Anne Barbour (16 page)

Returning to the present, Sally shifted in her emerald-striped armchair and smiled again in memory. The smile spread into a grin as she rose and began to dress for dinner.

“You can’t mean to tell me,” moaned Lady Berners, “that you plan to arrive at Winstaunton Hall in a farm wagon!”

“Of course not, Mama,” replied Sally soothingly. “I have only to see that the dried arrangements and the potpourri are packed properly in the wagons. Then I must assure that the flowers in tubs are put into the heated wagons. Masters will see to it that they are delivered at the servants’ entrance, while I shall arrive in proper style at the front door with you and the others in the landau.”

“The landau.” Lady Berners’ mouth turned down in a moue of disparagement. “Really, Sally. It’s so dreadfully out of date, I cannot see why we don’t sell it and purchase a nice barouche. They are ever so much more fashionable.”

“And ever so much more expensive, Mama.”

Lady Berners sighed. “Yes, I suppose you’re right, my dear.” The two had just emerged from the linen room where, with the assistance of Mrs. Lamb, the housekeeper, they had been taking inventory. “By the way,” she continued. “Did Lord Walford leave already? I thought he just arrived a few minutes ago.”

“Um, yes he did,” said Sally, “but I really couldn’t spare the time to visit with him. I have a great deal to do if I am to leave tomorrow for Winstaunton Hall. He is in the morning room with Elizabeth. And Chloe.”

“Oh?” responded her mother thoughtfully. “Did Elizabeth not drive into the village with him yesterday because you were terribly busy?”

“Why, yes. Come to think of it, she did.” Sally pulled a thread from her skirt with great care.

“And the day before that Elizabeth and Lord Walford went skating with Chloe and William, did they not? While you were immersed in your greenhouse?”

This time Sally merely nodded.

A long moment passed, during which Lady Berners stared penetratingly at her daughter.

“Are you sure you know what you are about, my dear?” she asked at length.

“Yes, Mama, I am sure.”

This time it was Lady Berners who nodded. They had by now reached the Great Hall, and she began to ascend the staircase, but turned to ask, “Charlie has been a frequent visitor of late, too, has he not? At some rather odd times of day, I believe.”

“Yes, Mama,” repeated Sally, allowing a small smile to creep into her eyes.

“I see” was her mother’s only response. She acknowledged the smile with one of her own, and looked as if she might say more. Instead, she shook her head and resumed her journey up the staircase.

The remaining days before the ball passed without incident, unless one counted the explosion—really a very small one—caused by Lord Walford’s experiments. Lady Frane maintained with steadfast courtesy that since the shed had not been used for years, its destruction was of little account. Upon hearing the news, the ladies of The Ridings were quite pale with apprehension until the earl himself arrived, none the worse for wear, to proclaim his well being.

Thus, two days before the Valentine’s Ball, the ladies mounted the despised landau with hearts full of lighthearted anticipation. And if the delight on the part of one of them was tinged with apprehension, she joined the others with a determined smile pinned to her lips.

In the elegantly furnished room at Winstaunton Hall where he had been billeted, Charlie stared blankly at his mirror while March, his valet, hovered in an agony of apprehension over his master’s demeanor.

“I see no fault in the cravat, sir,” the man said diffidently. “The Osbaldston, after all, is quite suitable for ball wear.”

“What?” With an effort, Charlie tried to focus on March’s words. “Oh, the cravat. Yes, perfectly adequate. You may consider me togged and ready, March. Be a good fellow and leave me now—and don’t wait up. I’ll see myself to bed.”

March, stiff with injured dignity, merely nodded and let himself silently from the room.

Charlie slumped in an armchair near the fire and gave himself up to gloomy reflection. What the devil was the matter with him? he wondered. Everything was going as planned. Sedge had obviously fallen victim to Sally’s charms and if he weren’t planning to propose to her tonight, Charlie was prepared to eat his quizzing glass. Sally had promised to insist on an early wedding, so that within the year the tontine money would be his. He could buy the stud farm, and he would be free to live the life he had envisioned for himself, self-sufficient and beholden to no one. Self-sufficient—and all by himself.

