A Regency Charade (23 page)

“I’ve no idea,” Clio answered, delighted to see that the gentlemen had returned and no longer the least bit interested in the whereabouts of her hostess. “She often disappears at this time of the afternoon.”

“That’s strange,” Gar remarked. “Not like her at all. She’s always such a perfect hostess.”

“It
is
a bit strange,” Alec agreed. “Is she napping, do you think?”

“No,” Clio shrugged, “for I’ve seen her leave the house.”

The Earl headed for the table where decanters of wine and glasses had been set. “Probably gone to Three Oaks to see her mother. Who’s for a glass of port?” The matter so logically explained, the assemblage dropped the subject for the more interesting one of the advantages of a good port over the claims made by Ferdie for the rich-bodied Amontillado.

Priss returned shortly thereafter and was quite surprised to find the entire company assembled in the drawing room. In response to their questions she affirmed that she’d indeed been visiting her mother, and she entered into the good spirits of the group by accepting a glass of wine and fending off Ferdie’s effusive compliments on her appearance with a blush and an accusation that he must have had a glass or two too many of his favorite vintage.

The rest of the day was very gay, the early return of the gentlemen from their sport having made it seem somehow special. Everyone instinctively dressed with particular elegance for dinner that night, the meal turned out to be especially lavish, and everyone at the table seemed to exude merriment and warmth. The warmth was noticeable even in the weather, which was unseasonably balmy.

When the party entered the drawing room and sat down to cards, they noticed that the air was positively stuffy. Priss excused herself from the card game and opened the windows. The windows, reaching from the floor almost to the ceiling, led to a wide, balustraded terrace which overlooked the undulating lawns, serpentine walks and clusters of shrubs and trees which had been laid out some thirty years before by the famous landscape architect, Capability Brown. All these were almost invisible now in the deepening darkness of the November night, but Priss remained staring out into the dimness. Alec, glancing up from his place at the whist table, saw her standing there, and something in her stance made him wonder if there was something disturbing her.

When he next raised his eyes she was gone. As soon as he could lay down his cards without disturbing the game, he too excused himself and went out on the terrace to find her. She had walked down to the southern end of the terrace (which extended for the entire width of the building) where the light from the drawing room windows could not reach her. It was only because of the light color of her gown that he was able to determine where she was. She was turned away from him and apparently had not heard his approaching footsteps, for when he came up to her she jumped in surprise and uttered a little cry. As she turned her face to him, he noted with astonishment that her cheeks were streaked with tears. “Good God, Priss, what’s amiss here?”

She smiled in tremulous embarrassment, shook her head and wiped her cheeks hastily with the back of her hand. Lowering her head, she said in a small voice, “It’s nothing at all. T-Truly. I’m only indulging in a bit of sentimentality.”

He lifted her chin with one hand while he withdrew his handkerchief with the other. “Sentimentality over what?” he asked with gentle concern as he dabbed at her cheeks.

“It’s too silly to speak of,” she murmured. “I’m ashamed to have been caught out.”

“I wish you’d tell me,” he persisted, keeping her face tilted up to him.

Her eyes wavered under his insistent gaze. “It was only the l-leaves, you see …”

“The
leaves
?”

“Yes. I told you it was silly. They’re turning brown and dying off so quickly, in spite of the lovely weather we’ve been having … and I couldn’t help thinking that soon they’ll be gone … and everything around us will be bare and cold … and I suddenly felt unaccountably depressed …”

“Poor Priss,” he whispered with a rush of tenderness for her.

She made a little grimace of self-deprecation. “It’s a very foolish wallow in melodrama. You needn’t look so stricken.”

Her words set off an echoing sound somewhere deep in his memory. When had she said them to him before? The scene popped into his consciousness with a crystal clarity. In Italy, of course! He’d carried her in from the Spanish Steps and laid her on the bed. He’d bent over her, torn by an agonizing fear that she’d been seriously hurt. Her face had been tilted up to his, just as it was at this moment, and she’d tried to reassure him with those very words …
no need to look so stricken
. And the next thing he’d known she was trembling in his arms, locked in an embrace that all the intervening years had not erased from his memory.

