A Rival Heir (23 page)

Sir Hugh sighed and smiled his regret before stepping up to the carriage to offer his assistance. Her aunt grumbled and made sarcastic remarks, but once she and Mrs. Dorsey were safely on the pavement, she linked arms with her friend, raised her head high and strode stiff-backed into the building. Nell and Sir Hugh were left to follow behind.

“Lord Westwick did not return all day,” he told her in an undertone. “Did you speak with Mrs. Dorsey?”

“No. Even if I had thought it necessary, I was given no opportunity. Aunt Longstreet kept me close by her all day.”

“And you’re still convinced something will happen this evening?”

“Absolutely.” Nell watched as her aunt’s pelisse was removed and her friend’s redingote taken. “Today she mentioned that we would be leaving Bath very soon now.”

Sir Hugh’s brows drew down. “I very much wish that you could be spared this evening’s brouhaha, Nell.”

“Nonsense,” Nell retorted bracingly. “At least I am a little prepared, and have a good understanding of my aunt’s situation. Poor Mrs. Dorsey is the one you should feel sorry for.”

“I do,” he admitted, with a rueful grin.

Rosemarie Longstreet’s India scarf looked very well with her gown, Nell thought, and did indeed seem to soften the old-fashioned cut and fabric somewhat. Nell had plucked off half the ornamentation on her aunt’s headdress, so the oval shape and the satin torsade on the rolled brim were evident. Though her aunt had complained bitterly, she was mollified when Mrs. Dorsey complimented her on her hat.

Her aunt stood in the doorway to the ballroom for some moments, observing the crowd with a careful eye. At length she gave a brisk nod and said to her friend, “Come, Mrs. Dorsey. I believe I recognize someone across the room. And, Helen,” she said, turning back, “you run along and enjoy yourself with your friends. I won’t be needing your assistance.”

Nell knew better than to argue with her, but she raised troubled eyes to Hugh as her aunt moved away. “We need someone to watch what she’s about.”

“Right you are.” He in turn gazed about the room. “We shall enlist Emily’s sister-in-law in the cause. You met Mrs. Billings at the concert.”

Mrs. Billings scarcely blinked an eye at being asked to spy on Hugh’s godmother. One would have thought, Nell decided, that it was not at all out of the ordinary for her to be approached on just such a mission. And though Nell was distracted by Hugh’s insistence that she stand up with him “to assure your aunt that you’re out of the way,” she could not help casting anxious glances in the direction of the older women.

It was difficult for Nell to divide her attention between the newly learned steps of the dance and her aunt across the room. Oh, how she would have loved to give herself over to the pleasure of dancing with Hugh! When she looked in his eyes, as Emily had taught her to do when she danced, there seemed to be a special light, a definite gleam of appreciation or—or something.  His regard was so intense, so captivating, that she might almost have believed he cared for her.

Then suddenly she saw Mrs. Billings, her face pinched with worry, motioning them from the dance. Nell’s gaze flew to her companion. Sir Hugh, already aware of Mrs. Billings’ summons, excused them by murmuring that the overheated rooms were making his partner a little faint. Nell had no difficulty feigning distress to back up his statement, and soon Mrs. Billings was waving her fan before Nell’s face. But in an urgent undertone she said, “Oh, you will not believe what she is saying! I could scarce believe my ears!”

“I’m very much afraid we know precisely what she’s saying,” Hugh replied grimly, as he, too, continued the pretense of ministering to Nell by rubbing her hands vigorously.

Mrs. Billings looked startled but continued. “She is telling Lady Vanen that Lord Westwick married another woman while affianced to her! And Mrs. Dorsey, poor little bird, when called upon to verify the account, is unable to disagree.”

Nell grimaced at this confirmation of her worst fears. Pulling her hands away from Hugh, she said, “I shall go to her and see whether I can stem the tide.”

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” Mrs. Billings sighed. And then, with a stricken look, she gestured toward the doorway. “Oh, lord. And here is the earl now.”

The Earl of Westwick had paused at the edge of the room to get his bearings. His appearance only made the word spread faster around the room. Nell could see that a dozen eyes were trained on him, even as lady whispered to gentleman, and partner to partner. An odd hush occurred for just a moment, before the buzz of conversation rose louder than ever. The musicians in the orchestra apse above the entrance struck up the next number, but there was a strange lack of couples to make up the line of the dance.

