Mesalliance (9 page)

The narrow
brows rose and Adeline examined him meditatively. At length, she
said, ‘Dear me, Mr Garfield. Can it be that you are asking me to
become your wife?’

His jaw
dropped. ‘
Wife
?’

‘Yes.’ She
smiled sweetly upon him. ‘What else could you possibly mean?’

Lewis stared at
her aghast.

‘Well, in
truth,’ he began weakly, ‘I … er …’

‘You were
wondering if it is not a little too soon to ask?’ she suggested
helpfully. ‘Of course. I understand completely. Indeed, I am
honoured that you should consider me … and very, very tempted.’

An unpleasant,
sinking feeling was taking place in the pit of Mr Garfield’s
stomach and he knew that he had better speak now – and swiftly – or
forever hold his peace.

‘However,’
continued Adeline smoothly, ‘I fear I must decline your extremely
flattering offer … at least until we get to know each other a
little better. And that day, I feel sure, cannot be far
distant.’

Lewis Garfield
was not a man whose mind moved quickly but, on this occasion, he
surpassed himself. The implications of Mistress Kendrick’s words
were only too horribly clear and, since it did not now seem
possible to correct her misconception without finding himself in
very deep water indeed, he grasped the reprieve with both hands.
Far, far better to nip his infatuation in the bud than to risk
further embarrassment of this kind – or worse.

Suddenly a man
of decision, he surged to his feet, mumbled some tangled excuses
and vanished, without more ado, into the shrubbery.

‘
Exit,
pursued by a bear
,’ said a reflective voice beside her. ‘What
can
you have said to him?’

‘Guess,’ said
Adeline. And then, meeting Rockliffe’s eyes, ‘Or no. On second
thoughts – don’t.’

‘No,’ he
agreed, resting one elegantly-shod foot on the fallen tree-trunk
where she sat and producing the inevitable snuff-box from his
pocket whilst enjoying the honey-coloured glints the sun found in
her hair. ‘One cannot but wonder, however, why it is that you don’t
appear to feel insulted.’

‘In general
terms, because he won’t trouble me again.’ She surveyed him with
faint, amusement. ‘You did not enjoy your luncheon.’

‘I dislike
indulging in a balancing act with my plate whilst removing various
species of insect from the syllabub. A sign, if you like, of my
declining years.’

Adeline’s
expression did not waver by so much as a hairsbreadth but, behind
her grey-striped bodice came a tug of something she neither wanted
nor was prepared for. She said, ‘Tom tells me you’ve finally
persuaded my uncle to sell you The Trojan.’

‘Did you think
I wouldn’t?’

‘On the
contrary. I was sure you would.’ She paused, tilting her head
consideringly. ‘Hardly the horse for anyone’s declining years, I
would have thought.’

His Grace
smiled. ‘Oh – quite. But it is hard, you understand, to relinquish
one’s image.’

‘Yes. It must
be. And easier by far to hazard one’s neck.’

‘You’re
concerned for my safety? I’m touched.’ He watched as she rose and
shook out her skirts – absorbing, as always, her innate grace.
‘You’re going?’

‘Retreating,’
replied Adeline pleasantly. ‘And leaving the field to Diana.’

Rockliffe cast
a brief glance over his shoulder and then prepared to utter a
sardonic rejoinder – but too late. Mistress Kendrick was already
several paces distant and he was left with no alternative but to
turn and smile on her cousin.

Determinedly
hiding her chagrin that he had paid her almost no attention all day
and then added insult to injury by blatantly seeking out Adeline
instead, Diana summoned her most brilliant smile and said, ‘I
wanted to consult you on a matter of taste, your Grace. Mama has
said that I may powder my hair for the ball tomorrow and I wanted
to know if you feel that it will suit me.’

Rockliffe
regarded her enigmatically. Although he invariably wore his own
hair powdered these days, he was generally known to uphold the view
that very young ladies appeared to greater advantage without it. It
was something, he had always felt, to do with freshness and
innocence; which was why he replied suavely, ‘Admirably, I should
imagine.’

‘Oh – do you
think so, indeed?’ she cooed. ‘Then I shan’t hesitate. It’s simply
that Nell says you do not permit
her
to do so.’

‘Ah. But Nell,
you see, is an entirely different matter.’

