Married by Morning (11 page)

Guests from Hampshire and surrounding counties would attend the ball, as well as families of distinction from London. To Leo’s disgruntlement, the ball invitations had been eagerly accepted by a multitude of peers with daughters in marriageable circumstances. And as the lord of the manor, his duty was to act as host and dance with as many women as possible.

“This is the worst thing you’ve ever done to me,” he told Amelia.

“Oh, not at all, I’m sure I’ve done worse things to you.”

Leo considered that, running through a long list of remembered offenses in his mind. “Never mind, you’re right. But to be clear … I’m only tolerating this to humor you.”

“Yes, I know. I do hope you’ll humor me further, and find someone to marry so you can produce an heir before Vanessa Darvin and her mother take possession of our home.”

He gave his sister a narrow-eyed glance. “One could almost infer that the house means more to you than my future happiness.”

“Not at all. Your future happiness means at least as much to me as the house.”

“Thank you,” he said dryly.

“But I also happen to believe that you’ll be much happier when you fall in love and get married.”

“If I ever fell in love with someone,” he retorted, “I certainly wouldn’t ruin it by marrying her.”

The guests began to arrive early in the evening. Women were dressed in silk or taffeta, jeweled brooches glittering at low rounded necklines, hands covered with wrist-length white gloves. Many feminine arms were adorned with matching bracelets in the new fashion.

Gentlemen, by contrast, were dressed with severe simplicity in black coats and matching creaseless trousers, and cravats in either white or black. The clothes were tailored with a touch of welcome looseness, making natural movement far easier than it had been in the constricting garments of the recent past.

Music floated through rooms abundantly dressed with flowers. Tables draped in gold satin nearly creaked beneath pyramids of fruit, cheese dishes, roast vegetables, sweetbreads, puddings, joints of meat, smoked fish, and roast fowl. Footmen moved through the circuit of public rooms, bringing cigars and liquor to men in the library, or wine and champagne to the card rooms.

The drawing room was crowded, with clusters of people all around the sides and couples dancing in the center. Leo had to admit, there was an uncommon number of attractive young women present. They all looked pleasant, normal, and fresh-faced. They all looked the same. But he proceeded to dance with as many of them as possible, taking care to include wallflowers, and he even persuaded a dowager or two to take a turn with him.

And all the while he hunted for glimpses of Catherine Marks.

She was wearing a lavender gown, the same one she’d worn at Poppy’s wedding. Her hair was caught in a smooth, tight chignon at the back of her neck. She watched over Beatrix while remaining discreetly in the background.

Leo had seen Catherine do the same thing countless times before, stand quietly among the dowagers and chaperones as girls only a little younger than herself flirted and laughed and danced. It was absurd that Catherine should not be noticed. She was the equal of any woman there, background be damned.

Somehow Catherine must have felt his gaze on her. She turned and glanced at him, and she couldn’t seem to look away any more than he could.

A dowager captured Catherine’s attention, asking a question about something, and she turned to the dratted woman.

At the same time, Amelia came up to Leo’s side and caught at his sleeve.

“My lord,” she said tensely. “We have a situation. Not a good one.”

Glancing at his sister with instant concern, Leo saw that she wore a false smile for the benefit of anyone who might be watching. “I had despaired of anything interesting happening this evening,” he said. “What is it?”

“Miss Darvin and Countess Ramsay are here.”

Leo’s face went blank. “Here? Now?”

“Cam, Win, and Merripen are talking to them in the entrance hall.”

“Who the devil invited them?”

“No one. They prevailed on mutual acquaintances—the Ulsters—to bring them as guests. And we can’t turn them away.”

“Why not? They’re not wanted.”

“As improper as they’ve been in coming without invitations, it would be even worse for us to reject them. It would make us appear
exceedingly
ungracious, and to say the least, it wouldn’t be good manners.”

“Far too often,” Leo reflected aloud, “good manners stand in direct opposition to what I want to do.”

“I know that feeling well.”

They shared a grim smile.

“What do you suppose they want?” Amelia asked.

“Let’s find out,” Leo said curtly. Offering her his arm, he escorted her out of the drawing room to the entrance hall.

More than a few curious gazes attended them as they joined the other Hathaways, who were speaking to a pair of women dressed in sumptuous ballgowns.

The older, presumably Countess Ramsay, was a woman of average appearance, a bit plump, neither attractive nor plain. The younger woman, Miss Vanessa Darvin, was a raving beauty, tall with an elegantly turned figure and a lavish bosom, all nicely displayed in a gown of blue-green trimmed with peacock feathers. Her midnight hair was arranged in a perfect mass of pinned-up curls. Her mouth was small and full, the color of a ripe plum, and her eyes were sultry, dark and heavily lashed.

Everything about Vanessa Darvin advertised sexual confidence, which Leo had certainly never held against a woman, except that in this girl it was a bit off-putting. Probably because she looked at him as if she expected him to fall at her feet and start panting like a pug dog with a respiratory ailment.

With Amelia on his arm, Leo approached the pair. Introductions were made, and he bowed with impeccable politeness.

“Welcome to Ramsay House, my lady. And Miss Darvin. What a pleasant surprise.”

The countess beamed at him. “I hope our unexpected arrival does not inconvenience you, my lord. However, when Lord and Lady Ulster made it known that you were giving a ball—the first at Ramsay House since its restoration—we felt certain that you wouldn’t mind the company of your nearest relations.”

“Relations?” Amelia asked blankly. The kinship between the Hathaways and the Darvins was so distant as to hardly warrant the word.

Countess Ramsay continued to smile. “We are cousins, are we not? And when my poor husband passed on to his reward, may God rest his soul, we found consolation in the knowledge that the estate would pass into capable stewardship as yours. Although…” Her gaze flickered to Cam and Merripen. “We had not expected such a colorful variety of in-laws as you seem to have accumulated.”

