First Comes Marriage (34 page)

“I do not hate him at all,” he said. “But I offended him, you see, when Jon was still alive. I used to encourage the boy to tease him, not realizing that he would take the whole thing so seriously. He used to have a sense of humor before my uncle died and left him with so many responsibilities. He used to be up for all sorts of larks. But somewhere along the way he lost the ability to laugh at himself—or at anything else for that matter. Perhaps you will help him regain his sense of humor, Vanessa. I do not hate him.”

It all sounded very reasonable. But as she stood in the line of ladies and watched him take his place opposite her, she could not help feeling that there must be more to it than that. Elliott was moody and often irritable and downright morose. She herself had accused him of lacking a sense of humor. But he would surely not still hate Constantine with such passion just because once upon a time Jonathan had been encouraged to make something of a fool of him.

Then the music began and she gave herself up to the almost unbelievable joy of dancing at an actual
ton
ball. She looked about her, feasting her eyes on all the flower arrangements, breathing in their scents, and smiling at all their guests.

Her eyes met Elliott’s at the head of the line, and it seemed to her that he looked at her with the intensity of ...Well, not of love exactly. But of
something
. Fondness, perhaps? She smiled dazzlingly at him.

Ah, yes, she thought, theirs really was turning into a good marriage.

She was happy.

Elliott was so furious that he was surprised he had been able to cling to some control.

His first instinct had been to ask her to leave—to ask them both to leave.

To
demand
it, in fact.

To have them tossed out.

To do it himself.

But how could he do any of those things without creating a very public scene? They had timed their arrival with care—late but not too late. They had known he would not make a scene before so many people—and in his own home.

Nevertheless, a large number of the people present must
know
. Including his own mother!

No decent gentleman would ever invite his mistress—even his
ex
-mistress—into his own home. Especially when his wife was there, for God’s sake. And his mother and his sisters.

Of course Con knew too—and it was Con who had brought her. He was as much to blame as she was. Probably more so. It was the sort of bold idea he was far more likely to have concocted than she.

Elliott tried to give his full attention to Cecily during the opening set. She was bright-eyed and nervous and chattery. This was, after all, one of the most important nights of her life. After dancing with him, she would dance with a succession of eligible young men, all carefully picked out for her by their mother. One of them might be her future husband.

But it was hard not to let his attention stray. What was Con saying to Vanessa? It appeared to be very little. He was smiling at her, and she was positively sparkling—as she had at the Throckbridge assembly. Con could not have said anything to upset her, then.

Anna was not dancing. She was standing on the side-lines, part of a group but not paying attention to the conversation of its members. She was fanning her face languidly and half smiling and watching him dance. She was not even trying to disguise that fact.

She was wearing the gold gown he had bought her last year because it was daring almost to the point of vulgarity and he had told her that only she of all the women he knew had the figure to do it justice. She had always worn it in private, for his eyes only, when they had dined together or sat together in her boudoir.

He must assiduously avoid her for the rest of the evening, he decided, and hope that would be the end of the matter. He would try to see to it that Vanessa avoided her too.

Good Lord, how avidly interested half the guests must be, watching and waiting and—for the malicious element—
hoping.

She was not to be so easy to avoid, however. As soon as he had finished dancing with Cecily, Con came to claim her hand for the second set. Vanessa was with her brother and sisters, introducing them to Miss Flaxley, Lord Beaton, and Sir Wesley Hidcote. Lord Trentam, Jessica’s husband, spoke in Vanessa’s ear even as Elliott looked, and she smiled at him and set a hand on his sleeve. Apparently he was asking her for the next set.

And then Anna appeared at Elliott’s side before he could make any move to avoid her, waving her fan languidly before her face, still half smiling. He had little choice but to bow politely to her and listen to what she had to say.

“I fear, Elliott,” she said in her low, musical voice, “that you must have taken mortal offense.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I believe,” she said, “one of my slippers hit you on the shoulder. I had forgotten when I threw it that it was one of the pair with the sharp heels. Did I hurt you?”

“Of course not,” he said.

“I have a volatile temper,” she said. “But you have always known that. You have always known too that it cools as quickly as it flares. You ought to have returned later that very day. I was expecting you.”

“Were you?” he said. She had forgotten, perhaps, that her temper had cooled even before he left on that

occasion.

“But of course.”

“I was busy,” he said. “I have been busy ever since.”

“Have you? Poor Elliott,” she said. “Doing your duty? It must have been a sad chore.”

He raised his eyebrows again.

“It cannot have been much of a pleasure,” she said, laughing that low laugh that had always been able to raise his temperature a notch.

“Indeed?” he said.

“Pleasure and duty were never a good mix,” she said, “which is why a marriage between you and me would not have worked well. It was wise of you to have seen that before I did. When may I expect you?”

He had thought their affair firmly at an end. But the words had never been spoken, had they? They had quarreled on other occasions and had always ended up together again.

“I am a married man, Anna,” he said.

“Yes, you poor man.” Her eyes regarded him over the top of her fan. “But all is not lost. I am here to comfort you and I bear you no ill will. Tomorrow afternoon I could be free if I need to be.
Do
I?”

“You have misunderstood me,” he said, well aware that this conversation had already gone on long enough to have attracted attention and speculation. “I meant that I am a
married man,
Anna.”

She stared at him and fanned her face harder.

“You
cannot
be serious,” she said. “Elliott, she is an absolute fright! She is a
joke
!”

“She is
my wife,
” he said firmly. “I will bid you a good evening, Anna. There is something I need to attend to.”

He strode off in the direction of the card room but turned at the last moment to make off for the library instead. He needed a few moments alone before returning to his guests.