“I would have left him a note,” Hugh said sadly, “but it seemed impossible to explain the situation other than face to face. And I did not think he would return to town in time to attend this evening.”

Nell found herself on her feet. “Bring him to Aunt Longstreet, Hugh.” Then, remembering that his inheritance depended on his remaining on terms with her aunt, she amended, “Or I can.”

“I’ll bring him.”

As Hugh moved off toward the earl, Nell hastened toward her aunt, who was seated on one on the settees, surrounded by a bevy of ogling ladies and gentlemen. Oh, she looked so satisfied, and poor Mrs. Dorsey so miserable, that Nell could scarcely keep the angry tears from pricking at her eyes. Turning to Mrs. Billings, who had followed her, she said, “Would you take Mrs. Dorsey for a cup of tea, ma’am?”

“With pleasure.”

In a moment Nell was left standing alone in front of her aunt, though there was a whole press of folk almost within hearing distance. In a lowered voice she said, “So this is what you’ve been planning, Aunt Longstreet. I hope it has given you some satisfaction, for it will certainly be the cause of great distress to several people. And I trust it atones for the slight you received years ago.”

Nell sighed and shook her head unhappily. “How sad that you suffered so much and could not put it behind you. Your life might have been far otherwise without the bitterness and the rancor.”

“It was not I who behaved dishonorably,” Rosemarie snapped. “
There
is the villain of the piece.
There
is the man who dashed my hopes and ruined my life.”

Lord Westwick had indeed arrived at Nell’s side, his face set. He made a stiff, formal bow to Miss Longstreet and gave Nell a small, apologetic smile. “Yes,” he agreed in a lowered voice, “I am the villain of the piece. No one is to blame except myself. And I must thank you, Rosemarie, for waiting until my dear wife died before carrying out this punishment. It was generous to a fault of you, and more than I would have dared plead for.”

Rosemarie colored up in a most unbecoming way. “I didn’t do it for you, you imbecile!”

“No, of course you didn’t. Nonetheless, my wife was spared the disgrace you have so obviously planned for me and I cannot but feel a vast relief.”

“I don’t want your thanks! Don’t speak to me!” Rosemarie turned her head aside, as if she could block him thus from her vision.

“Still,” he said, with a gentle smile, “you have it. And more, you have my willingness to fulfill my promise now, at this late date, if you should have any desire for my hand.”

Nell regarded the pair in stunned silence. Then her aunt thumped her cane viciously against the floor and cried, “You are merely trying to reclaim your honor! You want these people to think what you did was not so wrong, since you are willing to come around now. Nonsense! That’s ludicrous! Who wants to marry an old man? You were young once, and vigorous. Now look at you! And look at me. I would be a laughing stock to marry at my age.”

Nell hastened to murmur, “No one is ever a laughing stock to marry where she chooses, aunt.”

“I don’t choose to marry him! I hate him! I have detested him from the moment he broke his word to me.” She turned on the earl and growled, “We would have had children. I know we would. You would not be heir-less if you had married me.”

“Possibly not. It was perhaps a price, one of many, that I paid for breaking my word.” Lord Westwick crouched down beside her, attempting to place a hand over hers. Rosemarie pulled her hand away as though he had burned her.

The earl persisted. “Rosemarie, I would have married you if you had loved me. Even though I’d fallen in love with my cousin, I would have married you, kept my word, if I had known you to cherish me as I cherished my Sophie. Because those two things—my word and your love—would have outweighed our own, Sophie’s and mine. But you didn’t love me, Rosemarie, and I wasn’t willing to break Sophie’s heart to fulfill my word. It is as simple as that—and as wretched. I am very, very sorry to have ruined your life, but I didn’t expect that, you see. I believed you would go on to find a love of your own and marry him and be happy.”

“Where was I to find someone to love?” she demanded, irate. “In the middle of nowhere! And what is love after all but a chimera, here today, gone tomorrow, a bit of folktale and magic. It doesn’t last. There is nothing to it but a syrupy sentiment which I would never subscribe to, believe me.”

“It’s true that not everyone finds love,” Westwick admitted. “And it’s true that what is called love does not always last. But the depth of my feelings for my wife lasted through our entire marriage. And though I cannot speak for Sophie, I believe she felt the same.”

