Sheri Cobb South (17 page)

“He is,” replied Lady Helen wistfully, smiling past the lump which had formed in her throat. “Very much so.”

Lady Helen left the Templeton Institute with her purse considerably lighter; her heart, however, was less so. Although she was pleased that someone would benefit from her brother’s foolishness (someone besides Lord Waverly, at any rate), she could not shake the feeling that even her voluntary penury was, at its heart, self-serving. For without funds to replace torn stockings, stained gloves, and the dancing slippers that would almost certainly be worn out the following night at Lady Randall’s ball, she would be forced to virtually retire from Society until next quarter-day. And here, she discovered, was where her self-imposed penance fell short, for remaining cloistered at home would be no great sacrifice, so long as Mr. Brundy were there.

By the time she returned to Grosvenor Square, it was time to dress for dinner. Seeing no sign of her husband below, Lady Helen hurried up the stairs to her bedchamber to wash and change. As she entered the room, she reached for the bell pull to ring for hot water, but the sight which met her eyes drove such petty concerns from her mind.

The splintered wreckage of the ruined chair and the damaged door had been removed that morning, but while she had been visiting the Templeton Institute, the door had been replaced and a new lock installed.

On the table beside her bed lay a brass key.

Chapter 12

Oh, what a tangled web we weave,

When first we practice to deceive!

SIR WALTER SCOTT,
Marmion

Lady Helen stepped back to study her reflection in the glass. Since this ball was to be in honor of her recent nuptials, she had taken advantage of her married status to have a gown made up in a rich ruby-red shade that would have been considered fast, had she worn it a scant four weeks earlier. Although the lines of the dress were deceptively simple, the low-cut bodice was the tiniest bit daring, and the expanse of white bosom it revealed was ornamented with the magnificent diamond necklace which Mr. Brundy had given her on their wedding day. Her earrings were small diamond studs, so as not to fight with the necklace, and her hair was dressed high on her head, with tiny ringlets fringing her forehead and the nape of her neck.

Satisfied with her appearance, she dismissed her maid with a nod. As soon as the door closed behind the abigail, Lady Helen flew to the dressing table and removed the five hundred-pound notes from their jewelled hiding place. Pushing them securely to the bottom of her beaded reticule, she tugged the drawstring closed and looped the satin cords over her wrist, then sallied forth like a ship in full sail, prepared for whatever the night might bring.

At the top of the stairs, however, she drew up short. In the hall below, a man stood with his back to the staircase, his white-gloved hands clasped lightly behind his back. Although Lady Helen did not immediately recognize him, his well-cut formal attire bespoke the man of Quality. Her curiosity turned to outrage as the elegantly dressed stranger crossed the hall to the bowl of roses gracing a lacquered table beside the door and snapped off one of the dark red buds. Such presumption could not go unchallenged. Lady Helen judged it time to make her presence known.

“Look here, sir, what do you think you’re—?”

The unknown gentleman turned at the sound of her voice, and Lady Helen’s gloved hand flew to her throat. At the foot of the stairs stood her own husband, smiling up at her as he tucked the rosebud into his buttonhole. Small wonder that she had not known him! Gone were the baggy, poorly cut evening clothes he had worn at Covent Garden; in their place were form-fitting black pantaloons and a coat that hugged his torso like a second skin.

Beneath this sartorial masterpiece extended a watered silk waistcoat in a shade reminiscent of the finest French champagne. Gone, too, were the unruly curls, for his dark hair had been cropped in a fashionable Titus cut which needed no assistance from curling tongs.

Staring down at him, Lady Helen felt strangely bereft, as if the weaver she loved had suddenly been transformed into one of the Town beaux whose addresses she had once spurned.

“Mr. Brundy!” she cried, making her way unsteadily down the stairs on legs which suddenly balked at supporting her weight. “What have you done to yourself?”

“Only ‘ad me ‘air cut, and let the Dook introduce me to ‘is tailors,” he said modestly.

“But you look like—like—”

“Like a gentleman?”

The question, and the hopeful expression which accompanied it, were all the reassurance she needed. She should have known it would take more than a haircut and fine clothes to change her Mr. Brundy. She smiled down at him. “To the manner born.”

He stepped forward to meet her, and the ostentatious diamond in his cravat flashed in the reflected light of the chandelier overhead.

