The Wedding Chase (43 page)

“Lady Darlington—”

“No, dear, I told you to call me Grandmama.”

“Well, then, Grandmama.” Zel took the older woman’s hand and tucked it in her arm, exiting the house for the waiting carriage. “The men at the ball will have better things to do than stare at my bosom.”

“Zel, how little you know of the men of the ton.” She gave Zel’s arm a little squeeze. “I wish that husband of yours was with us. He has been conspicuous in his absence these last days, and now the season is nearly over.”

“He has been busy with politics. The vote on his bill is tomorrow.” Zel handed Grandmama to the footman, who assisted her into the coach. “I fear I run a poor second.”

“I don’t understand him, even if he is my grandson. A
new bride should not be second to politics.” She settled on the squabs as Zel ascended into the coach. “I’ll talk with the boy.”

“No, you will not.” Zel sat beside her, arranging her skirts. “It’s fitting he have an occupation important to him.”

“I’ll abide by your wishes, but I’m not happy. I hoped you two would have a marriage different than most of the ton.”

So had she. Zel gazed out the window onto the dark London streets. At Cliffehaven Wolfgang had been so charming and passionate, almost loving. She had believed the marriage could work. But after their arrival in town he drew away from her. After
I love you
had escaped unbidden from her lips. He hadn’t answered, made no perceptible response, but he was clearly unhappy, even angry, to have such an unfashionably emotional wife. He had never asked for her love, never offered his.

The long line of carriages delivering guests to the Whiltons’ ball moved torturously slow. It seemed hours before they pulled up to the grand town house. As they alighted from the coach at the long staircase, Robin darted out of the crowd, grasped her arm, and drew her up to the reception line. Zel twisted to take Grandmama’s arm, hissing at Robin. “Slower, please, and take Lady Darlington’s arm.”

“Why should I take
his
grandmother’s arm?” Robin’s quick glance at the woman across from Zel showed his cold eyes and tight mouth. “You have her arm, you keep it.”

“Robin,” she whispered, “Lady Darlington is now my grandmother too. I will not have you be rude to her.”

“Fine.” He grunted, stepping around Zel and placing both ladies’ hands at his elbows. “Don’t expect me to eat supper with you, I’ll be in the card room.”

“Lady Darlington, you have met my ill-mannered brother, Robin.” Zel glared at her dark-haired brother, aware
of the smell of alcohol on his breath. “I would prefer you not gamble.”

“I’ll do as I please, neither you nor your husband is my keeper.” He guided them smoothly into the reception line.

“Young man, show your sister respect.” Grandmama rapped his leg with her cane.

He made no response, but frowned at the Whiltons and their plump little debutante daughter.

“And where is your handsome husband, Lady Northcliffe?” Lady Whilton’s little eyes pried in unison with her words.

“He has important business in Parliament tomorrow, Lady Whilton, and sends his regrets.” A feeling hit her that she would be repeating this line all night. Many sets of feminine eyes would tell her the merry dance was over. The chase had been prolonged, but she tumbled like all the rest and with much less discretion. She may have won the title, but she could not keep him any more than they could.

Straightening her shoulders, she raised her chin and smiled at the wide-eyed Whilton daughter. “Lady Cecile, I hope your come-out is all you dreamed it would be.”

Zel had ceased to be amazed at the way the ton now received her. Certainly there were sidelong glances, whispers, and pointed comments, but few cut her directly. Wolfgang was right, as a wealthy, married countess she would have to dance naked on the Covent Garden stage to earn complete censure, and even then some would probably look aside and call her eccentric. Tonight she pasted on her best smile, determined to secure more patronage for Aquitaine House.

“Ah, Simon, old chum.” Robin squeezed her fingers, dragging her toward a familiar red-haired man. “Come meet my dear sister, Lady Northcliffe. Zel, this is Simon Bedford.” Robin grinned with a flash of exaggerated puzzlement. “Demmed if I know if he’s a relation to you or not. You were almost introduced several weeks ago at some gathering. He’s
brother to Northcliffe’s deceased first wife, Rosalind Bedford Hardwicke.”