‘I’m glad,’ she
said daringly, ‘that you think so.’

‘How could I
not?’ His tone was as bland as butter but, beneath their heavy
lids, his eyes gleamed. ‘In your case, my dear, I am convinced that
they broke the mould.’

It did not
occur to Diana to remark – as Adeline might have done – that no
doubt he considered this fortunate. It did not even occur to her to
point out that she had a twin. She merely dimpled complacently,
dropped a mock curtsy and thanked him. Rockliffe felt boredom
stirring and toyed restlessly with his snuff-box. He had spent the
past week blowing hot and cold on Mistress Di but today the game
had suddenly ceased to amuse him … and, because it had, he
terminated it.

The result was
that, on the night before the one on which she fully intended to
eclipse every other lady, Diana was deprived of her beauty sleep.
Something, she sensed, was going horribly wrong. For Rockliffe –
who ought, by now, to be eating out of the palm of her hand – was
growing increasingly elusive; and every time she felt she had him
in her grasp, he seemed to melt through her fingers. He had
accorded her no more than a bare five minutes that evening and had
not paid a single compliment worth repeating to Cecily. Worse
still, he had not yet asked her to dance with him at the ball.
Diana buffeted her pillow and turned over, frowning. It wasn’t
fair. She was beautiful and she’d done everything in her power to
charm him – so why did he show no sign of wanting her?
Why
?

Rockliffe,
staring thoughtfully from his window into the darkened garden,
could have told her. What he had
not
done, until this moment
[mainly because it had seemed too ludicrous to be worth the
trouble] was to analyse the knowledge for himself. Now, however,
with this feeling that he had not sought and did not want
threatening to challenge his reason, he recognised the need to
enumerate the facts. And the facts, of course, were remarkably
simple.

He was in the
market for a wife who would occupy her position with well-bred
grace and curb Nell’s excesses but who would not bore him to
distraction. There were, he knew, a number of ladies who could
fulfil the first two; and there was Diana Franklin – who did not
qualify in any respect at all. Unfortunately, in an already
insoluble situation, there was also Adeline.

It was not, he
reflected clinically, that he loved her. Not at all. It was merely
that she never failed to surprise and intrigue him. She was cold
and sharp as a razor, no beauty and utterly infuriating; and he
wanted her.

It was
impossible, of course. He had never been in the habit of seducing
respectable females and didn’t intend to start now … and, as a
prospective bride, Adeline was out of the question. She was
badly-connected and not of his world. It wasn’t that he cared a jot
what that world might say, but he was aware that he owed something
to his name. He also had a decided aversion to acquiring Richard
Horton and Diana as relatives; so even if he had wanted to marry
Adeline – which he didn’t – it was quite out of the question.

The sensible
course, therefore, was to resist the attraction … but that was
beginning to prove difficult. He should never, he now realised,
have coerced Lady Miriam into putting Adeline in his way – but
there was little point in bemoaning that fact now. All he could do
was appreciate the irony of it. He had baited his own trap and must
live with the consequences. But only for four more days and then he
would be free. It was a calming thought … and one on which to
retire.

The day of the
ball dawned without a cloud in the sky. Cecily Garfield wasted no
time at all in putting one there.

‘You won’t get
him, you know,’ she informed Diana pityingly. ‘It’s a shame, too –
after all the trouble you’ve gone to.’

‘What trouble?’
snapped Diana, her nerves already stretched. ‘I haven’t even begun
yet.’

‘No? Then I
suggest you do, dearest. Because, so far, I don’t think he’d notice
if you disappeared in a puff of smoke.’

‘Which only
goes to show how much
you
know about it!’

‘Well, you
would say that, wouldn’t you?’ Cecily smiled maddeningly. ‘But the
proof of the pudding, you know … and he hasn’t exactly taken to
dogging your footsteps, has he? I’ll wager he hasn’t even asked you
to dance with him this evening.’

‘He will,’
replied Diana, tossing her head. ‘He will.’

‘Oh – no doubt.
But I daresay he’ll dance with Thea, too – and Lizzie and me. In
such a small party, it would look very odd if he didn’t. But it
takes more than courtesy to promote an offer of marriage … and
although I’m sure he thinks you’re very pretty, I suspect you don’t
attract him in the least.’

