Marjorie Farrel (25 page)

For himself, he was happy the holidays were approaching. He was almost finished with his research and could work on his speech with Francis. He had been invited to Ashurst and had accepted. Leaving London meant a break in his flirtation. He wished to remain friends with Diana, but knew he could propose nothing more. Whenever he imagined offering marriage to her, it was not her voice he heard coolly accepting, but Miss Ware’s passionate refusal. He would find himself irritated all over again. He missed her, damn it, and at the same time resented her for being right. For he knew now she had been correct in her assessment of him. He had asked her out of self-doubt, not love. The time he had spent with Diana had restored not only his belief in his own attractiveness, but more important, his own responses to an attractive woman.

Simon was a realist. He had no illusions that his former “value” on the marriage market would ever be the same, or that he was likely to inspire a passionate response in young debutantes. But he was more confident that he held some attraction because his own feelings toward a woman had been restored. Because he could now imagine himself arousing a passionate response, he found himself thinking of that last scene in the library, wondering what would have happened if he had pulled Judith to him, if he had “seen” her, traced her face until he found her lips ... Of course, he thought as he pulled himself out of these fantasies, I have no idea whether she had any such feeling for me. I may have been right; despite her protests it may have been my blindness that put her off. Although she was always honest to a fault, he mused, and then he dismissed both Diana and Judith as he got back to work.

* * * *

Robin had agreed to meet Simon Tuesday night. When he arrived at the duke’s he handed his coat to Cranston and said, “Tell his grace I am here and ask him to join me in the library. And bring us both a glass of brandy.”

“Yes, Major Stanley.”

Cranston knocked at Simon’s door and informed him that Major Stanley had arrived and was awaiting him in the library.

“Thank you, Cranston.’’ Simon was perhaps the only person looking forward to the evening, since he had no way of knowing what his godmother was about. He walked downstairs by himself and paused at the library door for a moment.

“Robin?”

Robin stood up and greeted him and Simon moved toward his voice. “You are a bit early. Would you like a drink before we leave?”

“I took the liberty of asking Cranston for some brandy for us both.”

Simon sensed the tension in his friend and wondered again if Robin was tired of acting as his escort and guide. He decided it was time to ask. He moved over to the fireplace and, leaning against it, cleared his throat. “Robin, I have noticed that over the past few weeks you seem constrained with me. It is hard for me to ask this, but I wish you to be honest with me.”

Robin stiffened. Was Simon going to ask if he approved of Diana as a future duchess? Well, better to get the worst over with. “Of course I will be honest. Do you want to know if I can wish you happy?”

“What?” Simon said, confused. “For what?”

“Well, I had wondered if you and Lady Diana ...” Robin paused to let Simon fill in the rest.

“If Lady Diana and I what?”

“This is an intimate dinner at your godmother’s house.”

“Oh, Lord, no!” Simon laughed. “You haven’t been thinking we’ve formed an attachment to each other? All these weeks? No wonder you have been rather removed. Here I have been worrying you are sick of leading me about, and you have been convinced I was courting Diana.”

“Well, I can hardly be blamed for thinking that, since half the ton does also,” said Robin stiffly. “And how could you even imagine I would get tired of being with you?”

“Not tired of being with me. But of being so responsible for me.”

“Not at all,” said Robin, even more remotely. “In fact, I am insulted you would even think so.”

Simon moved toward his friend and put a hand on his arm. “Robin, I thought you and the lady might still have an interest in each other. I kept pushing you to dance with her and you kept refusing or being so ungracious about it that it cannot have been pleasant for either of you. I enjoy her company enormously. Who would not? She is utterly charming and has been very good for me, Robin. I can’t explain it, but I thought I would never enjoy that sort of flirtation again. I was still afraid no woman could see beyond my blindness. But while there is certainly an attraction there, there is no serious feeling. You avoided us whenever you could, so I gave up believing that you still cared for her. I thought you were impatient with my dependency upon you. Do you still care for her?”

