Elizabeth Mansfield (8 page)

Letty and Prue were too fascinated by their surroundings to notice the stir caused by their entrance. The elegant room, with its impressively high ceilings, gracefully shaped windows, and magnificent chandeliers, was as lovely as any that could be found in London. Letty, absorbed in admiration of a particularly fine lustre, was suddenly jolted by Prue, who whispered urgently, “Hurry, Letty! Aunt Millicent has found seats and is beckoning to us.” And she hurried down the aisle, not aware that her shawl had slipped from her shoulders to the floor. Letty stooped to pick it up. At the same moment, a gentleman who had been sitting on the aisle jumped up from his seat and bent to pick it up for her. Kneeling, their hands touched, and Letty glanced up to find herself looking directly into the smiling eyes of Roger Denham.

“Allow me, Miss Glendenning,” Lord Denham said, helping her up.

“M-my lord!” Letty gasped. “I didn’t know … That is, I didn’t expect to s-see you here.”

“But I expected to see
you
here,” he said, smiling at her with polished aplomb, “and I hoped I should find an opportunity to renew our acquaintance.”

His self-assurance only succeeded in shaking her own. “Thank you … I mean, I don’t think … That is …” and her voice petered out in hopeless dismay. She had no idea of what to say. She was so startled by his unexpected appearance that her mind didn’t seem to be functioning. What had brought him to Bath of all places? This was scarcely the sort of place to attract a Corinthian whose activities had always been at the very center of the fashionable circles. But there was no time now for puzzling over riddles. She must say something—anything!—and make her escape. “I believe,” she murmured, “that my aunt is … er … waiting for me. Please excuse me, sir.”

She glanced up at him to find him regarding her with a most disconcerting look of amusement in his eyes. “Of course, my dear,” he said, “but can you not spare a moment to greet my mother? She’s sitting right there, directly behind you, and is eager, I’m sure, to say hello to you.”

“Your mother?” Letty wheeled around.

Lady Denham was smiling up at her warmly. “How do you do, Letitia, dear?” she asked, holding out her hand. “How very lovely you are looking this evening.”

Letty took the proferred hand and made a nervous curtsy. “Good evening, Lady Denham,” she said awkwardly, and relapsed into blushing silence. She knew she should make some response to Lady Denham’s compliment, but something seemed to have happened to her wits. A few phrases flashed through her mind—“I didn’t see you sitting there,” or “How delightful to see you here in Bath,” or, “You, too, are looking very well this evening”—all of which she rejected for the inanities they were. But before her silence had become noticeable, a movement at the front of the room drew their eyes. The musicians were making their entrance.

“Oh, dear,” murmured Lady Denham, “we shall have to postpone our conversation. But never mind. You are with your aunt, are you not? Tell her that Roger and I shall look for you both at the intermission.”

Letty bobbed another awkward curtsy, smiled weakly, and started quickly down the aisle. Suddenly, realizing that she had not said goodbye to Roger Denham, she turned and glanced back over her shoulder. He was standing where she had left him, looking after her. Meeting his eyes, which seemed to her to have a rather unholy gleam of mischief in them, she gave him the briefest of nods and turned quickly to rejoin her aunt. So precipitous was she in turning away from his amused regard that she blundered into a gentleman who was proceeding up the aisle in the opposite direction. Ready to sink into the ground in mortification, she made a blushing and incoherent apology to the stranger who smilingly assured her that it was all his fault.

To add to her chagrin, she had a feeling that Roger had witnessed the entire scene. Unable to keep herself from confirming her fear, she glanced back up the aisle and saw, to her horror, that not only had
he been watching but that he was coming toward her again. What can he want
now
? she wondered as she watched his approach fearfully. But when he came up to her, he merely grinned and said, “I’m afraid I neglected to return this to you.” And he held out Prue’s forgotten shawl.

“Th-thank you,” she murmured miserably, and taking the shawl, fled down the aisle.

Her cheeks burning with embarrassment, she slid into the seat beside Prue just as the first notes of Handel’s
Water Music
sounded. Prue, not the least bit interested in the music, leaned toward Letty. “What kept you?” she asked in a loud whisper.