He shook his head sadly, attempting again to touch her hand. This time Aunt Longstreet pushed his hand away with her cane in a petulant, slightly less vigorous manner. The earl sighed.

“Oh, Rosemarie, I would that things had been different, that there had been some way to divide myself in two, to honor my word and my heart. But you were young and pretty and seemed to me well able to command the hand of any man you wished.”

“I had accepted
your
hand.”

“Yes, you had. I can’t do anything to make up for that now, I’m afraid, except offer you my hand again. It’s an old hand, as you say, but not infirm as yet. Nor do you look ready for the grave, my dear. We might spend a few good years together.”

“Ha!” she snorted. “Here in Bath where all these old tabbies would forever compare me to your wife? At your estate in Westmoreland where your heir would have to be displaced? I don’t think so.”

“I had in mind that we would live at Longstreet Manor.”

“You had no such thing in mind,” she snapped, her eyes glaring fiercely at him. “When you came here tonight you had no more intention of offering me your hand in marriage—
again!—
than you did of flying.”

His eyes danced. "You'll never know that for sure, will you, Rosemarie? Especially since you will find on your return to Queen Square that there is a package of documents there for you delivered by my man of business. These are matters I only concluded today, though they have been in the works for some time. One of them is contingent on your marrying me, but the others--" He shrugged. "Shall we say that I have managed to circumvent you should you prove stubborn."

"This is all nonsense," she muttered, though she looked uncertain. "What possible dealings could you have with me?"

"An assembly is not the proper place to discuss this," he insisted. "Shall we adjourn to Queen Square, or to the Parade? Or perhaps a neutral location, such as your godson's house in the Crescent?"

"You just want to get me away from here so I can't tell any more people about your infamous behavior."

"I'm sure you've told enough people that the word will spread far and wide, Rosemarie. But if you would prefer to spend the evening ensuring its dispersal, we can discuss our business tomorrow."

"I have no intention of ever discussing anything with you," she snapped.

Nell felt it incumbent upon her to intervene at this juncture. "Aunt Longstreet, I must tell  you that I have no intention of staying here to witness your destruction of Lord Westwick’s reputation. I'm sure you feel justified in your revenge, but I cannot be a party to it. And I'm sure Mrs. Dorsey is mortified to be your unwitting assistant. If Sir Hugh would be so good, I would beg him to convey me home."

"Where is your family loyalty?" demanded Rosemarie. "How can you fail to support me when I have provided a roof over your head and the very food you eat? Ungrateful child."

"Come, Aunt Longstreet. You know I'm grateful for your kindness, but you cannot expect me to condone behavior which I find uncalled for and unnecessary. Lord Westwick has expressed his regret at having caused so much distress in your life. He made a difficult decision. Would you have had him marry you when he was in love with another woman?"

Though the answer was undoubtedly yes, Nell knew that her aunt would find such a confession humiliating. "Oh, love," her aunt snorted. "Love is blamed for all manner of follies. Look at your own mother, running off with a farmer's son because she was 'in love.' Bah."

"Perhaps you would not be so scornful if you had ever been in love," Nell suggested.

"And what could you possibly know of love?" her aunt asked. "It's no more real than one of your daydreams, missy. Just a girlish fancy."

Nell blushed but refused to be intimidated. "I suspect you know that it is indeed real, aunt, and that your true regret is that you've never felt it."

"Balderdash! Love has no place in the life of a lady of quality. At best it's an unruly emotion that aids not one whit it forwarding a family's future. You need look no further than your own mother. Affection is a great deal more important in establishing a solid foundation for marriage. And I assure you," she said, glaring once again at the earl, "that I felt a certain affection for my fiancé at the time I accepted his offer of marriage."

"I'm gratified to hear it," he said with a low bow. "Rosemarie, allow me to escort you home. We have a great deal to discuss in private."

Chapter Seventeen

Nell thought for a moment that her aunt was going to refuse. Her face was still set stubbornly and her hands clenched tightly in her lap. But Mrs. Dorsey appeared beside her, dropping a hand on her shoulder and saying, "You know you need to hear what Lord Westwick has to say, Rosemarie. This is your opportunity to straighten out something that has ruined too much of your life. My son is forever counseling me to let bygones be bygones, not because it will help the other person, but because it will bring comfort to me."