Rhonda Woodward (8 page)

Lady Darley exchanged a look with Mrs. Langford that showed, for an instant, surprise. “Indeed? I am sure I do not know how I came to be so grossly misinformed, I—”

“And yes,” Marina interrupted someone other than Deirdre for the first time in her life, “she is the artist who designed and created this gown. Most of my wardrobe, in fact.”

The look of surprise that crossed their faces might have amused Marina, if she hadn’t been so upset.

Sweeping a curtsy, not too deeply, she excused herself and moved through the crowd to Mrs. Birtwistle. She drew near and smiled brightly. “Doesn’t the orchestra sound in fine form this evening, Mrs. Birtwistle?” She didn’t intend to embarrass the good woman by acknowledging that she’d been the discussion of gossip.

“Oh, Miss Buckleigh, I should not have come. I know I shouldn’t have,” she whispered with a pained smile and the suspicion of tears.

So much for brazening through. “Of course you should have! I don’t care if Lady Darley was the wife of a viscount. Mrs. Birtwistle, they are the newcomers, not you! We have known you all our lives and understand your circumstances. Why, this evening would not have been the same without you.”

Mrs. Birtwistle bit her lip, and she looked even more distressed. “No. You are very kind, Miss Buckleigh, but things are no longer as they were before. I don’t really belong anymore, and should not have presumed upon my old acquaintance with Lord and Lady Buckleigh.”

“Oh, Mrs. Birtwistle, please do not say such a thing. We are all your friends here.” Marina cast about for something to say that would ease the lady’s distress. Still grasping for words, she saw from the corner of her eye Lord Cortland approaching.

The man had the most uncannily poor timing. He took his time crossing the room, and although she didn’t look his way, she was keenly aware of him. What had Deirdre said about him? He looked like a leopard. That was it. He did look like a leopard amongst all the tame birds in the room.

Well, she most certainly was not a tame bird for him to play with.

She gazed at the ceiling for a moment in sheer frustration. If she declined to dance with him without the excuse of already having a partner, then it would be unspeakably rude to dance with anyone else the rest of the evening.

She had made it perfectly clear that she did not care for him, the vexing man!

He was upon them, and she smiled as brightly as she could. “Lord Cortland! May I introduce Mrs. Birtwistle—”

“I have already had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Birtwistle, thank you, Miss Buckleigh,” he cut in with a lazy smile. “We arrived at the same time this evening.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Birtwistle rallied with a good imitation of a smile.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Lord Cortland?” Marina asked when Mrs. Birtwistle couldn’t manage more.

“Very much. I believe they will be playing a quadrille next and, as you see, the lines are already forming.”

Marina checked her posture. So be it. She smiled a bit grimly as she prepared to decline him as politely as she could. It would be preferable to sit out the dancing for the rest of the evening than leave Mrs. Birtwistle while she was so discomposed.

“Mrs. Birtwistle, would you do me the honor of dancing the next two sets with me?” He held out his hand, utterly confident of her answer.

Mrs. Birtwistle stared at the hand, long fingered and strong looking, with nearly the same stunned expression Marina must have had on her face.

“Oh.” Mrs. Birtwistle could barely be heard, and without another sound, she took his hand.

Marina looked up at the Marquis and recalled that she should close her mouth. He looked at her with his usual expression—unperturbed arrogance—except for the gleam in his eyes.

***

Such was the success of the evening, Marina mused as she gazed around the ballroom, that almost anything could occur—even a staid minuet—and everyone would express their delight and pleasure.

Before the ball, Mama had declared that Lord Buckleigh would dance with his daughters. She informed him, using a severe tone, that he would stand up with Marina for the last dance before super and then open the second half of the ball with his youngest daughter.

Marina thought the idea lovely, the only issue being that Papa was not a great dancer, and did not know the current dances. It was decided that they would have to dance a minuet, of all things, something he remembered from his younger days.

Deirdre had been mutinous, complaining that the minuet was deadly dull and quite out of fashion, but soon realized that Mama did not intend to relent.