“Yes. Yes, I do, damn it.”

“Are you sure it has all been jealousy, and not a touch of boredom with squiring your friend?”

“I swear to you, Simon, that any time I find it inconvenient or am the least bored, I will let you know.”

“Thank you.” Simon let go of Robin’s arm and took a sip of brandy. “Well, then, where are we? You know I do not love Diana, nor she me. She was most certainly not in love with Devenham, since she was so grateful to me for providing her with an excuse to escape him. What we don’t know is whether she loves you. And it is you, my dear friend, who is going to have to find the answer to that question.”

Robin groaned.

“I will play no go-between, I assure you,” Simon said. “Tonight you must stay by my side and actually converse with the lady in more than monosyllables. You might even ask her to ride with us in the morning. I will then become conveniently tired and have my groom bring me home.”

Robin laughed. “What a tactician you are! Won’t that look a bit obvious?”

“Who cares? You have wasted enough time. Now, let us finish our drinks and go, before we are late. My godmother has no patience with tardy guests.”

Robin had been so caught up with his own dilemma he had completely forgotten the fact that Judith would be there until they were almost at the door. By then it was too late to worry about it. Whatever happened, at least he and Simon were back to their old closeness.

The duke and Robin were among the first to arrive. They were shown into the drawing room, where the duchess’s nephew, the Marquess of Worthington, and his wife greeted them. Then Diana was announced, and although Robin had promised himself that he would try to be more open with her, he found himself greeting her very formally. The men began to cluster together, as usual, and the marchioness, very obviously increasing, motioned to Diana to join her on the sofa.

“For, once I am down, I cannot get up without help.”

“So this is why we have not seen much of you this fall. This is your first, I believe?”

“Yes, and I am determined not my last. I have been feeling wonderful all along. The marquess is most attentive and stays home more than is fashionable to entertain me, so I was very happy with my aunt’s invitation, since he is clearly enjoying the male company.”

“Lady Barbara Stanley and Miss Judith Ware.”

The noise of the conversation had drowned out part of the butler’s announcement, so Simon only heard Barbara’s name. Almost immediately afterward the last guest arrived, Captain Hunt, a friend of the Duke of Ross, whom the duchess had invited as a dinner partner for Barbara.

“Now we can go in to dinner,” said her grace, taking advantage of the confusion of introductions and conversations to avoid any confrontations until after the meal.

She had thought a great deal about her seating arrangements. It was one thing to create the potential for a volatile situation by inviting Dame Durden’s crew, quite another to figure out how to seat them. So Simon and Judith were not seated next to each other, but across the table. It was an intimate-enough group that there could be some conversation across, but there would be no scenes this way, she hoped. It was almost impossible to seat the rest: as soon as she thought of one combination she had to scrap it and come up with another. Finally she decided to seat her niece and nephew across from each other, and have Diana and Robin together. It is time they said more than two words to each other, after all, she thought.

And once they were seated, Robin found that he had only Diana to talk to, since the marchioness was helping Simon orient himself.

Diana had no excuse to turn away when Robin politely asked her how she got on.

“Very well, thank you, Major Stanley.”

Robin realized he had nothing else to say. Either he uttered polite inanities, as he had been doing for weeks—and he couldn’t, for the life of him, think of any—or he made the effort to break down the barrier that had been between them for months. Maybe Simon didn’t care for Diana, but maybe she had learned to care for the duke? He decided to compromise and ask Diana’s opinion on the discussion begun in the drawing room, one on the increasing poverty seen around.

“I am utterly hopeless at politics, you know that, Major. I know what I feel when I see a single person in need, but I don’t have the knowledge to make any generalizations.”

Robin countered a little stiffly, “But you are an intelligent woman, milady. I am sure you and Simon have discussed serious matters.”

“The duke and I discovered immediately that political sophistication and intellectual discussion are not my forte.” She laughed. “We agreed early on to keep our conversation light.’’

