Miss Spencer Rides Astride (Heroines on Horseback) (19 page)

What an ungrateful, grasping wretch she had behaved; of course he had gone back to England and ignored her pleas. Why risk a future place by absconding with the daughter of an employer? And for what pay-off? She was untrustworthy. Unloveable.

And Maxwell... The thought of his wobbling chins coming close to her face, his wet lips upon hers, was enough to make her belly uneasy. 

She tried to put him out of her mind, to remember the feel of William’s hard body and gentle lips, his searching kisses and stroking fingers, but it only made her feel sad and desperate all over again. There were no happy thoughts left to reach for. It had all been denied her. 

She closed her eyes and ignored Emer's
tap-tap-tap
ping at the door. She would not take tea. She could not. 

***

“She don’t eat a bite,” Emer confided to Mrs. Kinney. “Here’s another full tray she won’t take, I wanted to leave it at the door but Himself said it would attract mice.”

“Heaven forbid we have mice,” the housekeeper said dryly, observing the untouched tray. The scones, studded with raisins, looked very nice. “I’m thinking we have a bit of a snack ourselves, and let Miss Grainne come to her own senses when her belly’s truly empty. She’s had her own head in everything her entire life, Emer. You can’t break habits like that in a few days.”

Emer, who had to admit she had felt the pinch of real hunger in her own life, and never would have turned down a loaded tea tray, saw the good sense in this proposition. She sat down at the kitchen table and Mrs. Kinney poured with great ceremony, as if they were dining above-stairs in the dining room.

“What do you suppose would happen if she refused to marry Maxwell?” Emer asked after a few companionable moments, eager to continue this cessation of hostilities between herself and the housekeeper.  

Mrs. Kinney considered. “Her father may have to threaten her if she tries to dig in her toes, I suppose. Shoot that horse she’s wild about, perhaps. That’d get her attention.”

Emer was startled. “But that’s Lord Kilreilly’s horse!”

Mrs. Kinney shrugged. “Horses will break legs, you know. Foolish creatures. It would be easily explained. And I don’t know how else he could get at her. Grainne never cared for anything but horses. Even that scandal over the gypsy wasn’t about anything but horses. In the end, she didn’t care a whit about the gypsy. I hear he’s to be hanged, and not a peep from her about it.”

Emer supposed that was true. Grainne had been furious at being caught, but she had not mourned the fellow’s capture. She had been more interested in… “Mr. Archer!” Emer said suddenly, shocked and delighted by the thought. 

“What’s that now?”

“She cares for Mr. Archer,” Emer said decidedly. “It wasn’t until he went away that she stopped eating. She’s pining for him.”

Mrs. Kinney sniffed. “One unsuitable man after another. Mr. Archer is very nice, but we have no notion of his family. And he didn’t volunteer the information, which means nothing good would have come from it.”

“I would marry Mr. Archer without family,” Emer volunteered. She imagined that handsome face turned down to look at her, love in those striking blue eyes, and blushed. 

Mrs. Kinney snorted. “A fair number of maidens would! Pass me the butter, would you? Ah and what is family to the likes of you and I? Mr. Kinney was a cobbler, and that wasn’t too good for me. But the gentry, they must marry well and marry responsibly. If you were the young miss, you’d no business looking twice at a stableboy any more than a gypsy. No matter how well he looked.” Mrs. Kinney smacked her lips and attacked another scone. Eating Grainne’s tea for her was the best idea she’d had all day. 

Emer sipped at her sweet tea thoughtfully, reflecting on all that she knew of landed families. Pretty frocks and big houses, servants to do the hard work and the easy alike: it looked very nice. But she wouldn’t like to fall in love with a perfectly well-mannered fellow, really a gentleman, and be told she couldn’t marry him because his family wasn’t what it should be. 

She buttered a scone and thought of her mistress sitting before the fire with red-rimmed eyes, and counted her blessings. 

Lady Haversham’s ball was a grand affair, whisking the society that returned to London for the Little Season into all the fun and festivity of the holidays. There were potted palms and orange trees masking every corner and doorway to the balcony that opened from the glittering ballroom and adjacent salons, which made it a favorite event for courting, especially the sort of courting which was done on the sly. It was exactly what William wanted to throw together Violetta and Lord Powers.
 