Marina had quite enjoyed dancing with Papa before supper, and now she stood amongst some of the younger people watching the older people—and Deirdre, who was actually smiling—make the formal, stylized figures. There were not that many couples on the floor, but everyone watching found the scene entertaining as well as charming.

Marina smiled to see Mrs. Birtwistle circling Mr. Penhurst and looking positively girlish. Even her brother, Major Fielding, was on the floor with Mrs. Ralston, doing a creditable job despite his damaged leg.

Marina applied her fan to her warm cheeks, even though all the French doors were open to the balcony. Mama had instructed the footmen to keep the five-foot-tall hearths at either end of the room blazing. The room, with all the chandeliers, candles and bodies, did not need such large fires, but Mama liked the ambience it created.

Marina decided to get some fresh air before the next set, and slipped back from the guests and stepped through the open doors onto the torchlit balcony.

She did not immediately see anyone else, and for that she was grateful; it gave her a few moments to breathe in the cool air and think of the evening.

A slight movement caught her attention. Lord Cortland stood at the far end of the balcony, at the balustrade with his back to her.

She stayed still, watching him. He did not stand like a man attending a ball. He stood with his powerful legs braced apart, his wide shoulders straight—ready for battle instead of a country dance.

She considered again his most unexpected behavior of dancing with Mrs. Birtwistle and really could not account for it.

And it seemed that no one else in the room had recovered from the spectacle of a man of Cortland’s elevated rank and scandalous reputation dancing with the Widow Birtwistle. Twice. Since then, everyone watched him closely, barely hiding their whispers. Yet, most backed away as he moved through the room, seemingly too awed to address him with ease.

Suddenly, he turned and she met his gaze across the torchlit distance. He watched her in silence for several long moments, not with Sefton’s charm and eagerness, but with a smoldering gleam that made her feel aware of herself in a way she never had before. Without a word, he approached.

A nervous flutter came to her throat and she suppressed her first urge to flee. She would not run like a silly girl, and besides, she wished to speak to him about Mrs. Birtwistle. She took a few steps forward, meeting him halfway.

“My lord, it was kind of you to ask Mrs. Birtwistle to dance,” she spoke quickly, wishing to fill the suddenly tense silence.

He looked at her for a moment, and she was struck by the allure of his dark-lashed eyes. They glittered gold in the torchlight. She decided that it wasn’t just his harshly angled features and aquiline nose that made him look arrogant, it was his expression—she wondered if he ever truly smiled.

“Kind, Miss Buckleigh? To dance? This is a ball, isn’t it?”

“Well, of course it is. It’s just that under the circumstances . . . ,” she didn’t know what else to say.

“The only circumstances I concern myself with are my own satisfaction or amusement.”

Marina felt herself losing patience, she’d been trying to be polite, to create a truce from this barbed bantering, but he refused to compromise.

“And standing up with a woman who had so obviously become an object of derisive gossip was what, my lord? Satisfying or amusing?”

His expression did not change. “Both, which is a rather rare occurrence.”

“Then I take back my compliment. You are not kind.” Never in her life had she spoken to anyone as harshly as she had just spoken to the Marquis, and she didn’t care. He certainly didn’t care if he gave offense, so why should she?

“I’ve come to realize that kindness is overrated. Honesty is a much more valuable attribute. And I think that you know it, too.”

He held her gaze, and she felt her irritation fade as the feeling of understanding took its place. Yes, she grudgingly admitted to herself, she would prefer that he admit he hadn’t asked Mrs. Birtwistle out of kindness. She may not like it, but she could respect it.

Inexplicably, she felt a shiver chase up her arms. Lord Cortland was the last person she expected to be in accord with and the feeling alarmed her greatly.

He was too jaded, too sophisticated for the good people of Parsley Hay, she had sensed it from the first moment he had stepped onto the terrace at Ridgeton Abbey.

No, she had no desire to understand the Marquis of Cortland. “You do not belong here, my lord. You do not fit.”

