Some Enchanted Waltz (20 page)
Before he could ask about his mother Rupert answered tactfully. “Lady Blakely, sir. She and Lady Fiona were going to the theater together.”
Relief filled him at the mention of Lady Blakely, another widow who visited Glengarra Castle this past winter to console his mother. With mother out of the way for the evening, he would have time to deal with Tara and her probing questions without interruption. He hurriedly bathed, dressed, and went downstairs to await her return.
After an hour, panic set in. Why did they not return? What if they had an accident? Edward was not the most careful of drivers. He loved to race in the open country roads.
What if Lord Edward Fitzgerald seduced Tara? He had been enchanted by her last night. Edward gave Tara more attention than Adrian cared for.
The fear gnawing inside of him was unbearable. He sat at the table with his head in his hand, pouring another drink as his imagination ran rampant. He was only getting what he deserved. Who would have thought that having his grand scheme come true would hurt so much? Tara was not a French actress. He had planned to hire an actress to play the part of Lady Dillon, if need be. Instead, Tara conveniently arrived on his doorstep. Tara was every man’s dream, a fairy princess, a woman worth dying for.
A woman who deserved more attention than he had given her, his conscience chided. A woman he’d kept shut up in a dreary castle with little companionship and no real romance in the weeks since she agreed to become his wife.
And now, she was out riding with Lord Edward, a charming rake by all accounts.
Lord Edward Fitzgerald was quite the dashing beau. He was polite, attentive, and extremely pleasant to be with. He had dark hair and glittering, blue, mysterious eyes. His easy manner and ready smiles were contagious. Tara found his companionship exhilarating. The man could sweep a girl off her feet without even trying.
“And that old tart over there is the esteemed Lady McManus, a veritable shrew. ‘Tis rumored her husband suffered a nervous disposition since the day he was wed twenty years ago, and that before his nuptials, Lord McManus had nerves of granite. Now he’s afraid of his own shadow.” Lord Edward laughed as he regaled her with the scandals of the gentry who were showing off their mounts and their fine clothing in Cork Park.
“She does look frightening.” Tara returned with a giggle as she took in the sour faced harridan who rode in the carriage coming toward them. “She looks like she sucks lemons rather than squeezing the juice into her tea. Why would someone marry such an old crone, she looks to be eighty and you say she was wed only twenty years ago?”
“Money, my dear. Lord McManus was in desperate straits, lost everything due to his gaming debts. He played the charming rogue for the dour faced spinster. She inherited all of her father’s wealth, you see, adding greatly to her attractiveness. Worse for it, McManus is forty-six, young enough to be her grandchild, yet, her husband is he. More her puppet, to be sure. That was one wager the poor bloke didn’t count on, winning her hand won him a veritable hell on earth.”
“How awful.” Tara found herself pitying the object of Lord Edward’s gossip.
“On the positive side, Lady McManus cannot live forever, so you see, my dear, a few years in Purgatory and Lord McManus will someday be richer than King George.”
“I could never marry someone I didn’t love.” Tara mused.
“Nor I.” Edward agreed. “Yet desperate circumstances can change the noblest heart. In our land as in England such alliances for the accumulations of wealth and power are the common denominator, at least among the gentry. Oh, look.” He gestured discreetly to the young lady coming toward them in an open carriage. The girl looked to be barely eighteen, yet she wore heavy makeup and clothing that was designed to show off her generous endowments, despite the cool March air. “That, my dear, is Cork’s equivalent to London’s demi-reps. You’ve heard of such women, surely? Indeed, you must have their counterpart, even in far away America.”
“No.” Tara nodded politely to the passing coach as the girl smiled pleasantly at her.
“Well then, I shan’t have your husband upset with me for corrupting his bride.”
“Oh, please. I’m not that innocent.” She chuckled, and then blushed at her telling outburst. Damn. She really had to be more careful about her speech and her behavior. She needed to try to fit in, as Adrian had said, at least so as not to draw attention to herself. It was difficult with Edward, as he was such good company she forgot herself around him.