He ought, he supposed, to have made himself clearer during his last visit with Anna. They had been together for all of two years before that. She had deserved better of him. She had deserved a face-to-face termination of their affair.

But Con—Con had done this deliberately. Which was fair enough, perhaps, if his only motive had been to annoy Elliott. But it was
not
fair to risk involving Vanessa. And to insult his own aunt and cousins by bringing sordidness into Elliott’s home.

Anna had disappeared by the time he returned to the ballroom ten or fifteen minutes after leaving it. She had not danced at all.

It was to be hoped that now all was over between them.

Though he did wonder if perhaps he owed her a formal visit within the next few days. She had never done anything to deserve shabby treatment—except perhaps last evening and tonight.

Vanessa was enjoying herself very much indeed. She had danced every set, which was extremely gratifying considering the fact that she was a married lady and was surrounded by numerous other ladies who were younger or lovelier than she was.

More important, Meg and Kate had danced every set too. So had Stephen. And Cecily, of course—once with Stephen—though that was no surprise. The girl was both young and lovely and this was her come-out ball. She had also been brought up to just such a life as this. She was attracting a great deal of male attention, and she was holding court as if she had been doing so forever.

And now one of the two waltzes that had been planned for the evening was coming up. The dowager had decided to include them in the evening’s program despite the fact that Cecily would not be allowed to dance either since young ladies needed the approval of one of the patronesses of Almack’s before waltzing at a public ball. Kate ought not to dance it either, it had been decided in advance, though it would be quite unexceptionable for Meg as an older lady to waltz if she wished—and if she was asked. As it would for Vanessa, of course.

Vanessa and Cecily had been giving lessons to Meg, Kate, and Stephen, though it would perhaps be more accurate to say that Cecily had taught Stephen while Vanessa had concentrated upon her sisters.

No less a person than the Marquess of Allingham had solicited Meg’s hand for the dance. It was really very gratifying even if he
was
half a head shorter than she. Cecily and Kate were part of an animated group of very young people who would amuse themselves while their elders danced.

Vanessa hoped someone would ask her to waltz. Though most of all, of course, she hoped—

“Ma’am,” someone said from behind her shoulder with stiff formality, “may I hope that I am not too late to be granted the honor of leading you into the waltz.”

She turned her head and smiled brightly, happier than she had been all day.

“You are
not
too late, sir,” she said. “I will indeed waltz with you.”

She set her hand on his sleeve.

“Oh, Elliott,” she said, “is this not the most wonderful evening ever?”

“Probably,” he said as he led her onto the floor, “if I were to give the matter deep thought I would remember another evening or two that were equally wonderful. But certainly not more so.”

“You always say something like that.” She laughed. “I have only recently learned the steps. I hope I do not trip all over my feet. Or, worse, yours.”

“We both know you weigh a ton,” he said. “I would be doomed to walk around with flattened toes for the rest of my life.”

“
Half
a ton,” she said. “You must not exaggerate.”

“But if I were to allow you to trip over my feet,” he said, “I would have to judge myself a clumsy oaf and go home and shoot myself.”

“You
are
home,” she reminded him.

“Ah,” he said. “So I am. I am reprieved, then.”

It was one of the happier surprises of her marriage to find that she could talk nonsense to Elliott and he would talk it right back.

“Are you still angry at Constantine’s coming and bringing Mrs. Bromley-Hayes with him?” she asked. “He explained about her reputation, which I daresay you are aware of. But I was happy to see you talking with the lady, Elliott. That was kind of you. She left very early. I hope she did not feel unwelcome.”

“Let us not talk of the lady or Con, shall we?” he said. “Let us enjoy the waltz instead.”

“I hope,” she said, “I do not—”

But he leaned so close to her as he set one hand behind her waist and took her hand with the other that she thought for one startled moment that he was going to kiss her right there in the middle of his own ballroom with surely half the
ton
looking on.

“You will
not
make a cake of yourself,” he told her. “Trust me. And trust yourself.”

She smiled.

“I believe,” he said, “I told you earlier that you look pretty. I was mistaken.”

“Oh,” she said.

“You do not look pretty,” he said. “You look
beautiful
.”

“Oh,” she said again.

And then the music began.

She had loved the waltz from the moment she began learning it. She had thought it daring and romantic and graceful and... Oh, and a whole host of other things.

But she had never waltzed at a real ball until now.

And she had never waltzed with Elliott until now.

She had never before waltzed among flowers and perfumes and the myriad colors of the silks and satins and muslins and lace of dozens of guests or among the sparkle of jewels in candlelight or the glow of the candles themselves. She had never before waltzed to the music of a full orchestra.

She had never before waltzed with the man she loved.

For of course she was more than just
in
love with Elliott.

He led her into the steps of the waltz and she instantly forgot her fears of bungling them and making an idiot of herself.

She forgot that she was not really beautiful, that he did not really love her. She waltzed and it seemed to her—or would have if she had paused for conscious thought—that she had never enjoyed anything more in her whole life.

She kept her eyes on her husband’s face—dark-complexioned, classically handsome, blue-eyed—and smiled at him. And he looked back at her, his eyes roaming over her features.

She felt beautiful.

She felt cherished.

And she felt all the splendor of her surroundings as they swung about her in loops of light and color—and saw only Elliott.

She smiled more dazzlingly.

And finally, at last, oh, at last, his eyes smiled into hers and his lips curved upward ever so slightly at the corners.

It was surely the happiest moment of her life.

“Oh,” she said when it was obvious the music was coming to an end—and she realized it was the first sound either of them had uttered since the waltz began. “Is it over so soon?”

“It is,” he said. “I forgot to give the orchestra leader instructions to keep on playing forever.”

She laughed into his eyes, where the smile lingered.

“How remiss of you,” she said.