A Chance Encounter (5 page)

“But it was a love match, I believe,” her sister said.

“Sometimes love can be combined with good sense,” Miss Norris continued. “When Robert and I marry, there will be no sense of unseemly haste.”

“Are you betrothed?” Elizabeth was startled enough to ask.

Haughty eyebrows arched above cold brown eyes. “We have an understanding, Miss Rossiter,” she deigned to reply. “I feel almost sorry for all these country girls, who all seem to believe that they can attach the interest of either Robert or William.”

She smiled arctically, and Elizabeth understood. Miss Norris had heard, no doubt, that Hetherington had walked all the way to town and back arm in arm with Cecily just a few days before. She was issuing a covert warning to the girl through her companion.

“Come, Bertha,” the girl said sharply now, and started for the entrance to the house, where the gentlemen were emerging with Cecily. Elizabeth noticed that she quickly gained possession of Hetherington's arm before it could be decided how the six persons should pair off. He smiled easily down at her and covered her hand with his for a brief moment. Cecily shot Elizabeth a brief, frightened glance as Mr. Mainwaring extended an arm to her. But Elizabeth was not to be drawn. Her presence on this occasion would be decidedly
de trop.
She walked into the house with her armload of roses. Although Mr. Prosser had exchanged a few, brief pleasantries with her, and even Mr. Mainwaring had bidden her good afternoon, Hetherington had not so much as glanced in her direction.

* * *

Elizabeth ended up attending the Worthing ball after all. She had been determined not to go, and finally Mrs. Rowe had accepted her decision.

“I should find myself in an intolerable position, ma'am,” Elizabeth had explained. “It is impossible for me to behave like a regular guest. Yet your appearance there will make my presence as a chaperone superfluous.”

“But, Beth,” Cecily had pleaded, “a ball is so exciting. You cannot possibly wish to sit at home when you have been invited.”

“It is a great shame that you must feel yourself inferior just because you have paid employment,” Mrs. Rowe said. “If the truth were known, my dear Miss Rossiter, I am sure you are better born than that Worthing woman. Certainly you never behave with the vulgarity that she displays quite frequently. But as you wish, my dear. I shall not insist you attend if you feel you would be unhappy.”

But Elizabeth's relief was short-lived. On the morning of the ball Mrs. Rowe awoke with one of her migraine headaches. Remaining in bed all day and having Elizabeth treat her with vinaigrette and lavender water and compresses failed to bring about a sufficient recovery to enable her to attend the ball. Elizabeth, therefore, was forced to deputize as Cecily's chaperone.

It did not take her long to get ready. She changed into her best gray silk dress with its high neckline and long, tight sleeves. She did wear a white lace collar as a small concession to the festive occasion. Her hair, though, she knotted at the base of her neck in its usual style.

She waited with Mr. Rowe in the drawing room. But Cecily was not late. She was too eager not to miss a moment of the festivities. She looked remarkably pretty, Elizabeth thought, in her rose-pink ball gown, the new one that Miss Phillips had made for her. Mrs. Rowe was sure the gown was fashionable. The neckline was low-cut, the sleeves short and puffed, the skirt falling in loose folds from a high waistline. The girl's cheeks were flushed with excitement and her eyes shone. Her fair hair hung in soft curls around her face and along her neck. Short ringlets fell from a knot on top of her head.

“I see you are bent on being the belle of the ball, puss,” Mr. Rowe said.

“Oh, will I do, Papa?” Cecily asked anxiously, pirouetting inside the doorway.

“Fine as fivepence,” he declared.

Elizabeth smiled her agreement.

Cecily looked at her companion. “Oh, Beth,” she said, “I do wish Mama had insisted that you have a new evening dress made. I do love you, honestly I do, but must you always wear gray?”

“I shall be sitting among the chaperones,” her companion replied lightly. “A fine dress would be totally wasted, now, would it not?”

Cecily made an exasperated sound and turned to her father, who was holding out her wrap to cover her shoulders.

“Shall we go, ladies?” he asked. “And, Miss Rossiter, will you please remember that your coach will turn into a pumpkin promptly at midnight?”