A dark brow rose in satirical arch, and he adjusted a white cuff. “Gad, I should hope not.”

He took a step closer, and she felt caught by this new awareness of not only him, but of herself. The expression in his eyes changed slightly, and a different kind of awareness stole over her body. Her breathing slowed, to match his, and following this new feeling, her eyes traveled to his lips.

Ever so slightly, he leaned in and she realized, after an unthinking moment, that she did as well. She waited. Her breath grew shallower, tension building in the pit of her stomach, and a new excitement made her feel quite unlike herself.

The sound of laughter and a rise in the music behind her broke the tension and she took a quick step back, shaken and confused.

“Ah . . . I should return to the ballroom,” her voice sounded faint and unconvinced to her ears.

“Should you? Ah, Miss Buckleigh, you are so refreshingly honest about some things and completely willing to lie about others.”

She lifted her chin in defiance of him, or herself, she did not know. “How presumptuous, my lord. You don’t know me at all, how could you presume to know what I would lie about?”

“You would lie right now and say that you do not want me to kiss you. And there’s no need, you know, I would be glad to accommodate you.”

The breath seemed to leave her body at this outrageous statement. “Just because you would, does not mean that you should.” The words were out before she considered them.

A new gleam entered his eyes, and his lip twisted up at the left corner. “Where’s the fun in that?”

She held his amused, assessing gaze for as long as she could. “It must be so easy for you to set aside convention. But I don’t have that luxury, my lord.”

He lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “I understand perfectly, Miss Buckleigh.”

“No, I do not think you do. I believe, because you found me dancing with Mr. Sefton, that you have developed the erroneous impression that I . . . I am unconventional. That is certainly not the case.”

His laugh was rich and hearty. “Miss Buckleigh, I believe you are far from unconventional, if that reassures you any. Now fly away, lovely swan, before I decide to show you how unconventional
I
can be.”

The brief spell that held her evaporated, replaced by a sharp anger. Was everything a game with him? “You really are the most vexingly arrogant man.”

“So I have been told on occasion. Come.” He took her elbow in a gentle grip and walked back into the ballroom with her.

The minuet ended and the prelude music to a reel began, causing everyone to look around for their promised partners.

“I’m making an assumption that the young man looking so anxiously in our direction has claimed you for this dance.”

She looked over to see George Halbury hovering nearby, evidently too intimidated by the Marquis to approach, even though he had indeed claimed this dance earlier.

“Yes, he has,” she strived to match his offhand tone. “Thank you for such an enlightening conversation, my lord.” She moved off toward Mr. Halbury, feeling oddly shaken.

Chapter Nine

Marina awoke late the next morning determined to be in love with Sefton.

Sitting up beneath the soft blue canopy of her large bed, she clenched her hands into fists. “Young ladies like me do not get taken in by men like Lord Cortland.”

She hoped saying this aloud would cement the truth of it.

What is wrong with me?
She had asked herself this question numerous times during the night but could find no answer.

Her only solution to her inexplicable reaction to the insufferable Marquis was to completely ignore it and remind herself as often as possible of the beautiful and obliging Mr. Sefton.

Flopping back down against her pillows, she listened to quietness of the great house for a few minutes, reliving last night. She didn’t even like Lord Cortland. He was not kind or obliging, or even very gentlemanly. Sefton was superior in every way to the Marquis.

So why did she feel so very strange when she was on the balcony with him last night? The worst part was, he had been right. She had wanted him to kiss her. In fact, she had almost kissed
him
. Raising her hands to her warm cheeks, she stared up at the canopy for several confused minutes.

This was not only unacceptable, it was foolish. Anyone could have come out onto the balcony and seen them.

She lay in the chilled silence of her bedchamber for a bit, until she nearly convinced herself that her forward behavior with Lord Cortland was due to his unexpected kindness to Mrs. Birtwistle.

It made perfect sense and now that she knew that she was susceptible to his potent brand of charm, she could easily guard herself against it.