He sat up suddenly, arrested by this thought. Was that what was blue-deviling him? The idea that Sally would soon retire to a life of wedded bliss, leaving him to reign alone in his little empire? But what was there in that to put him in a megrim? True, Sally and he had been close as pennies in a pocket for donkeys’ years, but of late they had led their own lives; he as one of the ton’s most dashing bachelors, if he did say so himself, and she as titular head of her little family in the country.

Yet, he mused, even though they did not move in the same circles now, the knowledge that she was always there for him, snug in the rural fastness of The Ridings, had been a sort of talisman for him over the years. It created a small haven of brightness in the back of his mind, a place he could warm himself when he was troubled and needed solace.

Now, his haven would be gone. She would belong to Sedge, and he would have no place in her life. The feeling was growing in him that he didn’t want Sally to belong to Sedge. The thought of Sedge folding her in his arms and kissing her, as he, himself, had done those few nights before made him physically ill.

His thoughts fled back to that moment when they had shared that impromptu waltz. She had looked up into his eyes, and it was as though he had never seen her before—never noticed the mysterious, womanly beauty that had settled on her while he wasn’t looking. And now she was on the verge of becoming betrothed to Sedge.

Sally had not discussed her feelings for Sedge with him, but it was all too obvious that she thought him the pinnacle of a maiden’s desire. Charlie felt like the merest nonentity, standing in the shadow of handsome, wealthy, intelligent Sedge, who was a perfectly decent sort, to boot. No, though Sally was no doubt fond of the Honorable Mr. Charles Darracot, she still looked on him merely as her old comrade in arms, so to speak.

And yet ...

There was that kiss. When he had pressed his lips against hers, her response had not been that of a female bussing an old chum. Her soft curves had molded to his body in an embrace that had set his pulses pounding and his blood racing. Her mouth had opened beneath him, leaving him to probe the wonder within. It had taken everything in him to withdraw from her before he dishonored the fabric of their friendship.

In the days that followed his late-night visit to The Ridings, neither mentioned the incident, and Sally had maintained her usual, friendly behavior toward him. He was forced to the conclusion that she had been, as he claimed to be, a victim of the lateness of the hour, the candlelight, and the pretense.

Charlie rose abruptly and, giving a final flick to the perfection of his cravat, left the room and proceeded downstairs.

Most of the ball guests had already assembled on the ground floor of the huge manor house, drifting through drawing rooms and overflowing into the Great Hall from whence branched the wide main staircase to the gallery above. Lord and Lady Winstaunton, a handsome couple in their late fifties, stood near the door, greeting guests who had arrived the day before and were descending from their rooms, or who were neighbors and newly come in carriages. Tubs of Sally’s roses, and her other hothouse flowers stood in every corner, and masses of dried flowers filled vases set on tables and stands. Jars filled with potpourri were scattered throughout the rooms, saturating the air with their heavy fragrance. Excited young misses, looking very much like floating blossoms themselves in their gaily colored muslins and silks, drifted from chamber to chamber trying to look bored and unaware of the masculine attention that followed their progress.

Charlie looked for Sally, but could not find her. Sedge was standing with a group of acquaintances near the fireplace in the Hall, and Charlie strolled over to join them.

“I think the silk rose is Vivian Carew’s, but I’m not sure,” one of the young men was saying. “Though, I rather thought she’d set out the gold locket she wears to the assemblies.”

Sedge welcomed Charlie, explaining that the gentlemen had been guessing the identities of the owners of the tokens laid out on a table in the ballroom. “Have you seen them?” he asked. “You must take a look— there’s quite an assortment,” he said, laughing, as Charlie shook his head in a negative gesture.

They strolled into the ballroom where, on a large pier table, lay an assortment of feminine belongings. Hair ornaments jostled with scarves and ribbons, and flowers of silk and velvet twined about necklaces and even a shoe or two.

“And how about you?” asked Charlie. “Have you guessed which token belongs to your chosen lady?”

“Ah,” Sedge responded, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “I do not need to guess. I know!”

“Indeed? You never told me you were blessed with second sight, old man.”

“I don’t need it, my boy, when I have the cooperation of the lady’s sister. Young Chloe, you see, is not as closemouthed as the rest of the family, and is, I discovered, susceptible to bribery.”