“Coffee, My Lady Dillon?” Lord Edward offered with a generous smile, ignoring her faux pas. Tara felt her heart do a flip-flop as his dimpled smile wrought havoc with her senses. She nodded, unwilling to return yet to that dreary townhouse and face her surly spouse. Lord Edward moved the horses with amazing speed toward the park exit. They wound through the streets at a quick pace, until Lord Edward pulled up the reins at the Coffee Shop he had mentioned to her at dinner the other night.
He helped her from the high seat of his Phaeton, and led her inside without a word.
After ordering for them both, he gave her a sympathetic smile and said in the lowest whisper. “You seem upset, my lady. Do you wish to talk to someone about it?”
“I don’t think so.” Tara sipped the hot chocolate he had ordered for her while waiting for him to lead the conversation elsewhere.
He didn’t, he merely regarded her with those, kind, compassionate eyes.
“Lord Edward,” Tara began. “I appreciate your kindness.” She stopped, not knowing quite how to put it. Society was so full of rules and strict codes of behavior.
“Call me Edward, please.”
“Edward, I’m concerned. Is it . . . does this seem . . . scandalous. The two of us together here? Will we be damned by society for . . .” She blushed and looked quickly away. All she needed was to have Adrian or his mother infuriated with her for going off with a strange man for the afternoon. She hadn’t thought about it until, now, as they sat together in the shadows of the coffee shop.
Edward leaned forward, so that his low whisper would not carry beyond her ears. “Not at all. We aren’t puritans here. A married lady is given a generous amount of social freedom. We have been discreet, have we not? In full view of the public at all times? Your husband is a friend of mine and we are both married.”
He sipped his chocolate slowly, continuing his social discourse. “Had I taken you to my residence or a hotel, that would have been another matter. We have nothing to hide, do we, now?” He gestured to the full room of patrons surrounding them.
“A single girl, on the other hand, is subject to another set of social barriers. She may not reside under the roof of a single man unchaparoned, unless he be a father, uncle, brother, some type of blood relative. The exception being only those who for want of anyone else have a male guardian appointed to them by the courts. Again, it is almost always a relative.”
“How quaint.” Tara quipped, rolling her eyes at the primitive mind set. She stirred her chocolate to disperse the cinnamon that had settled to the bottom of the cup.
Lord Edward was quick to pick up on her smile. “You find our ideas of propriety amusing?”
“Yes.” Tara offered. “I find them barbaric. Adrian and his mother wouldn’t even allow me to walk about the town on my own the night we arrived here. They swore it was most improper for a woman to be out at night without an escort. Mrs. Dillon said I’d be mistaken for a prostitute. It’s ridiculous.”
“And more sadly, quite true, my dear.” Edward added. She allowed him to order her a second cup of hot chocolate with a twist of cinnamon as she turned the conversation to her own advantage.
“And what of the Irish cause? I know you are involved, as is my husband, yet both of you expect me to sit by the fire reading romances, ignore the danger you are in when in fact it could make me a widow at an early age.”
It was his turn to become moody and circumspect. Edward stirred his chocolate. “I would caution you, Madame, not to raise such an issue in a public place.”
Tara scanned the room. “We are not observed, nor is anyone near enough to hear our conversation.”
Edward gave the room a casual perusal. “I beg to differ, my lady. That man over there, with the bowler hat, is reading his paper, yet his eyes stare vaguely, as if he is concentrating on something else and merely giving the appearance of reading. He is a government official, a low one, something slightly above dog-catcher. Nonetheless, such men are wont to covet higher positions and the English government pays dearly for information leading to the capture of insurrectionists. He could become the mayor overnight. And that gentleman to our left, the one with the monocle, he’s been watching us most curiously for the past hour. Granted he may not be able to hear our conversation, yet suppose he could, madam. And so it is with the waiter and the matrons there by the window. They’ll be telling society of our little outing, of that I have no doubt. I would prefer it was under the guise of being lovers rather than co-conspirators.”