He could tell she was partial to Powers, and had no doubt she would throw him over in a second for a duke’s nephew, especially such an unhealthy and childless duke! And her family could not possibly be offended by such a clearly superior match. All William had to do what get the fellow so worked up over Violetta that he’d offer despite William’s claim.

If he was so smitten as Violetta thought, it should done with be no difficulty at all. He could only pray that it was not some foolish fancy on her part. He had very little time to get back to Grainne, without knowing for certain when her father would choose to marry her to the squire, and he could not waste time blowing upon tinders that were reluctant to ignite. 

He had closeted himself with Peregrin and worked out the plan to work Powers into a jealous rage. 

“We will be in the most conspicuous place we can manage amongst the dancers. You will break in and steal her for a dance.”

“Not a waltz,” Peregrin broke in.

“Of course not a waltz. D’you mean to declare for her yourself? Half the room shall wonder why I do not call you out for satisfaction.” William shook his head. “Anyway, you will have a delightful spin around the ballroom. Violetta is going to be tittering like a schoolgirl all the while.”

“Sounds dreadful," Peregrin said morosely, thinking of that dreadful giggle. 

“You will look enchanted,” William instructed. “You will look smitten.”

“After this I shall be able to perform at Covent Gardens,” Peregrin mused. “I shall be the most celebrated actor to tread the boards, with this sort of practice.”

William got up from his desk and went to the library window. The carriages in the street below eased quietly over the straw laid on the cobbles. Upstairs his father lay growing weaker and more peevish by the day.
 

His eyes were drawn west. Somewhere beyond the chimney pots and the brown and black layer of smoke that hugged the city, his Grainne was locked away in her bedchamber, awaiting a lifetime of unhappiness with a man she could never love. He spun around. “Stop joking, man. This cannot fail.”

There was no mistaking the intensity of William’s emotion. With his dark hair falling over his face and his sparkling blue eyes opened wide, he looked nearly insane. Peregrin resolved to behave better, and William went on with the plans. 

“You must stay close to Powers, give him the opportunity to cut in. If you cannot arouse him into jealousy, give her back to me; I will snub her and leave her alone, and what his sense of vanity cannot force him to do, his sense of honor will manage, and he will wish to comfort her for being engaged to a cad such as myself.”

“And Violetta will manage the rest with her simpers and sighs, which he unaccountably finds attractive.” Peregrin finished. 

“Precisely.” William sighed. “All I need is for him to take her onto the balcony and offer to rescue her from me, and I can be on the next post to Cardiff.”

“Then let me offer my felicitations on your forthcoming marriage, my good man. Though it be in Godless Ireland, and to a girl with a Gaelic name.” Peregrin grinned at William’s look of outrage. “Joking! I can only jest to cover up my envy. You are a fortunate man to have found a woman you love as you love Grainne.”

“I will only be fortunate if I can have her,” William said bleakly, and Peregrin took that as a sign to pour his friend a drink. 

***

Violetta was dressed up like a courtesan seeking a new protector.
 

William was shocked when he saw her. Though the woman he was in love with could be accused of a total lack of impropriety because of her penchant for men’s breeches and riding astride, Lady Violetta deLacey was altogether more shocking to him with her breasts nearly bursting out of her dress, hardly contained by a daringly low-cut gown of shimmering pink, and the tiny little slips of fabric over her shoulders that were hardly sleeves at all. The dress itself managed to mold itself to her body, some filmy fabric beneath the sheer overdress that defied the shapelessness of the day’s gowns and showed off her very voluptuous hips. Violetta might overfeed on the bonbons and candies, he thought, but her roundness was in all the right places.

Except, of course, for that plump
o
of a mouth, which was painted bright red and had fallen open with excitement, showing her tiny white teeth, and the round pinkness of her cheeks. Her eyes were nearly swallowed up by ample flesh when she smiled, and her dimples were deep enough to lose an earbob in. William fervently hoped Powers was as taken with this woman as she claimed, for he himself could not abide her.