“But, you are a scoundrel”—Charlie smiled lazily— “to win a lady by such contemptible means. Fie on you, sirrah!”

“Ah, well.” Sedge shrugged, his face still alight. “When needs must, you know. And once having gained knowledge of Chloe’s passion for comfits, I could not pass up the temptation. There.” He pointed to a small, plain silver bracelet lying among the glittering cluster on the table. “That is the token upon which I shall bid.”

Following Sedge’s gaze, Charlie stiffened, the amusement draining from his gaze. For a long moment he studied the little bracelet, and when he turned back to Sedge, his jaw was clenched with the effort it took to speak calmly.

“And if you gain the token,” he asked, and held his breath to hear the answer, “will you also win the lady?”

“That is for her to say,” answered Sedge, his face breaking into a wide grin.

A vision rose up before Charlie’s eyes, hot and brilliant, of his fist plunging into Sedge’s mouth, smashing that stupid smirk and scattering those perfect white teeth in a bloody explosion. Swallowing, he swung on his heel and walked away.

The bracelet! My God, why had Sally pledged the bracelet he had given her on her sixteenth birthday? He could still remember the expression on her face as he slipped it on her wrist that day so long ago. Lord, he’d thought she was going to burst into tears. She had looked up at him with shining eyes and told him that it was the first piece of real jewelry she had ever owned. Her words had made him feel wretched because it had been the cheapest of all the bracelets lying in the tray at the jeweler’s. After that, Sally was rarely seen without the trinket, until... He narrowed his eyes. That’s odd, he thought. She had worn the thing constantly until the day the two of them had held a long conversation about their parents’ marriage plans.

Charlie had railed against the fates that would shackle him before he had scarcely had time to taste the delights of the world. He didn’t want to marry Sally—he didn’t want to marry anybody. And Sally certainly did not want to marry him. Did she? He had asked her the question, looking straight into her eyes, and she had responded lightly that, of course, marrying Charlie was the last thing in the world she desired. She had yet to find her heart mate—yes, that was the word she had used. She and Charlie would, she said, simply have to explain all this to the senior Darracots and the Berners. Present a united front.

And it had worked. Oh, not right away, but eventually the old folks had given up, and Lady Frane had cast her eyes over the wider world for a wife for her second son. All to no avail, of course. He had been too busy enjoying his bachelorhood, savoring the pleasures of town life to consider taking a wife. If a serious thought flew by mistake into his head, it was waved away immediately, like a bothersome insect.

Now Sally had found her heart mate, and he had at last grown into a measure of adulthood. He was through with mindless pleasuring. He wanted more in his life now, something deep and satisfying. My God ... He almost stumbled as the thought struck him like a physical blow. He wanted Sally! He had always wanted Sally, he realized with a sudden, painful clarity, only he had been too stupid to see it. And now it was too late.

Slowly, he made his way back to the main hall, where more of the guests were descending the great staircase from the floors above. He lifted his eyes and experienced a moment of deep shock. Sally, with Elizabeth behind her, floated down the staircase, the amber silk of her gown caressing her lissome body. The brilliants sewn on to the gauze tunic reflected the candlelight like sparkling points of flame, enveloping her in a blaze of brilliance matched by her sparkling eyes. Her hair, piled high on her head in a luxuriant curve also caught the candlelight in russet highlights, and her cheeks were lightly flushed.

“God, she’s beautiful!” he murmured involuntarily.

He had not realized that Sedge had followed him from the ballroom, but behind him, he heard a strangled gasp.

“Beautiful,” whispered Sedge in echo.

Shaken, Charlie retired to a far corner of the Hall and watched Sally’s progress through the crowd. Her eyes searched the room, sweeping past Sedge at first, then returning to him. She greeted him with an engaging smile and allowed him to lift her fingers to his lips. A surge of bitterness curled in Charlie’s belly, and he would have fled the chamber but for Lady Winstaunton’s voice cutting through the buzz of chatter that surrounded him.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are going to start off the festivities tonight with the Token Auction.” To much laughing banter, she explained the rules of the auction, concluding with the reminder, “Remember, the lady who owns the token you purchase will be yours for the evening. At least until the last dance is played,” she added with a smile, as more laughter and several ribald shouts greeted her statement.