Fully comprehending the unsubtle reference to the fact that both Cam and Merripen were part Gypsy, Amelia scowled openly. “Now see here—”

“How refreshing it is,” Leo interrupted, trying to stave off an explosion, “to finally be able to communicate without the interference of solicitors.”

“I agree, my lord,” Countess Ramsay replied. “The solicitors have made the situation regarding Ramsay House quite complex, have they not? But we are only women, and therefore much of what they relate goes right over our heads. Isn’t that right, Vanessa?”

“Yes, Mama,” came the demure reply.

Countess Ramsay’s pillowy cheeks puffed out with another smile. Her gaze encompassed the entire group. “What matters most is the bond of familial affection.”

“Does that mean you’ve decided not to take the house away from us?” Amelia asked bluntly.

Cam settled a hand at his wife’s waist and gave her a warning squeeze.

Looking taken aback, Countess Ramsay regarded Amelia with wide eyes. “Goodness me. I’m not at all able to discuss legalities—my poor little brain fairly collapses when I try.”

“However,” Vanessa Darvin said in a silky voice, “as we understand, there is a chance we may not be entitled to Ramsay House, if Lord Ramsay marries and sires offspring within a year.” Her gaze slid boldly over Leo, traveling from head to toe. “And he seems well equipped to do so.”

Leo arched a brow, amused by the delicate emphasis she placed on the term “well equipped.”

Cam intervened before Amelia could utter a scathing reply. “My lady, do you have need of lodging during your stay in Hampshire?”

“Thank you for your kind concern,” Vanessa Darvin replied, “but we are staying at the residence of Lord and Lady Ulster.”

“Some refreshments would be welcome, however,” Countess Ramsay suggested brightly. “I think a glass of champagne would revive me nicely.”

“By all means,” Leo said. “May I escort you to the refreshment tables?”

“How delightful,” the countess said, beaming. “Thank you, my lord.” She came forward to take his proffered arm, and Vanessa went to his other side. Summoning a charming smile, Leo led the pair away.

“What dreadful people,” Amelia said dourly. “They’re probably here to inspect the house. And they’ll monopolize Leo all evening, when he should be talking and dancing with eligible young women.”

“Miss Darvin is an eligible young woman,” Win said, looking troubled.

“Good heavens, Win. Do you think they came here so that Miss Darvin could meet Leo? Do you think she might set her cap for him?”

“There would be advantages to both sides if they married,” Win said. “Miss Darvin would become Lady Ramsay and gain the entire estate instead of just the copyhold. And we could all continue living here, whether or not Leo fathers a child.”

“The thought of having a sister-in-law like Miss Darvin is intolerable.”

“One can’t judge her on first acquaintance,” Win said. “Perhaps she’s a nice person on the inside.”

“Doubtful,” Amelia said. “Women who look like that never have to be nice on the inside.” Noticing that Cam and Merripen were speaking to each other in Romany, she asked her husband, “What are you talking about?”

“There are peacock feathers on her gown,” Cam remarked, in the same tone he might have said,
There are poisonous flesh-eating spiders on her gown
.

“It’s a very dashing effect.” Amelia looked at him quizzically. “You don’t like peacock feathers?”

“To the Rom,” Merripen said soberly, “a single peacock feather is an evil omen.”

“And she was wearing
dozens
of them,” Cam added.

They watched Leo walk away with Vanessa Darvin as if he were heading toward a pit filled with vipers.

Leo escorted Vanessa Darvin to the drawing room, while Countess Ramsay remained near the refreshment tables with Lord and Lady Ulster. After a few minutes of conversation with Vanessa, it was obvious that she was a young woman with adequate intelligence and a highly flirtatious nature. Leo had known and bedded women like Vanessa before. She inspired little interest in him. However, it might benefit the Hathaway family to become acquainted with Vanessa Darvin and her mother, if only to learn their plans.

Chattering lightly, Vanessa confided how dreadfully dull it had been to spend a year in mourning after her father had passed away, and how eager she had been to finally have a season in London the following year. “But how charming this estate is,” she exclaimed. “I remember visiting it once when my father had the title. It was a pile of rubbish, and the gardens were barren. Now it’s a gem.”

“Thanks to Mr. Rohan and Merripen,” Leo said. “The transformation was entirely due to their efforts.”

Vanessa looked puzzled. “Well. One would never have guessed. Their people aren’t usually so industrious.”

“Romas are highly industrious, actually. It’s only that they’re nomadic, which limits their interest in farming.”

“But your brothers-in-law are not nomadic, it seems.”

“They have each found good reason to stay in Hampshire.”

Vanessa shrugged. “They give the appearance of being gentlemen, which I suppose is all one could ask.”

Leo was annoyed by her disdainful tone. “They’re both related to nobility, as a matter of fact, being only half Romany. Merripen will inherit an Irish earldom someday.”

“I had heard something to that effect. But … Irish nobility,” she said with a little moue of distaste.

“You consider the Irish inferior?” Leo asked idly.

“Don’t you?”

“Yes, I’ve always found it so crass when people refuse to be English.”

Either Vanessa chose to ignore the comment, or it sailed over her head. She exclaimed with pleasure as they approached the drawing room, with its rows of glittering windows, cream-painted interior, and steep tray ceiling. “How lovely. I believe I will enjoy living here.”

“As you remarked earlier,” Leo pointed out, “you may not have the chance. I have a year left to marry and procreate.”

“You have a reputation as an elusive bachelor, which leaves some doubt as to whether you will achieve the former.” A provocative gleam appeared in her dark eyes. “The latter, I’m sure you’re very good at.”