The Willful Widow (13 page)
Thus, by the time they reached the ballroom, the three of them were so embroiled in such a deep discussion that they barely paid attention to the crush around them. However, little as Lord Orpington's group noticed any of the rest of the guests, there were several of them—Reginald and his uncle as well as Ferdie's coterie—who were most certainly aware of their entrance. The viscount was the first to reach them, bumping into people in his eagerness to be the first to profit from this unforeseen circumstance, and secure a dance with his goddess. Pushing aside with uncharacteristic impatience 116
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an awe-inspiring dowager in purple satin, he snatched Diana's hand, bending reverently over it as the injured party muttered darkly to her companion about the sad want of manners in the modem youth.
"Lady Diana," he breathed, "I had not expected to see you here." Then realizing that such a remark might possibly be construed in an unfortunate manner, he stammered, "That is, I know you are begged to attend these affairs, but I had thought the frivolity ... well, I mean, the serious tone of your mind must preclude ... I mean, could I have the honor of the next dance?"
Though she found his awkward adoration and his insistence on placing her on a pedestal unnerving, Diana could not help but take pity on him. She hesitated and then agreed. "Why, thank you, Reginald. That is very sweet of you, but I must warn you, I have not danced for so long I am capable of only the most sedate of dances—nothing more dashing than a quadrille."
"Of course not, I should never expect you to indulge in country-dances or, or, the waltz." Reginald shuddered at the thought.
However, as Diana glanced over at the couples now whirling around the floor in that most daring of dances, she thought wistfully of how much she had enjoyed it when Ferdie was alive. Though Lord Hatherill had not possessed much in his cockloft, he had been the most dedicated of social creatures, and as such had been a most graceful and satisfactory partner. But Diana was not about to allow the overly infatuated Reginald the intoxicating experience of 117
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waltzing with her. He was adoring enough as it was in his own bumbling fashion. But rescue was imminent as she saw the inseparable trio of Tony, Ralph, and Henry making their way toward her. Their conversation might be far more trivial than the Viscount Chalford's but at least it was enlivening and their presence kept him from becoming too importunate. Reginald was not the only one instantly aware of Lady Diana's entrance into the ballroom. Justin had been exchanging lighthearted banter with Lady Sybil Feltenham, when for some unaccountable reason his eyes were drawn to the other side of the room just in time to witness Reginald's headlong rush toward Diana. For once, Justin did not blame the lad. Well beyond his nephew's impressionable age, he was forced to admit that there was something truly arresting about the lady that went far beyond her undeniable beauty. Unlike the rest of the females present, Diana's gaze did not constantly flit over the crowd evaluating this one's gown or that one's jewels. She was totally uninterested in who was partnering whom, focusing instead on the conversation she was enjoying with her aunt and Lord Orpington. The little wrinkle of concentration on her brow as she spoke, first to one and then to the other, made the flirtatious glances and coquettish air of the other women around him seem calculating and frivolous.
With the most feeble of excuses, Justin disentangled himself from the clutches of Lady Sybil and made his way purposefully toward the gathering throng around Lady Diana, who, loath as she was to admit it, had noticed Justin the 118
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moment he broke away from the dazzling woman who had been flirting so outrageously with him.
She continued to be highly conscious of him as the tall figure made his progress toward her. The more she was aware of his presence and his obvious destination, the more disconcerted she became. A mere fortnight ago she and this man had been at dagger drawing. Now she was glad to see him and, worse yet, actually hoping that he was coming to see her.
What had come over her? How could she forget her principles so quickly? The man had practically accused her of fortune hunting and now, just because he hadn't been shocked by her efforts to advance her affairs through investment and had even been supportive of them, she was happy to see him.
Control yourself, Diana, he's a diplomat. He knows how to charm even the most demanding of foreign ministers, the most difficult of potentates. An innocent like you is mere child's play for someone like him. Don't administer to his already well-developed arrogance by allowing him to win you over as he has apparently done with so many others. She stole a quick glimpse at the admiring glances and alluring looks east in his direction as he approached. By the time Justin reached Lord Orpington's party, Diana had gotten herself well in hand and was able to greet him with a cool graciousness that offered enough contrast to her manner toward Reginald and the others to disconcert Justin in his turn. But with a supreme effort, he quelled his misgivings at her distant air and the obvious lack of welcome on the part 119
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of the young men surrounding her. Smiling broadly, he bowed over her hand. "How delighted to see you. Lady Diana. I do hope that you have saved one free dance for me from among your crowd of admirers." He had meant to maintain the same light tone he had used to address Lady Sybil, but somehow he could not keep the edge from his voice.
Highly sensitive as she was to everything concerning Justin St. Clair, Diana picked this up immediately and just as immediately misconstrued it as yet another criticism of her. Well, if he thought her to be that sort of person then she would be. Take that, St. Clair, she muttered fiercely to herself as she sought the proper responses. Tilting her head coquettishly, she allowed the glimmer of a smile to tug at the corner of her mouth. "I expect I might be persuaded to find one free dance for you, sir."
"Good. I shall claim the next waltz, fair lady," he replied matching tone for tone. What was she about? This provocative manner was unlike the previous Dianas he had heretofore encountered—injured and outraged victim of the St. Clair family's suspicions, worried investor, interested listener. So involved was he with trying to interpret this unfamiliar phase that he completely failed to remark his nephew's obvious surprise at her acquiescence. In fact, Diana was almost as taken aback at her capitulation as Reginald was. What had possessed her to agree to it and in a manner that would have not put the vainest of the Season's incomparables to shame? There was nothing for it now but to accept the hand he offered her, and allow herself to be led onto the dance floor. 120
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For a moment, they were entirely occupied with matching each one's way of moving to the other's while making their way among the other couples, whirling around them to a relatively clear space on the floor. Diana could not help marveling at what a delightful sensation it was to be lost in the music, gliding effortlessly in time to it. St. Clair guided her so deftly that she did not need to think, but could give herself up instead to the wonderful sensation of floating across the room. How she had missed this. Poor Ferdie. Waltzing with him was the closest she had ever felt to her husband, for dancing was the only activity in which he could truly have been said to excel. And Justin was even a more satisfying partner than Ferdie.