Two bright
spots of colour burned in Diana’s cheeks and her palm itched to
banish the sympathetic smile from Mistress Cecy’s face. She said
tightly, ‘You’d better wait and see, then. I’ve told you I’ll be
Duchess of Rockliffe before the year’s out – and I will.’

‘I’m sorry to
say it, Di, but I doubt it. I really do,’ sighed Cecily. ‘And I
honestly think it would be ever so much better if you were to face
the facts. For even if he were madly in love with you – which he
obviously isn’t – I doubt he’d offer for you. The thing is,
dearest, that he’s not just a Duke. He’s a Wynstanton.’

‘Meaning what,
precisely?’

‘Well, I don’t
want to offend you or suggest that your family isn’t perfectly
respectable or anything. But it has to be said that the Wynstantons
don’t marry just
anybody
. Rockliffe’s mother, for instance,
was sister to the Earl of Leominster and his sister, Lucilla, is
Viscountess Grassmere. So I really don’t see him settling for the
daughter of a mere baronet. Do you?’

Diana rose and
shook out her pale pink taffeta skirt with hands that weren’t quite
steady. Then, fixing Cecily with a glittering blue stare, she said
unevenly, ‘You’re very smug, aren’t you? But if the Gunning girls
could do it, then so can I. And, unlike you, I don’t have to rely
on my money to catch a husband. I’m beautiful – everyone says so –
and I’m good enough to marry anyone I choose.’

‘So you say.
But I’ll believe it,’ yawned Cecily, ‘on the day that it
happens.’

The flush
faded, leaving Diana’s face white with temper.

‘Watch me,
then. And get ready to eat your words … because I’ll be betrothed
to Rockliffe before he leaves here next week. And that’s a
promise.’

On which
Parthian shot, she stalked away to her bedchamber to relieve her
feelings by smashing a crystal rose-bowl in the hearth.

*

While the rest
of the party spent a lazy day in preparation for a night’s
unbridled gaiety, Adeline arranged flowers, relayed her aunt’s
orders to the servants and dissuaded the head cook from suicide
over a belated request for turbot. Of the ball itself, she thought
very little – and, when she did think of it, was more than
half-inclined to absent herself from it altogether. She did not
dance and, since dinner was to be replaced by a buffet supper, she
was unlikely to be missed. All in all, the only thing against
spending the evening in her room with a book was a very natural
reluctance to please Diana – who had made her wishes known with all
her usual
éclat
.

‘Stay out of
the way tonight,’ she’d said, without preamble, having met Adeline
by chance on the stairs. ‘No one will care whether you’re there or
not – and I don’t want you.’

‘Of course you
don’t,’ Adeline had replied kindly. ‘But cheer up. If Rockliffe
asks me to dance, I’ll tell him that you’re my official
substitute.’ And shaking free of Diana’s restraining hand, had
continued on her way.

After that, she
didn’t think of the matter again until she entered her bedchamber
in the early part of the evening and checked on the threshold at
the sight of the gown reposing on her bed. Then, carefully closing
the door behind her, she crossed the room to investigate.

It was the
colour of bluebells and simply designed, its only ornamentation the
white, quilted petticoat embroidered with blue and silver thread –
and it was beautiful. Adeline looked at it thoughtfully for a long
time. Two things surprised her; first, that Lizzie had apparently
neither forgotten nor changed her mind – and, second, the strength
of her own desire to at least try the gown on. Visions of appearing
to advantage, for just once in her life, hovered on the edges of
her mind. And though she apostrophised herself for a fool and told
herself that a borrowed gown was unlikely to fit and could not be
altered, still the temptation persisted.

By the time she
yielded to it there were sounds from below betokening further
arrivals but Adeline did not hurry. She removed her clothes and
washed in cold water from the jug before unpinning her hair and
brushing it with slow, deliberate strokes. Then, with unaccustomed
care, she set about piling it up on her head and perfecting the two
glossy ringlets that were to lie demurely on one shoulder. And
finally – half-terrified, half-elated – she stepped into the
gown.

It was a trifle
loose but nothing that could not be corrected by tighter lacing – a
tricky manoeuvre, but one which she eventually accomplished to her
satisfaction. Then, as though it were the only thing that mattered,
she took a long, long look at herself in the glass … and wondered
what she had done.