Suspended somewhere between the past and the present, he was not aware that he’d lowered his head and put his lips on hers. He shut his eyes and tightened his hold on her until he could feel the blood pounding in his temples. And it was Italy, and the world was whirling around in a dizzying imbalance, and he could almost believe that he was about to take his first step into manhood all over again. But in a very few moments the earth righted, the present became real, and he could feel her struggling against him, her hands pressing against his chest with urgent strength. He opened his eyes and, appalled at himself, let her go.

She stepped back, breathless and aghast. “Alec! How
dare
you—?”

He colored to the ears. How could he so have forgotten himself? Once again he’d behaved in her presence like a green youth … just as if all the experiences of the intervening years had never happened. How could he have permitted himself to tumble into a situation in which she could laugh at him again? “I … I’m very sorry. I … er … thought I heard Grandfather approaching,” he mumbled, trying to cover his embarrassment with this lame excuse. “I thought it would please him to … er … catch us embracing.”

“
Did
you indeed?” she responded with cool skepticism, putting her chin up in dignified disdain and marching past him toward the drawing room. “Well, in future, I hope you’ll remember that I have
no intention
of pleasing him quite as much as all
that
!”

Alec was unable to fall asleep that night. The turmoil inside him failed to subside, and the fact that Priss lay sleeping on the other side of his dressing room door was in no way soothing. He had to admit that no other woman he’d encountered in six adventurous years had ever had so intense an effect on him. Perhaps Ferdie and the others were right. Perhaps he
was
being a fool to remain so unforgiving about the past. It certainly seemed as if she had been quite sincere when she said that she had not seen Edmonds after he’d left for Spain. If that were true, perhaps he
could
bring himself to forgive and forget the rest … to start life anew, with her as his wife again!

It was an intoxicating thought. He was almost afraid to let himself dwell on it. Besides, she would not consider it any more—not after all the cruel suspicions he’d thrown at her. Of course, she
had
, at first, expressed a willingness to take him back. If his unkindness to her in their recent talks in London had not completely killed that willingness, perhaps she might be persuaded to try again.

Suddenly it seemed a very inviting idea. There was much to recommend it. Besides winning the approbation of everyone he knew, from Ferdie to Kellam, he wouldn’t have to give his grandfather the devastating news that the marriage was to be annulled, he wouldn’t have to deal with the problem of Clio, and he wouldn’t have to sleep in this blasted dressing room in this agonizing loneliness.

But he would not be hasty. He was not going to make a fool of himself twice. He would think about it.

But, in the morning, the idea was still amazingly appealing. As soon as the morning light filtered in through the curtains, he jumped out of bed, so filled with hopeful anticipation that even the suddenly cloudy sky and the cold wind (which seemed to be ushering in the winter with a determination to make up for the previous days’ pleasantness) failed to dampen his excitement. He would ride out on his horse this morning while he mulled over the situation once more … and then he would present the entire plan to Priss!

The Earl and Gar both declined to ride in such ominous weather, so Ferdie and Alec set out on their own. After a while, even Ferdie decided that the wind was too biting and turned back. Alec, however, was buffered against the blow by his inward optimism, and he rode on.

His high spirits lasted only another half hour. While galloping across the roadway that marked the western boundary of his grandfather’s estate, his horse almost collided with a curricle which came suddenly, and at much too high a speed, around a bend. With great presence of mind and speed of reaction, Alec managed to turn his roan aside in the nick of time. As soon as he’d brought his rearing animal under control, he leaped out of the saddle to confront the driver of the curricle in order to deliver a furious and pithy castigation on his method of taking a turn. But the sight of the driver caused not only the words to die on his lips but his entire optimistic plan for the future to explode into desolate fragments and disintegrate completely in a sea of dismay and chagrin. The driver of the curricle was Sir Blake Edmonds.