“Still, there is one thing—”

“What is it, ‘elen?”

“Mr. Brundy, would you mind removing your cravat pin?”

Mr. Brundy obliged, and Lady Helen likewise withdrew the tiny diamond stud from her left earlobe and inserted it through the starched folds of his cravat. There was something unexpectedly intimate about the act, and Lady Helen drew back, blushing.

“There,” she pronounced, removing the remaining earring and dropping it into her reticule. “That’s much better.”

“Is it? I was told the stone was of the first water,” Mr. Brundy said apologetically, for all the world like a chastened schoolboy.

“I’m sure it is,” agreed Lady Helen quickly, unwilling to distress him. “It’s just a bit—overpowering. You might consider having it reset, you know. I’ve no doubt it would be striking in a ring.”

This suggestion found immediate favor. “I’ll see Rundell and Bridge first thing tomorrow. Would you prefer a silver setting, or a gold?”

“I meant a
gentleman’s
ring!” protested Lady Helen, alarmed that he had so misconstrued her meaning.

Mr. Brundy shook his head. “You’ve prettier ‘ands, me dear.”

The remark reminded Lady Helen of her wedding night, when she had shuddered at the touch of his work-roughened hands. Now, she reflected, she would willingly place her life in them.

“You’ll spoil me, Mr. Brundy,” she chided.

“I’m certainly going to try,” promised her husband, and there was a warmth in his brown eyes which made her wish they might brave Lady Randall’s wrath and stay home. They could play piquet as they had in Lancashire, and perhaps, if she were lucky, she might lose....

This train of thought was interrupted by Evers, who came to inform Mr. Brundy that the carriage awaited his pleasure. Mr. Brundy draped her velvet cloak over her shoulders—a task which should have fallen to a servant, but one which he had appropriated for himself—and offered his arm to his wife. Lady Helen placed her gloved fingertips in the crook of his elbow, and together they descended the steps to the waiting vehicle.

As the guests of honor, the Brundys had been invited, along with some thirty other couples, to what Lady Randall termed an intimate dinner party preceding the ball. Consequently, Lady Helen saw her husband but little during dinner, for she was escorted to the table by Lord David Markham, who was acting as host, and was seated on his right. Mr. Brundy, despite the dubious distinction of being by far the lowest ranking male present, was nevertheless the guest of honor, and it fell to him to escort his hostess to dinner and claim the place of honor at her right, on the opposite end of the table from his wife.

Still, Lady Helen found her traitorous gaze wandering far too frequently to his end of the table. These longing glances were not lost on Lady Randall, who began to suspect that Mr. Brundy already occupied a much higher place in his wife’s affections than he realized.

Events at the ball which followed seemed to confirm her suspicions. As Lord David solicited Lady Helen’s hand for the first waltz, he was brushed aside by his friend, who had earlier in the evening dismissed his attempts at apology as being unnecessary almost to the point of insult.

“You’ll ‘ave to wait your turn, David,” said Mr. Brundy, taking his wife’s arm. “ ‘usband’s privilege, you know.”

Lady Helen made no protest, but allowed her husband to lead her onto the floor. In truth, she was too surprised to have uttered a protest even had one occurred to her. She had not forgotten Mr. Brundy’s abrupt disappearance at Miss Pickering’s ball, and until he claimed her hand, had not realized how much she had dreaded a repeat performance tonight. She remembered, too, how annoyed she had been on that earlier occasion at his lack of attentiveness. Good heavens! Had she loved him even then, and been too proud to admit it?

As they took their places on the floor, Lady Helen felt suddenly shy. She had waltzed countless times before with numerous partners, and although she knew that some still looked askance upon the new German dance which had taken London by storm, she had never quite seen what all the fuss was about. Now she knew. With Mr. Brundy’s gloved left hand clasping hers, and the warm pressure of his right hand about her waist, it required only a very little imagination to be back in her bed in Grosvenor Square, locked in her husband’s embrace with his lips on hers....

Although the Brundys might have fancied themselves to be alone in the ballroom, they had an interested observer in the person of Lady Randall, who watched with a satisfied smile as her erstwhile pupil acquitted himself with surprising skill for one so recently introduced to the terpsichorean arts. She tried to catch his eye to communicate her approval of his performance, but soon gave up the attempt. Mr. Brundy, it seemed, had eyes for no one but the woman in his arms. The potential blow to Lady Randall’s vanity, however, was warded off by Lord David, who came to claim her hand.