***

Two days after the ball, the ladies of Buck Hill gathered in the morning room, chiefly because its pale yellow walls were a tonic from the severe chill and dullness outside.

They were dressed to receive callers, and Mama, still basking in the glow of success, read aloud from the notes she had received, which expressed every form of compliment regarding the festive evening.

Marina too basked in a glow of sorts—she reviewed Sefton’s words over and over, even making herself lay awake the last few nights to relive each second with him to enhance their romantic appeal.

Any thought of Lord Cortland was not allowed to intrude. Although she now acknowledged his magnetism, she reminded herself frequently that he was a rake and to think of him otherwise would be foolish, if not dangerous.

If Sefton had lost a little of his glamour, it troubled her but little—it was only because, although she was thrilled by his attention and beautiful words, she had no desire to have such a hurried romance. She did not intend on settling into matrimony until she had a Season or two in London; she would not feel quite complete without it.

No doubt she would make a much better wife to a man from such a high-ranking family with a little more polish and life experience.

These practical thoughts only enhanced the pleasure she felt in being so obviously wooed by Sefton, and she, with the thrill of a secret delight, looked forward to a long and satisfying romance.

And if only Lord Cortland would cease tarnishing those moments with his sarcasm and teasing, everything would be just perfect.

And his cousin! Miss Brandon was nearly as bad. The way the girl mooned over poor Mr. Sefton had verged on the embarrassing. He was truly to be commended for not even acknowledging her forward behavior. More disturbingly, though, was the way as the evening progressed she began to send Marina venomous looks.

Even that odd behavior could not dampen Marina’s pleasure at the ball and she took a good deal of satisfaction at the hothouse posies Holmes had brought in and placed on the console by the window. The largest was from Sefton, the other two from Henry Willingham and George Halbury.

She gave another heartfelt sigh. It was the loveliest thing to receive flowers after a ball.

“I have no doubt, my loves,” Mama confided, “that your Papa will be more inclined to entertain on a larger scale in the future. And I can safely say that a ball during the foxhunting season shall become a tradition.”

Bringing her thoughts back, Marina agreed, with less giddiness than Deirdre, that this would be wonderful, indeed.

“And perhaps a musical evening and a card party on occasion, Mama?” Deirdre asked, before bending back over her fan, quill in hand.

“Certainly, my love. I already have plans in mind.”

“What are you doing with that fan, Deirdre?” Marina asked curiously.

Deirdre looked up again, waving the large fan. The spines were ivory, and a delicately hued pastoral scene was painted on the silk. “This is the fan I had with me at the ball. On the underside, I am writing the names of every gentleman I danced with, and what we danced. I shall never take this fan to another ball, but will use it only on other occasions.”

This was so like her romantic sister, Marina smiled to gentle her tease. “How clever of you, you have come up with an ingenious way to need new fans for every ball you attend. You shall have to purchase them in bulk before we go to Town for the season.”

Deirdre’s good mood was such that she did not rise to this bait and only laughed, saying, “Did I dance with Mr. Halbury for the third, or was it the fourth dance?”

Marina thought for a moment. “The third, I believe. Did you not dance with Frederick Hollings for the fourth?”

“Yes, I believe you are correct.”

Soon Mama went off to deal with her daily duties, and Marina turned to her sister. “Retrieve your cloak and put on some sturdy shoes, we must go for a long walk.”

Deirdre looked up with a frown. “Good lord, why? It’s too cold to go out today.”

“We must. I have some things I wish to share with you and Lady Darley is likely to call today and I would prefer not to be here when she does.”

Deirdre immediately perked up. “Oh, why didn’t you say so? I shall be down in a moment.”

Soon, bundled in heavy cloaks, muffs and fur-lined bonnets, they left the house and tromped down the hill to the barn to see the new kittens Thomas the groom had told them arrived a week or so ago.

