Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor (63 page)

“How is it that you are not dancing, Miss Braden? Your countless partners have fatigued you, I daresay.”

Roused from distraction, she turned to find Lord Thayne Brighton standing beside her. As he addressed her, she could not tell if she now felt awkward or completely at ease. She had seen him only occasionally since the incident with Miss Leighart, who often flirted with him between dances.

“You are very observant,” she replied. “And what of yourself? Are you not dancing?”

“Dancing,” he then answered, “is all well and good. Interesting conversation, however, is what I am now seeking.” He gestured to sit with her. “May I?”

She nodded consent. “If it is conversation that you desire, Lord Brighton, how is it that you should need to leave the floor? Do you not speak to your partners?”

“Oh, yes, certainly,” he acknowledged. “But you forget I specified
interesting
conversation — something lacking in my partners as of yet. I was left with no choice but to go in search of it elsewhere.”

A blow to Miss Leighart, indeed!

“Well,” said Rhianna, astonished by his frankness, “I cannot bear to keep you in deception. If you have not found what you are looking for in so many refined and distinguished ladies, you are certain to be disappointed at this very table.”

“No, Miss Braden, indeed, you are mistaken. While
they
have had nothing to remark on beyond the ball itself, there is a particular matter you and I desperately need to discuss that is of the utmost importance. That is, if you are disengaged.”

There was something in the way he looked at her and in the turn of his smile that made it impossible for her to know if he was sincere or jesting. Nothing of such a nature came to her mind that required immediate and private communication, as he suggested. Regardless, he had fully captured her attention and she could hardly refuse such a consultation.

“Of the utmost importance, you say?”

“The very paramount.”

“Well, Lord Brighton,” she professed, unable to prevent the corners of her mouth from widening, “I am all attention.”

“You may not remember …” he began. “No, I know you must not. It was some time ago …”

Thayne searched for words and Rhianna knew he did not speak in jest.

“What I wish to say is,” he continued, “I have come asking your forgiveness.”

She looked at him wide-eyed. “I beg your pardon?”

“Miss Braden, I am aware you must now think me very odd.” Thayne implored, “Allow me to explain myself.”

He stopped and searched her expression for what seemed to Rhianna a long moment.

“Lord Brighton,” she interrupted, with a coy smile, “I understand you perfectly.”

“No,” Thayne said at last, appearing broken from a spell, “You cannot in the least comprehend me. I speak of an incident — nay, two incidents — from ten years ago, and had they not tormented me so greatly these past weeks and had I not made mention of them, they were sure never to be resurrected. As it is, I must receive your forgiveness for the error of an undeveloped mind, the disposition of a foolish, imperfect youth, and gain closure, or I am doomed to live in constant regret.”

Allowing no interruption from her, he continued, “You are no doubt under the impression that this is the beginning of our acquaintance when it is, in fact, a renewal. It must have been very shortly before you left for France that you met with a very stupid and insensible eleven-year-old boy. I imagine it means nothing to you today, but I must apologize for my appalling conduct then. To have thought that my upbringing was any sort of excuse for my ill treatment of you was ignorance at its very core. I see now that both then and today, I was utterly in the wrong, and your conduct at all times has proven you infinitely my superior.”

All the while, Rhianna gazed at him in wonder and disbelief. To imagine she would receive an apology from that contemptible boy, that mean, heartless child who could not see beyond his own family crest! Was he sincerely confessing to her the wrongs of his behavior and asking forgiveness? It could not be, she thought, and yet, how earnestly he spoke, and what angst he tried vainly to suppress.

Lord Guilford Kingsley arrived, suspending their conversation.

“Dear friends!” he called to both Rhianna and Thayne. He was in excellent spirits. “Shall I flatter myself? I think the evening quite capital! Pray, set me right — are you having an abominable time?”

Rising to greet him, Thayne Brighton shook Lord Kingsley’s hand. Beside him, Rhianna ascended from her seat.

“It is always a pleasure to be with such fine company, sir. I own it is a splendid ball.”

“Good, good!” he cried, happily. “And what of Miss Braden? I trust you are enjoying yourself?”