Chapter Seventeen

The threatening clouds burst open just as Priss turned into the wide avenue leading to the front portico of Braeburn, and although she ran very quickly up the drive, took a short cut across the lawn, sped along the terrace and dashed in through the drawing room windows, she was nevertheless quite thoroughly drenched. She shivered as she closed the windows and pulled off the thin Norwich shawl with which she’d attempted to protect herself from the elements. As she was about to shake it out, she found that she was being smilingly observed by her friend Ariadne Courdepass. “So there you are at last,” Ariadne said pleasantly. “I was
afraid
the rain would catch you out, so I’ve built up the fire.”

Priss smiled gratefully and went to warm herself before it. “Have you ever known the weather to make such an abrupt change? I had so hoped it would remain fine for a few more days.” She heard no response, so she turned to face her friend. Ariadne was seated in a high-backed wing chair, her feet up on an ottoman, placidly and steadfastly knitting. “Where is everyone, Ariadne? Have you been sitting here alone for long?”

“Only since luncheon. You needn’t look so concerned, you know. I’m quite enjoying myself.”

“Are you really? You are the most amazing girl! Whatever are you knitting with such dogged patience?”

Ariadne’s pretty mouth turned up in a mischievous smile. “This will be, when I’ve stitched all the sections together, a warm and rather colorful counterpane for my marriage bed.”

“Oh?” Priss responded with a chuckle, thinking her friend was joking. “Aren’t you putting cart before horse? One would think you’d need a husband to put
in
your marriage bed before you’d need a counterpane to put
on
it.”

“And what would you say, my dear, if I told you I’d found the man to put in it.”

Priss gasped. “Ariadne! Are you wheedling me? Who
is
he?”

Ariadne’s smile broadened. “I’m not yet at liberty to say.”

Priss ran across the room and dropped down on the ottoman at her feet. “You odious wretch! You
must
tell me! You know all
my
secrets!”

“I can’t just yet, Prissy,” Ariadne said, permitting her needlework to fall into her lap as she leaned forward to pat Priss’s shoulder affectionately. “You’ll be the first to know, I promise you, as soon as I have confidence that the revelation is not premature.”

“Oh, I see. You’re not yet sure of him, is that it?”

“I’ve not yet planted the idea in his mind.”

Priss giggled. “Must you do so? One would hope the fellow had enough sense to see for himself—”

Ariadne laughed, a rare, full-throated laugh. “I’m not at all sure he
has
any sense. But then, I have enough sense for both of us.”

“So you do, my sensible friend, so you do. I hope he’s worthy of you. Oh, dear, I’m so curious … can you at least tell me if I’m acquainted with the gentleman?”

“My lips are sealed. I don’t wish to say anything at this time which will make me seem foolish later on.”

“Yes, of course. Very sensible of you,” Priss responded with a teasing smile. “I wish you good luck, dearest,” she added with sincerity as her smile faded. “Better luck than I’ve had …”

“As to that,” Ariadne remarked, picking up her knitting again, I would not look so glum if I were you.”

“Why? What do you mean?”

“I’ve been observing quite closely, you know. Alec is as much in love with you as it’s possible to be.”

Priss drew in her breath. “Oh! Do you
truly
believe that? I haven’t wanted to … I try not to permit myself to … but it
has
seemed to me, too, that he …” She jumped to her feet, leaned down and enveloped her friend in a warm but rather damp hug. “Oh, Ariadne, perhaps before long we may
both
be happy!”

“We shall not be very happy if you develop an inflammation of the lungs. Go upstairs and take off that wet dress!”

Priss nodded and ran out to take the advice of her sensible friend. She had not been gone above five minutes when the drawing room door opened again to admit Ferdie who was firmly propelling a reluctant Gar into the room ahead of him. “Now, go ahead, Garvin, old fellow.
Ask
her,” he said as he pushed the blushing Gar before Ariadne’s chair.

“Damn you, Ferdie,” Gar muttered under his breath, “if only I—”

Ariadne looked up at Gar sympathetically. “You really must not let Mr. Sellars bully you this way, Garvin. But if there’s something you’d like to ask of me, you needn’t hesitate. I shan’t mind, whatever it is.”

Gar reddened even further. “Well, Ferdie says I … that is, I …”

“What this silver-tongued
rake
is trying to ask,” Ferdie put in derisively, “is to permit him to stand up with you for the first dance at Saturday’s ball.”