They were not the first to arrive at the ball, but they were before the Ferndale party. Elizabeth was glad. She was able to find herself a chair in the most shadowed corner of the ballroom. Mrs. Claridge soon joined her there.

“I shall sit with you, Miss Rossiter,” she said. “At least I can be sure that if you decide to speak at all, it will be good sense. I have heard nothing in the last few weeks but speculation on which girls will be the lucky brides of our two gentlemen visitors. If you ask me, if these gentlemen are still single—and they are neither of them younger than five and twenty—it is unlikely that they will choose any of our local beauties.”

Elizabeth murmured her assent.

“I have warned my Anne not to expect anything more than perhaps a country dance with one or other of them,” the vicar's wife continued. “I also hear, Miss Rossiter, that the Marquess of Hetherington is all but betrothed to Miss Norris. I do think it rather a shame, don't you? He is such a charming and attractive man. She seems somewhat disagreeable. However, perhaps that is a false impression.”

Elizabeth found that she could lend part of her attention to the continuous prattle of Mrs. Claridge while she watched the proceedings in the ballroom. Thus she saw the arrival of the guests of honor. She could hardly have missed it, anyway. A noticeable hush descended on the ballroom as all attention was directed to the entryway.

All five of the guests looked superb, but Elizabeth found to her own annoyance that she had eyes only for Hetherington. He looked quite magnificent, she thought, in cream satin knee breeches and dull gold waistcoat and evening coat. His white linen positively sparkled. He looked full of healthy vitality in contrast to Mr. Mainwaring, who was dressed in black, a fashion that had shocked the
ton
when Mr. Brummell had first introduced it.

Hetherington was smiling his particularly attractive smile at his hosts. Elizabeth shrank further into the shadowed corner and tried to look as if she were engrossed in the conversation with Mrs. Claridge, but even so she felt exposed. She had the strange sensation that Hetherington had singled her out immediately.

If he had seen her, he gave no sign. He danced first with Amelia Norris and then with Lucy Worthing, whose hand had just been relinquished by Mr. Mainwaring. Then he danced with Cecily, and his whole manner changed, Elizabeth felt. What had been polite good manners with his other partners became warm interest with Cecily. Perhaps the change was not obvious to other onlookers, but Elizabeth knew him well enough immediately to assess his feelings. And she worried. Cecily was a giddy young girl in many ways, but there was a sweetness in her nature that would develop with maturity if given a chance. She did not wish the girl to be beguiled by such a practiced and heartless charmer. She determined that she would perform her duties as chaperone with extra diligence. Mr. Rowe had retired to the card room already. It was up to her to see that Cecily did not spend too much time with the marquess and that he had no chance to be alone with her.

Unexpectedly, Mr. Prosser asked Elizabeth for the supper dance. She had not intended to dance at all, did not feel it was appropriate to do so, especially dressed as she was. But as she was about to refuse, she saw out of the comer of her eye that Hetherington was asking Cecily to dance again. If she herself danced with Mr. Prosser, she would have an excuse to go immediately into the supper room afterward and keep an eye on her charge. She smiled and placed her hand in his.

It was a country dance. Mr. Prosser led his partner to join the set of which Hetherington and Cecily were already part. Cecily waved gaily to her. The girl's partner looked through her. When the pattern of the dance forced them to dance together for a few moments, he looked at her out of cold blue eyes and remarked, “You are looking remarkably fetching tonight, Miss Rossiter, in your gray silk.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she replied in kind. “I thought you would appreciate my efforts.”

We are just like a couple of spiteful children, she thought in some dismay as the music forced them to move in opposite directions. The next time they came together, neither said a word.

Mr. Prosser led Elizabeth into the supper room and directly to the table already occupied by Mr. Mainwaring and Lucy Worthing, Ferdie Worthing and Amelia Norris, and Hetherington and Cecily. To her further dismay, her partner pulled out for her the chair next to Hetherington and waited until she had seated herself.