“This!” Letty hissed, and tossed the trouble-making shawl on Prue’s lap.

Lady Upsham, on the other side of Prue, frowned and leaned forward. “Is there anything the matter, Letty?” she asked.

“No, no. Nothing,” Letty whispered back. “But Lady Denham is here and said to tell you she will join us during the intermission.”

Aunt Millicent nodded without any apparent surprise at the news and sat back to enjoy the music. Prue, sensing some drama behind the little announcement, looked at Letty questioningly. But Letty shook her head and put a finger to her lips. Then she turned to face the orchestra and tried to concentrate on the lovely strains that had won for their composer the affection and support of a previously angry king.

But Letty couldn’t concentrate on the music. Her cheeks still burned in embarrassment at the memory of her mortifying performance, her heart still beat rapidly at the remembered gleam in Denham’s eyes, and her head still reeled with unanswered questions. That look in his eyes, as if he were enjoying a joke at her expense, was only to be expected when one thought of her behavior. She had acted like a veritable ninnyhammer. Never before, even when she had danced with him at Almack’s so long ago, had she felt so gawky and maladroit. Even more bothersome to her peace of mind was her inability to sift out the confusion of her own emotions about facing him again at intermission. She was well aware that her emotions were a chaos of contradictions. Mixed with her misery was a strong feeling of anticipation. Mixed with her fear was a tingle of excitement. Mixed with her pain was a very distinct element of joy. None of these feelings was appropriate to the situation. None was a sensible reaction to a chance encounter with a man who was little more than a stranger to her. Inexplicable as Denham’s appearance at Bath might be, Letty was sure it had nothing whatever to do with her.

Handel’s music had never seemed so interminable. She could not wait for it to end. Yet she dreaded the moment the last chord would be sounded. She needed every moment to compose her mind and still the racing of her pulse. For this, the
Water Music
proved to be an ally, for by the time the music had ended and the applause had faded, she had regained some semblance of composure and was able to face the approach of Lady Denham and her son with at least the
appearance
of equanimity.

Lady Upsham and Lady Denham greeted each other effusively, and Lord Denham was made known to Prue, who, when learning the identity of the splendid-looking nobleman who smiled down at her, did all but gape at him openmouthed. When he turned away to exchange some remarks with Lady Upsham, Prue drew Letty aside and whispered excitedly, “I never took you for a fool, Letty, but fool you must be! How could you have refused him? He’s
devastating
!”

“Hush, you idiot! Do you want him to hear you?” Letty answered in irritation. “And if you find him so devastating, why don’t you ask him to offer for
you
?”

Prue was given no opportunity to respond, for Denham was approaching. With his practiced smile, he asked to escort Letty to the Octagon Room, where a table of refreshments had been laid out. Letty was about to make a polite refusal when she caught her aunt’s eye on her. There was no mistaking the order in that glance. Letty was to accept. She threw her aunt a look of desperate appeal, but the
answering glance held a command of such ferocity that Letty knew she had better agree.

Diffidently, she took Denham’s proffered arm and walked with him out of the room. Roger, who had missed nothing of the little byplay between Letty and her aunt, gave her hand a sympathetic squeeze. “I know you’re quite reluctant to accept my company, Miss Glendenning,” he said with disarming candor. “I can’t say I blame you. I perfectly understand that our situation is somewhat awkward.”

“Very awkward, my lord,” Letty admitted.

“But it needn’t be. Even though you won’t marry me, you may still
talk
to me, you know. Accepting my company to the refreshment table won’t commit you to accepting my offer of marriage.”

He was smiling down at her with his roguish look. It made her feel foolish and naive, and she lowered her eyes and said nothing.

Denham tried again. “If I promise to say nothing of marriage, I’m sure you will find me quite easy to talk to,” he assured her with his unnerving self-confidence.

Letty felt a wave of resentment. He was talking to her as if she were a willful child—as if her awkwardness came from her own lack of spirit rather than a dreadful situation that was completely of
his
making! With an intake of breath, she made a decision to match his candor with a bit of her own. “
Will
I find you easy to talk to?” she asked in a tone that was decidedly challenging. “I have not hitherto found you so.”