“I see, so instead of leveling with me, you brush off my inquiries, as does my husband.”
“You are too beautiful, too delicate to have to endure the lash . . . or worse. Those who are suspected of merely possessing knowledge are subject to the most heinous torture, to the extent that they often times make up information merely to stop it. Your husband wishes to protect you, be glad of it, Madame.”
Tara knew that was to be the only enlightenment he intended to give her on the subject of the United Irishmen. The subject was closed. Edward turned the conversation to the ladies near the window, discussing their appalling choices of headwear and comparing them to the most empty-headed dandies about town. Tara soon realized that if the gentleman with the monocle sitting in the corner were indeed listening in, he would believe Edward was only a self-centered fop, hardly a danger to society.
As the afternoon shadows deepened in to dusk, Edward rose and commented that it was time he returned Lady Dillon to her home on Merrion Square.
Adrian didn’t realize he had nodded off in the parlor, not until he was awakened.
“I say, he does look a fright, doesn’t he.” Lord Edward’s voice intruded at the same moment a soft hand touched Adrian’s arm. He must have dozed off. It was dark outside.
“Tara.” Adrian yawned, his mind muddled with confusion. “You’re home.”
“When Lord Edward came by you were sleeping. He offered to take me for a ride in his buggy.”
“Phaeton, my dear, it is not a buggy, a
Phaeton
, the finest racing curricle to be invented.” Edward interrupted with pride.
“You didn’t race with her along.” Adrian was wide awake instantly. Edward knew no bounds where caution was concerned if a wager were placed on whose horse was the fastest.
“Give me some credit, old friend, for being discreet with a lady.”
That smug smile plastered on Edward’s face, and his disturbing words about being discreet deepened Adrian’s ire regarding their little outing. “And where did you take my wife this afternoon?”
“We rode through the park,” Tara answered. “He introduced me to the local gentry, and brought me up to speed on who’s who, and afterward we stopped at the Coffee Shop. Lord Fitzgerald was kind enough to take me to the apothecary so that I could purchase some peppermint leaves to settle your stomach.”
Adrian looked from her to Edward, and back at Tara. She seemed at ease with her explanation, as was Edward. Neither had the appearance of guilty lovers hiding a secret.
It wasn’t fair to think ill of her, his conscience chided. She was being nice to his friend. And hadn’t she thought of him during their outing? She went to the apothecary to buy him medicine. He felt foolish for his jealousy, and yet, being married to a beautiful woman was bound to make a man fearful of losing her.
“I’m sorry.” Tara offered. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I left word with Rupert. He assured me you would sleep most of the day and the fresh air would do me good.”
That sounded like something his old Methodist valet would say. To Rupert, exhortations to exercise and partake of fresh air were as common as the Bible passages he felt inclined to share aloud on occasion. Tara hadn’t left him after all. It was just his imagination running amuck from a mixture of bad poteen and brandy.
“You look pale. Perhaps you should lie down.” She touched his brow.
“I’m fine.” He pulled Tara onto his lap, enveloping her in a possessive hug for the benefit of Lord Edward, who stood a few feet away. “I was beginning to worry whether you would return at all.”
“Why?” Her innocence made him feel like a cad.
“You were rather angry with me this morning.” He reminded her.
“Lover’s quarrel, hey?” Edward smirked.
Of course the rake would not fail to remark upon that part of the conversation. Adrian quelled the strong urge to order the dandy from his house. Instead, he gave him a cool look of reproach.
Tara stroked his forehead with tenderness. “I hoped you would forget that. I was up half the night worrying and I took it out on you when you were suffering from the effects of the poteen. Edward explained it to me. I apologize for my sharpness with you.”