“Shall we join them?” he asked his intended bride, offering his arm.

Lady Emily shook her head. “The next dance, perhaps. Right now I am watching my pupil.”

Accepting the snub without rancor, Lord David joined her in this activity, as did Sir Aubrey Tabor a moment later, still shaking his head in disbelief at the near loss of his one thousand pounds.

“That must be the
ton’s
most mismatched couple,” he said, raising his quizzing glass to view the weaver and his aristocratic bride through a hideously magnified eye.

“Do you find them so?” asked Lady Randall. “I confess, I was just thinking how well they look together.”

“They do, at that,” seconded Lord David.

“And high time!” Sir Aubrey said. “I was beginning to debate the advisability of knocking Ethan unconscious and dragging him bodily to my tailor.”

“I believe Emily was referring not to the bridegroom’s apparel, but to the mutual glow of connubial bliss,” observed Lord David.

“Connubial bliss? Lady Helen?” scoffed Sir Aubrey. “Surely you jest!   This was a marriage not merely of convenience, but of desperation.”

Lady Randall regarded both gentlemen with a smug smile. “On the contrary, it was a love match from the first. The bride has just been a little slow to discover it.”

Slow or not, Lady Helen was by this time fully aware of her feelings, and it was with regret that she heard the music end and stepped reluctantly out of Mr. Brundy’s embrace. Still, it would be shockingly bad
ton
to dance every dance with one’s husband, even if—or perhaps
especially
if—one had quite unexpectedly fallen deeply in love with him. She allowed him to escort her from the floor, where her brother waited to claim her for the next set. The sheen of perspiration coating the viscount’s forehead testified to his nervous state.

“Waverly is here,” he said as soon as they were out of Mr. Brundy’s earshot. “Did you get the money?”

“I said I would, did I not?” Lady Helen answered testily, darting a quick glance over her shoulder to be certain her husband had not heard. “ ‘Tis in my reticule.”

Viscount Tisdale blew out a relieved breath. “When can you give it to me?”

“I shan’t give it to you at all, Teddy. You might fritter it away in the card room.”

The viscount was perhaps understandably offended. “I say, Nell, that’s dashed unfair!”

“Unfair or no, I shall give Waverly the money myself.” She thought of the scene in the study, and shuddered. “ ‘Twas unpleasant enough asking Mr. Brundy for it the first time. I’ll not risk having to do it again.”

“You didn’t tell him what it was for, did you, Nell?” asked her brother in some consternation. “If word gets back to Papa—”

“Have no fear, Teddy. Mr. Brundy believes I made a charitable donation to a school for orphans.”

The viscount brightened visibly. “No wonder he gave it to you so easily! I must say, Nell, that was deuced clever of you!”

“It was utterly contemptible of me! But what’s done is done, and it remains only to pay Waverly off. When we finish here, you may instruct him to ask me to dance.”

This the viscount did, and a short time later, Lady Helen’s hand was solicited by the earl. If Mr. Brundy’s hackles rose at the sight of his wife being borne away on Lord Waverly’s arm, there was nothing he could do to prevent it, as he was already promised to Lady Randall for the next set, and so Lady Helen was able to arrange her tryst uninterrupted.

“If you’ve no objection, my lord, may we sit this one out?” she begged when Lord Waverly would have led her into the set. “I have something of—of a private nature to divulge which you may find of interest.”

Lord Waverly bared his teeth in a wolfish grin. “But of course, Mrs. Brundy. I am, as ever, yours to command.”

Taking her arm, he ushered her through a set of French doors opening onto a small balcony. He closed the doors securely behind him, then turned expectantly to face her.

“Now, what is this intimate secret you wish to reveal?”

Lady Helen opened her reticule and withdrew the five hundred-pound notes. “I have the money my brother owes you. If you are indeed mine to command, as you have long professed, you will oblige me by never gaming with him again.”

Lord Waverly was all humility. “My dear Lady Helen, I beg your pardon! I never dreamed our, er, night of revelry would put you to such inconvenience.”