“But you do have some opinions on returning soldiers, I recall.” Robin could not stop himself, nor keep his tone neutral.

Diana hesitated before answering. She knew to what Robin was referring, although others would not. She also knew this might be her only chance to explain herself.

“I once expressed an opinion on the matter, yes, out of insecurity and fear. I changed my mind almost overnight, but I was never able to convey that to the person I most wished to. I was never given the chance.” Diana lifted her eyes and looked straight at Robin. “I have regretted it ever since.”

“Then you are sympathetic to the plight of the returning veteran?”

“Oh, yes, very much so,” she answered softly.

“Perhaps we might talk further after dinner,” Robin said with great control, considering his heart was racing.

“Of course, Major Stanley,” answered Diana, looking down at her soup as though consommé was the most wonderful sight in the world. She was not sure why, at last, Robin was willing to hear her explanation, but he was giving her a chance and she intended to take it, if she had to propose to him herself.

Simon had not heard any of this, since he was preoccupied with getting his soup into his mouth without spoiling his cravat. He assumed that Barbara’s old school friend was across from him, and was going to ask the marchioness to introduce them, when the marquess turned to Judith and said, “I understand, Miss Ware, that you have not been in London long? Do you find the city overwhelming?”

Simon’s spoon was halfway to his mouth when he heard her name. He froze, and Judith knew that she had been found out. It was no use disguising her voice, which she had, in sheer terror, thought of doing, so she turned and answered naturally. “I did at first, but now that I have been here for a few months, I am a bit more used to the noise and crowds. I find it stimulating, although I do miss the country.”

“And where did you grow up?”

“In Hertfordshire, my lord.”

Of course, thought Simon. How could I have forgotten. She is Barbara’s friend from the Christmas years ago. He remembered enjoying her company, but no clear details of her background. He placed his spoon carefully on the table, as though he were controlling his desire to throw it. So, it had all been a conspiracy. They had sent her to read to him. She did not need the position, if she was a friend of Barbara’s. She has never been a governess, and is, no doubt, well-portioned.

Judith went on chatting while Simon fumed. If he had been asked why he was so angry, he could not have formulated a clear answer. He felt duped, for one thing. Robin had known who she was and no doubt sent her, and yet had let him go on and on over his proposal. They had all taken advantage of his blindness. Judith was not who she seemed, and if she had deceived him about her background, then what about her refusal? Damn it, he had worried about her, and here she was, attending balls and intimate suppers.

Simon leaned toward Diana and begged pardon for his interruption. He lowered his voice and said, “I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Of course, Simon. What can I do for you?”

“I wish to have a private chat with Miss Ware. Can you see to it that I am introduced after dinner and get us to a corner of the room and leave us alone for a few minutes?”

Diana looked curiously across the table at Judith, who was feeling alternately cold and hot, ready to claim illness and run from the table, cursing all well-bred people who could sit and talk so politely.

“Miss Ware is the young woman I described to you at the ball. So you do know her, after all?”

Simon answered stiffly, “Yes, I know her from three years ago and would like to renew our acquaintance.”

“I’ll do my best at maneuvering, then.” Diana was not at all sure that this would be a comfortable tête-à-tête, judging from Simon’s expression.

Since at least half the party was in ignorance of Simon’s relationship with Judith, they managed to be genuinely relaxed, while the other half cultivated that appearance. Simon concentrated on his meal and the marchioness’s chatter and never once attempted to address Judith, although there were times during dinner when both of them were part of no conversation and had nothing to do but sit silently and push food around on their plates.

The duchess could see that Simon had become aware of Judith’s presence, and she had no intention of postponing their confrontation. At the end of dinner, therefore, she announced that since they were all practically family, the gentlemen would join the ladies in the drawing room.

Robin was relieved, since he had no wish to face Simon’s inevitable anger and was eager to speak to Diana. He led Simon in and was about ready to seat him when the duke objected.

“I would rather stand, Robin. Please fetch me a glass of port.”