After some cooing over the black-and-white little creatures, they left the grounds deciding to walk to Wrotham Bridge, which was a picturesque spot a good three miles away that would take them out of the house for a couple of hours at least.

Passing beneath the bare branches of a stately elm, Deirdre said with great impatience, “Tell me what has you behaving so secretively.”

Marina shared the disconcerting exchange she had with Lady Darley over Mrs. Birtwistle, for it had been much on her mind in the last few days.

“Poor Mrs. Birtwistle! Oh, how mortifying to know one is being discussed in such a way. And how quick and brave of you to have spoken as you did. Do you think Lady Darley is very offended by the way you spoke to her? No doubt she is unused to it. Is that why you don’t wish to face her today?”

Marina made a face. “Not exactly. Though I am surprised that I do not give a jot if she is offended or not. I gave the matter great thought last night and decided that I didn’t want to tell Mama just yet, if ever, and prefer that she not hear of any unpleasantness about the ball. If I am not there when Lady Darley calls, I am counting on her not to bring up the matter.”

“I agree. Mama is still glowing with her success and nothing should be allowed to dampen it. Do you suppose that was why the Marquis stood up with Mrs. Birtwistle, because he was aware of the gossip and wanted to give her consequence?”

“If that was his intention, it certainly worked.” Marina recalled Lord Cortland’s words about doing nothing that didn’t please or amuse him, and decided to steer the conversation from the vexing man.

Before she could bring up another subject, Deirdre presented one of her own. “And what do you think of the odd Miss Eugenia Brandon? I’m sure you could not help noticing how she stared at Sefton half the night and looked daggers at you for the rest of it.”

Marina sighed a little gustily. “I couldn’t help but notice. Most inexplicable. I questioned Sefton about it, as gently as I could, of course. He seemed nearly unaware of her regard. I understand his family and hers have been acquainted for a long time, but I certainly could not detect any special regard on his part.”

“No, indeed. He did not even dance with her.”

Marina was pleased that her sister saw the matter as she did. “It seems she is mooning over a young man who is doing his best to be kind to her.”

“I think that is quite obvious. Poor girl. But I’m sure she will get over her calf-love soon enough.”

Marina suppressed a smile at her sister’s suddenly mature and sage manner.

“For her sake, I hope so.”

“Well, I do not wish to be mean, but I do not mind saying that she may be pretty, and rich as Methuselah, but her clothes are beyond overelaborate.”

“Croesus.”

“What?”

“Rich as Croesus.”

“Oh, was he rich, too?”

Marina gave up, only saying airily, “If Miss Brandon is very lucky, I might put in a good word for her with Mrs. Birtwistle. I won’t make any promises, though, for she is most exclusive.”

Deirdre giggled at the quip. “Oh, but it is exciting to have so many new people in the neighborhood. I do hope Mr. Penhurst’s guests will stay a good long time. Before they arrived I never knew how utterly bored I’ve been.”

A burst of laughter escaped Marina at this fervent proclamation. “Do you know, I do not disagree with you?”

After their very long tramp across the countryside, they returned home in the afternoon, cold, tired, and ready for a cup or two of hot tea.

“Girls!” Mama waylaid them as they were making their way upstairs to change. “You missed Lady Darley, Lady Meredith, and Mrs. Langford.”

After exchanging a look with Deirdre, Marina looked over the banister to her mother standing below in the great hall.”

“I’m sorry to hear it, Mama. I’ve no doubt they expressed their compliments over the ball.”

“Of course. But they came with an invitation as well. They have heard of the old ruin on Aelfric’s Hill and propose a picnic there in two days’ time.”

“Oh capital,” Deirdre called. “Did they say who else has been invited?”

“The Willinghams, the Hollings, the Tundales and everyone from Ridgeton Abbey. It promises to be a merry outing. Now, put your cloaks and muffs away and come down to tea.”

Marina climbed the stairs and thought about the outing. Lady Darley and her brother had the right to invite whomever they pleased, but she was a bit disappointed that Mrs. Birtwistle and Major Fielding were not part of the party.