“Simon.” Grandmama nodded a curt greeting.

“Mr. Bedford.” Zel extended a tentative hand.

Bedford looked at her hand, his face white, eyes narrowed. “Where is your husband, Lady Northcliffe?”

She repeated Wolfgang’s excuses, but Bedford barely attended to her after learning Wolfgang was not at the ball.

“Fleetwood, I’ll be in the card room. Lady Darlington, Lady Northcliffe.” Bedford ran cold eyes over Zel, turned on his heel, and strode across the crowded room.

Robin bid a curt dismissal and followed after Bedford.

Zel, trying for a measure of normalcy, danced two sets with men she had met at that first, fateful house party, her thoughts flickering back to the masquerade ball. Even then she had been falling in love with Wolfgang, for as flirtatious as she’d felt that night, her response to his touch signaled a deeper longing. A longing she fought to keep penned in, under control. But it had broken through as if it had a life of its own.

Throwing herself on a settee beside Grandmama on Matron’s Row, she refused the next set, sending the prospective partner instead for punch.

“Are you finally convinced you are a success, Zel?”

“I had supposed I would be snubbed by everyone.” She fanned herself, stirring the hot humid air of the ballroom. “The last week has convinced me that no one has forgotten my indiscretions, but neither will they make a big to-do of them.”

“Now all we need do is bring that foolish boy around.” Grandmama patted her hand. “And get you with child, then life will be sunshine.”

“Here comes a little cloudburst.” Zel indicated the approaching gray-clad figure of Wolfgang’s aunt.

“Grizelda, Lady Darlington.” Aunt Dorothea’s bell tones tolled.

“Cousin, m’lady.” Cousin Adam peeked around his mother, peering down Zel’s neckline as usual.

“Where is Hardwicke?” Aunt Dorothea scanned the room, a little scowl pinching her lips.

Zel repeated her husband’s excuses, unable to hide a blush under Aunt Dorothea’s speculative gaze.

Dorothea laughed, high and shrill. “Ah, he has already done his duty, and now abandons his bride?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Zel blurted out, wishing at the gleam in the woman’s eye that she’d held her tongue.

“Are you pregnant?” Aunt Dorothea surveyed her coldly.

Gasping, Zel glanced about to ensure no one had overheard. “I am barely married. It is much too soon to even consider.”

Aunt Dorothea sniffed. “Let us hope so.” She took her son’s arm. “Save a dance for Adam. After supper.”

Cousin Adam bowed. “Servant. Cousin, Lady Darlington.”

“I expect to be the first to know when you are increasing, Grizelda. I’ll not take it kindly if you are hiding it from me.” She turned, dragging her son off in the train of her skirts.

Speechless, Zel looked at Grandmama, not knowing whether she should laugh or scream. “And she has the nerve to criticize Aunt Diana?”

“The woman’s always been a little off. She’d take the earldom if she could.” Grandmama coughed into her handkerchief. “Ignore her. She’s harmless as long as she gets her allowance.”

Successfully avoiding relatives and other mortal enemies through supper gave Zel confidence the evening would progress favorably. But her luck did not hold. It was all she could do not to hide under the settee as she watched that fearsome threesome of Lady Horeton, Newton, and Melbourne
stalk toward her. Of course, one could scarcely call Melbourne, who followed a pace behind, an unusual scowl on his face, fearsome unless one feared kittens. But the other two were predators, ready to feed on whatever hapless victim couldn’t escape their clutches.

Newton bowed low before her, pressing his lips to her knuckles a moment longer than proper. “Lady Northcliffe, you are in excessive looks tonight.” His eyes traveled slowly up her body. “I do not see your husband in attendance.”

“No, my grandson is engaged in Parliamentary business.” Grandmama rescued Zel from another explanation, then turned to the petite blonde. “Lady Horeton.”

“Good evening, Lady Darlington and Grizelda. I feel I may continue to call you that, we have so much in common.” She purred, her delicate head tilted at its most flattering angle.

“Indeed,
Lady
Horeton, I am certain we must.” Zel’s own husky tones were near a growl. “If we could only discover what.”