Lord Denham looked at her in astonishment. This was not the sort of answer he’d expected. “What did you say?” he asked doubtfully. “Have you found my conversation … er … troublesome in some way?”

Letty, realizing that the answer to his question might lead her in a direction that was much too dangerous to approach, tried to draw back. “I … We … I see that we’ve arrived at the Octagon Room. Do you suppose they serve ratafia?” she asked innocently.

Roger cocked an eyebrow and surveyed her suspiciously. “You are trying to put me off the scent, Miss Glendenning, and I’m much too good a hunter for that. But, to answer
your
question before we return to
mine,
yes, I’m sure I can procure a glass of ratafia for you, if you’re sure you want the dreadful stuff.”

“I think I should like some, if you please,” she answered mendaciously, well aware that ratafia was the most insipid drink imaginable.

Roger led her into the room, brought her to an unoccupied bench, bowed, and went to the refreshment table. But the short interruption did not suffice to make him forget the subject under discussion. He quickly returned, handed her the drink, and seated himself beside her. She peeped up at him to find him staring at her with interest—more interest, she thought, than he had shown when he’d asked her to marry him. Meeting her eye, he repeated his question abruptly. “In what way has my conversation been troublesome to you, Miss Glendenning?”

Letty lowered her eyes. “I’ve been too frank, I fear.”

“Not at all,” he assured her. “Frankness is a quality I very much admire.”

Letty looked at him earnestly. “I’ve no wish for you to reproach yourself about … about anything in regard to me. Indeed, you’ve been … almost always … quite proper and kind. I should not have said what I did just now.”

“
Almost
always?” Lord Denham persisted. “That means that, at some time, I was
not
proper and kind. Can you tell me when I was not?”

“Oh, dear, I
have
gone too far. Please, Lord Denham, may we change the subject?”

“Of course, if you wish. I don’t want to make
this
conversation troublesome.” His disarming smile
made a sudden reappearance. “But I shan’t let the matter rest for long. You’ve stirred up my curiosity, my girl, and it must, sooner or later, be satisfied.”

Letty couldn’t resist an impulse to tease. “You see?” she accused, with an impish smile. “You’ve done it again.”

“What have I done?”

“Said something troublesome.”

“What?” he asked in puzzled amusement. “Now?”

“Yes, you have.”

“I can’t think what it could have been,” he said, watching her intently. The girl was almost enchanting, and he was surprised that he had not noticed it before. He smiled at her challengingly. “Either I’m a complete clodpole, or you are oversensitive.”

“I don’t choose to call you a clodpole, sir, but you
did
call me ‘my girl,’ which you must admit is a troublesome epithet for a young lady who … who …”

Roger laughed appreciatively. “A young lady who refused to be my wife. You are quite right. I
am
a clodpole.”

With that disturbing gleam back in his eyes, he kept them fixed on Letty’s face while he removed the glass gently from her hand (having noted that she had not drunk a drop), held it out to a passing waiter without even glancing round, and took both her hands in his. “Were my other troublesome remarks of the same nature,” he asked her softly, “or were they even worse?”

Letty’s smile wavered, her eyes dropped, and she tried in vain to remove her hands from his clasp. “I thought we were going to change the subject,” she said, her heart beginning to race.

“Tell me,” he demanded with a smiling urgency.

She looked up at him with a show of defiance in her eyes. “Much worse,” she said bluntly.

His smile faded, and he stared at her in dismay. “You’re quite serious, aren’t you? I
have
offended you in some way.”

“You are being troublesome again, my lord. And I think you’d better release my hands. I’m afraid that we’re becoming the object of a few curious stares.”

Roger looked round to find her accusation to be quite true. With real reluctance, he released her and helped her to her feet. “Very well, Miss Glendenning, you win this round,” he said as he took her arm. “We shall go back, though I’ll admit to you that my pleasure in the music is quite at an end. But I intend to get to the bottom of this, and in the very near future, so take warning.”

“You make too much of my nonsensical remarks, my lord,” she said in the colorless tone she had used when he’d met her in the past, and nothing he said could induce her to say another word.