He took her elbow, took a deep breath, and escorted his fiance into the ballroom.

Their presence was announced by a footman, of course, and more than a few heads turned to see the long lost Archwood heir returned to town at last. Violetta was delighted with the attention, giggling and simpering and nodding her head in all directions, as if they were the guests of honor, and it was all he could do to guide her to the refreshments table for a much-needed glass of punch. Lady Haversham’s punch was very strong. That was another reason why her balls were such a crush.
 

“A glass of punch, my lady?” he asked genteelly, and she giggled and tapped his shoulder with a painted fan and said she should not be so naughty, but oh yes please. He sighed and smiled at the footman, who handed him two silver cups.
 

They stood for a short while near the curtains that hid the balcony, sipping at their punch (or rather taking deep pulls of it, in William’s case) while nodding and greeting old acquaintances. He saw Peregrin moving about on the other side of the ballroom, chatting with gentlemen as he shifted from group to group, trying to locate Powers. He had said something about whispering in Powers’ ear about how ravishing that Violetta deLacey looked tonight, and how he was determined to steal a dance from William Archwood.

A dance.
Damn, he supposed they would have to join the dancers soon enough. He watched the hot, flushed dancers go plunging about the ballroom floor without pleasure. Dancing was never his favorite pastime, and it would be simply agonizing to go stumbling through the steps with the not-so-light-as-a-feather Violetta. If she trod on his toes, it would hurt something dreadful. Like dancing a reel with a Clydesdale, he thought unpleasantly, and then mentally chastised himself for being so cruel.
 

Ah! Peregrin had located Powers. William straightened, watching the two from across the room. Violetta looked up at him questioningly. “Is everything all right?”

“Peregrin is working his magic upon Powers,” William murmured. “See, he is already looking this way.” And indeed, Powers had turned his head and was looking across the crowded dance floor, seeking them. William saw his face flush red. “Ah, I think it worked. Shall we dance, then, my darling betrothed?”

Violetta giggled in reply, setting her cup down upon the tray of a passing footman, and slipped the string of her fan around her wrist. She held out her hands in invitation and William took them determinedly. Here they went.

And then the music smoothly slid from a bouncy country dance to the slow, sensuous rhythms of a waltz.

William was not the only gentleman in the room who stopped short. A waltz was a dangerous thing. A waltz created betrothals and cemented protectorships, it made and broke reputations. The intimacy of dancing, body to body, with only one partner for an entire song was nearly as great as sharing a kiss… or a bed.

William no more wanted to make a proclamation of love by dancing a waltz than Peregrin had. He looked down at Violetta helplessly and saw a wash of pink stain her cheeks. She was just as mortified, he realized. She was just as desperate to get out of this engagement as he was.

And then there was a tap on his shoulder. He looked up. Carmichael, Lord Powers, face red up to his receding hairline, looked at him with determined eyes. “May I dance with the lady?”

***

And so it was done, much more easily than William ever could have hoped. He lounged against a Grecian column, sipping his fourth cup of punch, and watched Violetta dance yet another dance with Powers. She had scarcely been out of his arms all night.
 

“I think an engagement can safely be assumed,” Peregrin said comfortably. “You’re welcome.”

“And you didn’t even have to dance with her,” William grinned. “That was well played.”

“Oh thank God.” Peregrin shuddered. “Like dancing with a cart-horse.”

William shook his head, pretending he had not thought the very same thing earlier in the evening. “She is light enough in Powers’ arms,” he observed.

“Powers is a strong man,” Peregrin said without remorse. “Broader through the shoulders than both of us. He’s a workhorse himself. They shall have enormous children.”

“Shush,” William chided. “Someone will hear you and it will be in the papers tomorrow.” He put down his cup and straightened. “Well, old chap, enjoy the rest of the party. I am off.”

“So soon? This is your night to celebrate.”

“Not yet. This is my night to fly back to my own bride.”

Grainne heard hoofbeats outside, their dull thuds made louder by the damp ground quivering beneath them, and flung back the counterpane.
 

She rushed to the window, pulling aside the heavy curtains, and unlatched the window with trembling fingers. She had been having
such
a dream, all about William, and his coming back for her, and —