinked at him, puzzled. “But she didn’t attend—”

At that moment, however, Cleo came running up to him, a fabric sample in her hand. “Tris, wait,” she said a bit breathlessly. “What do you think of this pattern for the—?” Then she looked up. “Goodness!” she exclaimed.
“Peter?”

Peter tipped his hat and bowed over the smiling girl’s hand. “Cleo, my dear, how very nice to see you! Are you helping the happy couple choose their trousseau?”

“Couple?” Now, Cleo too was puzzled. “What couple?”

“Why, Tris and—” All at once Peter stiffened and stared from one to the other. “Good God! Can I have been so mistaken? Are
you
the bride-to-be?”

“Yes, of course she is,” Tris said, laughing at Peter’s discomfiture. “Didn’t I say so?”

“No, confound it, you didn’t,” Peter said, a pulse beginning to throb in his temples. “I simply assumed...”

“That it was Julie?” Cleo asked, her smile broadening.

“Yes.” His brow furrowed as he tried to adjust to this startling revelation. “I should have known better than to make assumptions.”

“Well, now that you know,” Tris grinned, “don’t you think you should offer my betrothed your good wishes?”

“Yes, of course,” Peter said somewhat absently. “You know you
both
have my best wishes.” Forcing himself to concentrate on the present moment instead of the confusion in his mind, he bent down and kissed Cleo’s cheek. “I am truly happy for you, Cleo. Truly.”

“Thank you,” the glowing girl said. “I know you are.”

Tris slapped him on the shoulder. “Come and join us for a luncheon at Gunther’s. We can reveal all the lurid details of our rocky courtship over one of their chocolate pastries.”

“No, thank you, Tris. Much as I’d like to hear the tale, let’s make it another time. I must be off.” With another tip of his hat and another murmur of congratulations, he started down the street. The betrothed couple, looking after him, saw him pause at the corner as if uncertain of his direction.

“She’s still in town, you know,” Cleo called after him, a smiling glint in her eyes.

Peter stopped and turned. “Is she?”

Cleo nodded. “At the Fenton.”

A slow grin suffused his face. “Cleo, you’re a peach!” he said. “Thank you. I’m on my way.”

37

Peter’s high spirits did not last long. When he arrived at the Fenton, he learned that the Branscombe ladies were out. He had to wait for them. This delay gave him time to think. As he sat in the lobby impatiently tapping a foot, he began to realize that there was less reason for rejoicing than he’d first believed. True, Julie was not betrothed; that was the news that had sent his spirits aloft. But whatever made him conclude that she would be happy about it? If she truly loved Tris—and he’d long ago convinced himself that she did—she would now be heartbroken. She might, of course, turn to him for consolation, but was that the sort of reaction he wanted? Could he accept being second choice?

He was mulling over the answer to that question when the ladies walked in. They were carrying parcels, so they’d evidently been shopping. They both looked tired. Peter, whose cogitations had left him feeling decidedly ill at ease, rose and approached them. “Good afternoon,” he said, removing his hat. “Lady Branscombe, how do you do?”

Madge quickly recovered from her initial surprise. “Well enough,” she said coldly. “You aren’t here to call on
us,
are you?”

“On your daughter, yes,” he said, smiling down at Julie, who was regarding him, white-faced.

“My daughter has nothing to say to you, my lord,” the protective mother declared. “Please excuse us.”

Lady Branscombe was acting the dragon again, Peter thought in irritation. How many times would he have to fight her before he could win the girl? “I hope you won’t find me rude, ma’am, but I’d rather learn from Julie herself whether or not she’ll speak to me.”

“Julie will do as I say,” Madge Branscombe snapped. “Come along, girl. I’m much too weary to be standing about.”

“Then go upstairs, please, Mama,” Julie said with quiet decision. “I’d like to visit with Lord Canfield. He’s given me no reason to refuse to speak to him.”

The dragon reddened in chagrin. “See here, Julie—!”

Julie faced her mother firmly. “Mama, do go along. I’ll be up shortly.”

Madge glared at her daughter in a fury. Julie met her eyes in a speechless battle of wills. Then Madge’s eyes fell. “Very well, do as you wish,” she muttered in defeat and marched off to the stairs.

Peter grinned down at Julie. “Good for you,” he cheered. “You’ve learned how to battle the dragon yourself, I see.”

She returned his smile with a small, rueful one of her own. “One has to grow up sometime, I suppose,” she said.

“No, that’s not so. Not everyone manages to do it. I’m very proud of you.” He took her elbow and guided her to a sofa. “Shall we sit here? That potted plant will shield us from view.”

She nodded and seated herself nervously on the edge of the sofa. He took a place beside her. “I had to see you, Julie. I just learned, this very afternoon, that you and Tris are not betrothed after all. Needless to say, I’m astounded.”

She looked down at her hands. “I tried to tell you at the ball the other evening...”

“Yes, I realize that now. I’m sorry I had to be so abrupt that night.”

“Not at all. You had a promise to keep. I completely understood.”

“But that’s beside the point. What troubles me, Julie, is
your
situation. I can’t help wondering what happened to our plans. I thought that Tris would surely offer for you. I still have a stiff jaw to prove it.”

She tried to laugh but couldn’t. “Nothing untoward happened,” she explained dispiritedly. “We discovered we didn’t suit, that’s all.”

“I see.” But he didn’t see at all. He tried to look at her face, but with her head bent, the brim of her bonnet hid it from him. “I’m truly sorry. I thought you suited very well.”

“Yes, everyone did. We were all mistaken.”

“I hope...” He hesitated briefly and then plunged on. “I hope you’re... er... reconciled to the outcome.”

“To Tris’s betrothal, you mean?” She turned her head and looked up at him with convincing sincerity. “Of course I am. I’m very happy for him. For both of them.”

He was more than eager to believe her. With a wave of hope surging through him, he took her hands in his. “Are you sure, Julie?” he asked earnestly. “You’ve had only a very short time to recover from what must have been a painful experience.”

She pulled her hands from his grasp and turned her face away again. “Please believe me, Peter, there was
nothing
to recover
from.
”

Nothing to recover from? What did she mean? He stared at her, taking in her bent head with its shrouding bonnet, the graceful line of her neck and shoulders turned away from him, the clenched hands in her lap. Everything in her posture seemed to indicate withdrawal from him. He did not know what to make of her. She seemed to be telling him she hadn’t cared for Tris at all, but if she was, why was she so distant, so detached? He wished he could find some way to penetrate these defenses she seemed to have erected between them. “In that case, Julie,” he said, forcing himself to sound cheerful, “perhaps you’d agree to come driving with me tomorrow. We could ride up north toward Isling—” He stopped abruptly, for she’d thrown him such a startled, offended look that his tongue was stilled by it.

“The... the two of us, you mean?” she asked awkwardly.

“Well, yes,” he answered, baffled. “Unless you’d like to take your mother along.”

She didn’t smile at the quip. Instead, she rose slowly and looked down at him. “Lord Canfield,” she said in a kind of trembling formality, “you’ve been a good friend to me, and I hope you will continue to be. But you surely must understand that it would be improper for me to accept any such invitations from you.”

He got to his feet, more bemused than ever. “But I
don’t
understand. In what way improper?”

She shook her head, unable or unwilling to reply. “I’m very tired,” she said, turning away, “so let me wish you good day. It was kind of you to come, but now please excuse me.”

He followed her and grasped her hand. “Just a minute, Julie, please! May I call on you tomorrow? I’d like to speak to you again. There seems to be a great deal I don’t understand.”