“I am exceedingly happy, Lord Kingsley. I cannot form words expressive enough to thank you for such a night,” she assured him.

A new song was about to begin and before Guilford could respond, Thayne declared, “If you will excuse us, Lord Kingsley, I was only just about to request Miss Braden’s company on the floor.” Turning to Rhianna, he said, “I would like to claim my promised dances. Will you do me the honor?”

Thayne offered his hand to Rhianna, and she accepted.

“Enjoy yourselves, by all means,” Lord Kingsley insisted. “I am off to attend to my other guests.”

Thanks were again offered to him and he left them presently. A country dance was chosen, and Rhianna was conscious of many eyes riveted on them as she and Thayne made their way through the assemblage.

“I do not ask that you pardon what you cannot,” he concluded pleadingly, as they took their positions, “only what your feelings will allow. You must know, however, that to find pity on myself, remorseful and afflicted as I am, will free me from a suffering which you cannot imagine.”

Thayne Brighton had, in those few sentences, recommended himself most highly to Rhianna. The music began, and the dance brought them apart momentarily, but Rhianna did not need a moment to form her answer.

When they were brought together again, she took his hands, and declared, “You shock me exceedingly. Very well, let us forget the past. Let us be friends.”

“So you
do
remember?”

She merely smiled, and said, “I suppose such an apology, not to mention the kindness you showed after my accident, must make you pardonable.”

With an air of genuine relief, Thayne declared, “Fate has looked upon me favorably today. Let us be friends, indeed.”

She could not despise him after this tête-à-tête. In fact, with her opinion of him entirely altered, feeling that he was now both handsome
and
amiable, Rhianna was quite willing to, and already did, like him.

After this, there was nothing but to enjoy her time with Thayne Brighton. They danced, they laughed, and the leering eyes of Austine Leighart and Desmond Kingsley went almost wholly unnoticed.

At the end of their second dance, Thayne declared, “No man was ever happier to find that reconciliation was not too much a thing to be hoped for. Will you be very uncomfortable if I boast of having danced with the most charming lady in the entire house?”

A scream issued forth from amongst them, silencing the music and the crowd. The cry was close to Rhianna and Thayne; she instinctively tightened her hold on him as they looked around. Guests moved round about, separating, allowing space to the person from whom it had come.

Dowager Lady Whitehall was very pale. The object of her glassy gaze was indubitable. The longer she looked at Rhianna, the more frightened she became, sinking into the arms of Lady Whitehall who held her afoot.

“Catherine!” cried she, wide-eyed and shivering.

Rhianna felt her heart stop as Lord Whitehall and Lord Kingsley rushed to the dowager’s side and tried futilely to calm her.

“Guilford! Guilford, do you not see her?” she cried continuously.

“Mother, you are hallucinating,” declared her son. “What can you mean?”

She ignored him and spoke only to Lord Kingsley. “Can you not answer me, Guilford? Surely
, you must see her
!”

In a very low, calm tone, he spoke to her, saying, “My dear madam, you are mistaken. What you are seeing is only a guest of ours.”

“It is an
apparition
!”

He assured her, “There is no such thing before you. You must believe me. Catherine is not here.”

At this moment, and at this moment only, did Dowager Lady Whitehall remove her eyes from Rhianna and lock them upon Lord Kingsley.

“You will never convince me of it,” she swore.

Taking another look in the direction of the young couple, the old woman fell unconscious.

Rhianna gasped and commotion filled the ballroom. Mr. Weathersby and another, younger man lifted the dowager and carried her off as Lady Kingsley guided them and the Whitehalls out of the dance hall for quiet recovery.

Feeling that every eye must rest upon her, Rhianna kept her head and eyes down, inwardly traumatized. Hardly was she aware that Thayne still held her hands in his and even less was she aware of the concern in his eyes. Only when Lord Kingsley approached could she unflinchingly look up.

“Miss Braden,” said he, in a private tone, “are you well?”

“I am sure I do not know,” she returned, her voice shaky.

He placed a caring hand upon her arm. “She is a confused, old woman. There is no meaning in her words. Pray, do not let it alarm you.”

While he spoke, she gained enough courage to ask the only question that seemed to matter. “Who is Catherine?”