Elizabeth was aware that, had she not felt so conscious of her proximity to the marquess, she might have been highly entertained by the proceedings of the following half-hour. Mr. Mainwaring and Lucy made labored conversation from time to time, but in the main listened to that of others at the table. He was top-lofty, Elizabeth decided severely. He considered himself above his company. Poor Lucy was looking her worst in a lemon-colored evening gown loaded with matching lace. Nervousness made her complexion even paler than usual.

Ferdie and Miss Norris were almost openly tuning in on the conversation across the table, Ferdie glowering moodily at his aristocratic rival to Cecily's affections, Miss Norris showing haughty disapproval.

Hetherington directed his attention to Cecily, talking to her in a bantering manner, almost like father to child, flattering her quite outrageously, and devouring her with his eyes. This last Elizabeth observed in one swift glance. She did not want to be seen watching him. Cecily was glowing happily, apparently quite unaware of the currents of hostility pulsing across the table.

Finally, Mr. Prosser engaged Elizabeth in conversation and she found herself genuinely interested in his accounts of experiences in Portugal. Soon she was engrossed.

Hetherington's voice brought her back to reality. “You must favor us with your opinion, Miss Rossiter,' he was saying, directing the full force of his charming smile at her.

Elizabeth looked up, startled, leaving Mr. Prosser in midsentence. “On what topic, pray, sir?” she asked.

“Miss Rowe and I cannot agree on the location for a picnic on Saturday,” he explained. “I favor the riverbank on William's estate. There is a particularly shaded and peaceful area about a mile north of the house. Miss Rowe favors the site of a ruined church on a hill three miles away. What is your opinion, ma'am?”

Flustered as she was by the unexpected attention, Elizabeth could still find time to wonder why he should suddenly decide to speak to her on such a trivial matter.

“A great deal depends on the state of the weather, my lord,” she replied. “The river site would be perfect for a very hot day. The church site would be more suited to a cooler day because it is more open. Brilliant sunshine would make it uncomfortable.”

“Ah, and do you add weather predictions to your other talents?” he asked, looking so directly into her eyes that Elizabeth was having difficulty breathing regularly.

“I am afraid not, my lord,” she replied.

“How absurd you are, Robert,” the shrill voice of Amelia Norris said across the table. “I would have thought you had outgrown such childish pursuits as picnics.”

He smiled brilliantly back at her. “You may stay at home with your embroidery if you wish, Amelia,” he said. “But I am sure that Miss Rowe and I will find others to join us. William, I am sure, will come, and Henry and Bertha. How about you, Worthing, and your sister?”

Ferdie glowered at Cecily, and Lucy blushed a painful red, but both accepted.

“And you, Miss Rossiter?” Hetherington asked.

“If Mrs. Prosser is to be present, I hardly think that my presence as chaperone will be necessary,” Elizabeth replied calmly.

“Yes, I do not feel that any servants will be necessary to our party,” Amelia Norris commented acidly.

Hetherington smiled again. “Ah, so you have decided to come after all, have you, Amelia?” he said, and turned back to Elizabeth. “But I was not inviting you as a chaperone, Miss Rossiter, I was inviting you as a guest.”

Their eyes held for a painful moment. The orchestra could be heard tuning up again in the next room. Mr. Mainwaring stood up. “Shall I return you to your mother, Miss Worthing?” he asked. “I believe the dancing is about to start again.”

Everyone rose to return to the ballroom. Under cover of the general bustle, Hetherington spoke quietly to Elizabeth. “I wonder if you have the courage to come?” he said, the cold ice back in his eyes and voice. “And to wear a color other than gray.”

Elizabeth did not reply. She turned and took Mr. Prosser's arm. Soon she was back in her shadowed corner, listening once more to Mrs. Claridge. She danced only once more that night, with Mr. Rowe, who asked if her glass slippers were pinching her feet yet.

* * *

Elizabeth did not sleep much that night. At first she worried about Cecily and about whether she should intervene or not. Someone of Hetherington's charm and experience was dangerous to an innocent like Cecily. And Mr. and Mrs. Rowe might not be able to see behind the facade of charm in time to save their daughter from a broken heart. Only Elizabeth knew that he was capable of subordinating all else to his personal interests. Was it her duty to warn Cecily, or at least Mrs. Rowe?