Where Ferdie had grace, Justin possessed the agility and strength of a natural athlete. She could feel it in the pressure of his hand in the small of her back leading her, communicating with her. She and Ferdie had been well matched as partners, but somehow she moved as one with Justin St. Clair. What an odd thought.
Pushing it resolutely aside, Diana sought to break the intensity of the silence that enveloped them. "It is a sad crush, is it not? I am told it is one of the events of the Season, and, judging from the brilliance of the guests, I take it to be true. I had quite forgotten what a spectacle these affairs could afford." That was worse. Now she sounded like the veriest chit from the schoolroom.
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"You are well amused, I trust. Lady Diana. I am sure that they are far more brilliant now that you have reappeared, my lady," Justin responded smoothly, but inside he was asking himself what ever had prompted to offer Spanish coin to someone like Lady Diana Hatherill. However, it had been automatic, he justified himself. Why should he not? At the moment she was behaving like any other of the
ton
's dashing matrons. At their first encounter when he had seen the flash of anger in her eyes or when he recalled his impressions of her at their meeting at the Stock Exchange he had thought she was different from all the rest, that she possessed her own particular values that set her apart from the rest of the fashionable throng, but apparently he had been mistaken. Now she seemed like just another coquette eager to win masculine attention, and oddly enough he felt rather deflated by the discovery. Well, he would give her just what she deserved.
So for the rest of the dance he kept up a steady flow of polite chatter, while Diana, firm in her resolve not to let herself take advantage of her own weakness and confusion, responded to his badinage with her own.
To give Lady Diana her due, Justin decided, she was quicker and more clever than most of the women with whom he had enjoyed a mild flirtation that evening or any other, but she was not so unusual as he had at first thought her to be, and his suspicions of her motive in regards to his nephew were once again reanimated.
Later, when he caught sight of Lord Alan Beardsley, some devil bent on extracting an odd sort of revenge made him 123
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lead his friend over to her with the suggestion that he solicit Diana's hand for the
boulanger.
Alan, Lord Beardsley, Marquess of Hillingdon. had looked the picture of misery when Justin ran into him on his way to procure refreshments for Diana and Lady Walden. An unhappy frown crumpled his leonine countenance and drops of perspiration were beading on his brow.
"Alan?" Justin exclaimed. "You here?"
"In the flesh." His lordship sighed gloomily.
"But why? How on earth?"
"Well, you might ask. Needless to say, it is under extreme duress that I appear at ... at this." He waved a derogatory hand at the glittering assemblage surrounding them.
"What ever could possibly bring such pressure to bear that you would agree to mingling with the yahoos of the
ton?"
Justin wondered. Well acquainted with his friend's reclusive and scholarly tastes, he was indeed surprised to discover him in such a populous place as London, let alone a ball.
"My mother" was the dismal reply. "She promised to leave me alone and allow me to continue to build my observatory at the park in peace if I would attend a few of these ... these"—
Lord Beardsley grasped in vain for words scornful enough to characterize the countess's rout—"affairs with her when I came to town." He finished.
"Silly clunch," Justin retorted unsympathetically. "You should have stayed at home." However, there was a twinkle in his eye.
He and Lord Beardsley had been friends ever since their school days when Justin had defended the younger lad 124
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against some of the older boys who were taunting
Moony
Beardsley as they tried to wrest his telescope from him. Alan was a short and awkward boy who was noticeable for his lack of stature and athletic prowess, even among the boys in his own form; but he had hung onto his instrument with such dogged determination that Justin could not help but admire him.
St. Clair had always disliked unkindness of any sort, and he had flung himself into the lad's defense, sending the bullies to rout. So Alan had offered to his defender the only things of value he possessed—to do his schoolwork for him. It came as a shock to him when Justin had graciously refused, saying that he preferred to do his own. For Alan, already preparing most of the Latin and mathematics exercises for his form and the two above him, this had been a revelation. He had been curious as well as surprised. That such a Trojan as Justin, who had mastered every possible athletic endeavor with ease, not only possessed a mind but used it, was a phenomenon beyond his ordinary experience. Still skeptical, he had grilled Justin in every conceivable way and found him equal to any question he could put forward. It had been a new experience for both of them. Neither one had ever encountered an intellectual peer among the adults surrounding him. Encouraged by the self-confidence Justin had inspired in him, the young marquess soon caught up to him in his studies despite their three-year age difference, and they had gone off to Cambridge together, where they immediately challenged the entire university; Alan 125
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taking on the tutors and Justin every pretty female in the place.
Alan had remained ill at ease among his fellow men, despite Justin's best efforts to initiate him into the more convivial aspects of university life, until at long last he had begun to relax and enjoy a race meeting here or a mill there. He was forever grateful to his mentor for including him in these adventures and encouraging his acceptance among the students.
He was fully aware that it was through Justin's tutoring that he had become assured enough to allow his understated but rapier wit to shine through his shy appearance, and thus had become appreciated among his acquaintances as an amusing eccentric whose madcap brilliance could be highly entertaining and always educational. But despite Justin's best efforts, women continued to reduce him to a paralysis of fear. From his domineering mother to the local beauties whom she forced him to partner at the local assemblies near Hillingdon Park, he was terrified into silence. His mother would bully and they would simper until poor Alan, unable to hit upon a reasonable topic of conversation, was always eventually forced to turn and flee.