“Touché, Lady Northcliffe.” A hint of warmth glinted beneath Newton’s cold eyes.

“Mith Fleet—pardon, Lady Northcliffe.” Melbourne stumbled over himself reaching for her hand. “Would you … ah …”

“What my shy friend is asking is that you honor him with a dance, after this set with me.” Newton glanced swiftly at his friend then back to Zel as he took her arm. Melbourne glared as Newton led her onto the floor to the strains of a waltz.

Too late to back out, she faced her partner, ignoring that unpleasant little shiver running down her spine. As he placed a hand at her waist, moving into the gracefully swaying crowd, she forced herself to relax. “You are an excellent dancer, my lord.”

“No, my dear, any grace lies totally with my partner.
You should be enjoying the ball with your new husband.” Newton pulled her close to swirl about another couple encroaching on their space. “The man shows the best of taste in selecting his brides but then hideously ignores them as one would an ordinary mistress when the gleam of newness wears off.”

“Thank You, McDougall.” Zel stepped through the entryway, pausing to look at her reflection in the lacquer-framed mirror hanging accusingly at the foot of the staircase. The gleam of newness. Had it worn off so soon for Wolfgang, before it could grow into something stronger, more lasting, as it had for her?

Wolfgang hadn’t touched her in well over a week, other than a formal hand at her arm or a tiny half kiss on her brow that he seemed to regret afterward. She expected understanding when her courses began, but his passion before had not prepared her for this long abstinence. Over and over she tried to convince herself he waited politely, but she knew it wasn’t true. He was not a man to wait politely for anything he desired. And he knew her pain only lasted a few days. Now she could no longer deny that his withdrawal was complete.

Little more than a se’ennight to undo all they had started to build. And a lifetime to live as strangers.

Zel shook herself, rubbing at her burning eyes. All they started to build. What a fool she was. They had met only two months ago. What time had there been to build anything but false dreams? He was nothing but a stranger. A stranger to whom she had mistakenly confessed her love.

Wearily, she climbed the stairs, mentally preparing herself for a restless night. As she turned toward her room she heard a rustling. She looked down the dimly lit hallway to the service stairway but saw nothing.

Pausing at Wolfgang’s door, she searched herself for a
modicum of courage. She stepped to the door, pausing again, placing her hand on the warm carved wood. Her forehead lowered of its own volition to rest on the smooth surface. With a deep breath, she reached for the latch.

Smoke!

Zel flung open the door, coughing over the outrush of heat and dark smoke.

“Wolfgang!”

The window drapes were solid flame. The bed curtains flickered and sparked with burgeoning fire.

“Help! God, someone help!” She choked. “It’s fire!”

On leaden legs, she waded through the smoke to the bed. Hauling the counterpane off the huge bed, she groped for him, barely making out his shape in the thick darkness. She pulled at his ankles, fingers sliding down his feet. His body refused to move. Her hands edged farther up his legs but there was nothing to hold on to, nothing to grasp.

Perspiration dripped down her spine and pooled beneath her breasts as she tugged at his legs, dragging him in excruciatingly slow inches.

“Wake up! Dear God, wake up! You’re too damn heavy.” Her voice screeched. “Help! Please!”

Gasping out the smoke invading her lungs, Zel grabbed his knees. Her muscles bunched as she strained, chest tight, throat seared by smoke and heat. With a tremendous heave, she yanked his naked form to the floor.

“Wolfgang!” Sobbing, she struck sparks away from his chest. “I can’t do this.” But she again gripped his knees in her arms, jerking him in short stops and starts along the deep carpet pile.

“Lady Z!” The tenor voice was a balm to her ears. Firm hands moved her aside. Jenkins and McDougall carried Wolfgang from the room. Servants rushed in with rugs and buckets of water to battle the flames.

Zel backed into the hallway, collapsing against the wall,
watching helplessly as Wolfgang’s unconscious body disappeared down the stairs. She coughed, a ragged croak from deep in her lungs, feeling the tears flooding her cheeks and the tremor convulsing her body, afraid to stay where she stood but more afraid to follow down the staircase.