Lord Kingsley answered, “Obviously, she is not in her right mind.” With a glance at Thayne, he added, “Seeing as you are in good hands, I must withdraw to see about the dowager. Excuse me.”

Guilford Kingsley thus left them, raising an arm to the orchestra, signaling them to play. Music resumed, and those who did not care enough about Dowager Lady Whitehall’s scene to allow it to ruin their fun chose new partners. A few stood to the side and further observed Rhianna.

“Come,” said Thayne, guiding her to a seat, “you must sit. You are grown almost as pale as the dowager.”

She only had time to thank him before an impertinent Desmond approached.

“Ah, Brighton, my good man! I appreciate your assistance in helping Miss Braden. Now that I am here, however, I am glad to relieve you of your duty so you may continue to enjoy the ball.”

Rhianna knew not what subtle reaction she must have given in response, but Thayne was directly mindful of her desire not to have Desmond around.

He rose to meet him, saying, “You may call it a duty, if you are so inclined, but even if it were such, I should have no wish to be relieved of it.”

“I do not want to cause trouble to anyone,” Rhianna injected, with little energy.

“You are no trouble. Let the concern not enter your mind.” Turning once more to Desmond, Thayne said, “You may safely continue to enjoy the ball that is in your father’s honor. Your services are not needed here.”

Desmond’s displeasure was surprisingly ill concealed. Coldly, he excused himself and walked out of the ballroom altogether. Fortunately, the tension his presence created quickly dissipated with his exit.

Lady Brighton soon joined Rhianna and Thayne. Rhianna last had the opportunity of speaking with her only briefly at supper, but now she was glad to have her companionship again. Such a good-natured woman, and so unaffected by anything dramatic, Lady Brighton was precisely the sort of company Rhianna welcomed after the troubling event.

“Curious what she said,” whispered Lady Brighton to Thayne and Rhianna. “I can think of no one by the name of Catherine.”

Thayne sat leaning toward Rhianna protectively. “I think that you make too much of it, Mother. I believe Dowager Lady Whitehall was, as Lord Kingsley said, not in her right mind. The woman is ancient — her son ought not to keep her up such late hours.”

All expressed a hope that the dowager would quickly recover. Soon, Lady Brighton made a comment on the dancing and the general elegance of everyone in attendance, which further progressed into small talk about supper and the weather. Both her and her son’s attempts to take Rhianna’s mind off the troubling event did not go unnoticed by her, and though it did not produce the desired effect, she was appreciative and thought they gave it a wonderful effort.

“I admit, I am very interested to know how the snow is getting along,” said Thayne. “I propose we take a look outside.”

“Oh, no, no,” said Lady Brighton, “not me, indeed. I have no energy to leave the comfort of this seat, but do not let me stop you.”

“Miss Braden, will you join me?”

She hesitated, and he pleaded further for her company.

“Well, perhaps a walk will do me good,” she at last conceded, taking his hand.

They bid
adieu
to Lady Brighton and the two set forth toward a far corner of the ballroom, where crowding was minimal and the windows easily accessible.

“How were the balls in France, Miss Braden? Does excitement follow you?” he asked along the way.

“By excitement, do you mean old women screaming at me?” she asked, with a smile.

“Or having cross gentlemen vying for your attention,” he smirked.

She chuckled under her breath and momentarily recalled her coming out ball in France. Rhianna was sixteen years of age when Marquis Vallière hosted the ball in her honor. She and Philippe opened with a minuet. It was a sacred and cherished occasion.

This quickly triggered the memory, not only of that night gone by, but of Philippe himself and Rhianna caught herself in a comparison of her feelings for him and Thayne Brighton. The very presence of the latter had a tremendous effect on her. Never had she discerned such a perfect mix of emotions. His kindness, his words, his company brought her pleasure, yet his person — a turning of his head, the movement of an arm, the prospect of being with him alone — forced her to acknowledge that within only an hour’s time, Lord Thayne Brighton procured the power to make Rhianna’s heart flutter.

“No, I would venture to say this has been quite the evening. Not to mention,” she added, “the addition of new and unlikely friends.”