His Heart's Delight (9 page)

I mean she has been forever around our home
and we hers. They get along well enough, and a union between a
Lambert female and a Wilton male would suit my father perfectly. It
will put an end to a squabble over some property that both families
have claimed for four generations.”

Morgan controlled his smile. It was about
settlements and not sentiment after all. “The land would be part of
the marriage settlement?”

Peter waved his hand. “Some nonsensical
arrangement made years ago that the land would go to the first
Wilton-Lambert union, with the land to go to the male half of the
marriage regardless of which family it was. Of course, there is no
doubt that the property belongs to us. It is only that Lambert land
borders it on three sides.”

Wilton’s words were spoken with a righteous
indignation that he must have inherited direct from his father.

Morgan frowned. “Does Miss Lambert know
this?” He could not believe that she would agree to it if it were
expressed quite that way.

“I think not, sir. It would not suit her
romantic nature at all.”

Exactly. But why did the phrase he had just
thought sound so belittling when given voice by Wilton? He
considered it a moment as he watched Rhys and Gaffney still talking
with earnest intensity. To Wilton, Christiana’s “romantic nature”
was a shortcoming and for Morgan it was an intrinsic part of her
charm.

He could almost convince himself that she
needed to be rescued from the machinations of her land-hungry
neighbor. But that was not what this was about. It was a ruse to
satisfy James, to win for himself the time he needed to earn his
own fortune so he could declare his independence.

It was hardly a sacrifice to escort a lovely
lady to such entertainments as they would both enjoy. If, in the
process, she learned there was more to romance than a provincial
land-hungry beau, then she would learn what dozens before her had.
It sounded less noble put that way, he decided, and just a little
more cruel. But then the truth often was.

~ ~ ~

“Christy, the truth is cruel.” Joanna sat on
the edge of her sister’s bed and tried to make herself understood.
“He is a gamester. That means games are his specialty. I do not
trust him.”

Christiana was sorry that she had brought up
the subject. Why had she, when the evening had already proved trial
enough? Because she had not expected Joanna to disagree with her,
that was why. And now the little ache behind her eyes threatened to
blossom into a full-blown headache. She would change the
subject.

“Was that musicale not a colossal bore? Two
women singing in German for two hours.” She shuddered. “I do wish
Mama had not turned down those other invitations so
precipitously.”

Joanna sighed, sat on the bed, and began to
pull pins from her hair. “She was so certain that we would be
invited to the Richlands’ ball.” Joanna smiled at her sister and
sat upright, imitating their mother. “My mother was the daughter of
an earl.”

Christiana smiled with relief. “That may be,
but apparently Mama has been gone from Town too long. I suppose it
will take time to reestablish herself. At least that was the excuse
she gave me.”

Joanna’s answering smile disappeared. Her
sister stood up from the bed and took her hands. “I do not trust
him, Christy.”

“Yes, he likes to gamble, Joanna. But that is
no sin, at least not in a man I have no intention of marrying.
Peter tells me he has a reputation for scrupulous honesty and fair
play. And no one, not one person, has suggested that he is a
womanizer. I do trust him.”

Joanna let go of her sister’s hands and
stepped back. “But how can you know? You have danced with him once,
chanced upon him at his grandmother’s, and met him at Mr. Philips’s
gallery. And there is another curious thing. What was he doing
there, alone? No one goes to that sort of thing alone.”

She shrugged away Joanna’s curiosity.
“Perhaps he was there to make a purchase and chanced to see us as
he was leaving?”

“Sister dearest, you can be so stubborn. Why
do you trust him? Give me one good reason and I will relent.”

“His grandmother loves him.”

Joanna flopped back on the bed in an unusual
gesture of exaggerated disgust. “Christy! All grandmothers dote on
their grandchildren, especially the rogues—who know exactly how to
deceive them.”

“But that’s exactly it. She is not deceived
by him. She hates dishonesty, Jo. She told me so herself. It has
something to do with her marriage to the duke. But no matter what
the reason, she can see right through a lie.”

“And how do you know that?” Joanna sat up and
began to gather the pins lying on the bedcover and then stopped.
“Did you lie to her?”

“No, of course not.”

“So you are willing to spend the entire
Season in company with this one man, whom you barely know, and not
even so much as flirt with another?”

“But is it not the perfect solution?”

“Only if you are absolutely certain that
Richard is your heart’s delight.”

“My heart’s delight? You are reading too many
novels, Joanna! And everyone thinks that I am the romantic in this
family!” Christiana turned toward the window. Did Joanna really
think that the perfect lover existed outside of the pages of the
Minerva Press? “Richard and I have known each other from the
cradle, Jo. The military life he wants will suit me perfectly.” She
crushed the totally unexpected glimmer of uncertainty with
something akin to panic and turned back to Joanna. “Why is it
impossible to accept that I wish to be loyal to Richard, especially
now that he is away and lonely?”

Joanna avoided an argument, as Christiana
knew she would. “If you think that this plan you have devised with
Lord Morgan will work, then I will support you. I do feel that you
should seek wiser counsel than mine, though.”

“Lord Morgan did say that the fewer who knew
the better it would be.”

“Then I must count myself lucky to be one of
the chosen few who know the truth.”

“Joanna, please, I can not abide it when you
are upset with me.”

The chill disappeared, replaced with urgent
entreaty. “But, Christy, the whole purpose of this Season is to see
if you have made the right choice, to prove to yourself that your
affections are truly engaged and that Richard is the best choice
for your life’s partner.”

At least she had avoided using “heart’s
delight” again. “I know that is what Papa and I agreed, but I have
made the right choice. I already know that.”

Joanna threw up her hands in surrender. “You
are exactly like Mama, you know.”

It was the ultimate insult. Joanna knew that.
Christiana rubbed her temple, trying to erase both the headache and
the irritation. “I am like Mama? Pray, Joanna, what does that
mean?”

“She thinks everything should go on as she
ordains it. Even if it means fitting a square peg in a round
hole.”

Christiana whirled away from her sister’s bed
and threw the next words over her shoulder. “I am committed to
Richard in every way, Jo. We have spent the night together!”

“No, Christy!” Joanna’s shock was palpable.
She forgot to breathe for a moment and then gasped. “When?” It
sounded as though it was the only word she could manage.

“The night before he left. We met in the
summer house and stayed together the whole night. He escorted me
home just before first light and then walked back home and rode off
to the war.”

There was a long silence. Christiana did not
dare look at her sister. She knew she would see hurt, disbelief,
maybe even disgust.

When Joanna did speak, her words were so
softly spoken that Christiana had to strain to hear them. “Then you
are truly committed and there is nothing else to say. You must do
whatever you think best to resolve the situation.”

“I am sorry, Joanna I have one of those awful
headaches and am not thinking properly.” She did turn and look at
her sister then, and Joanna’s expression was one of
disappointment.

“I suppose you would never have told me, if
you were thinking clearly.” With that she left her sister’s room.
Christiana could not think of three other occasions when they had
parted for the night without good wishes.

As she undressed and prepared for bed,
Christiana realized something else: Joanna had been wrong. It was
not the truth that was cruel. Lying was infinitely more painful.
And she had lied to a sister who was one of the dearest people in
her entire world.

Why had she told Joanna that she and Richard
had spent the night together? To end the argument? To convince
Joanna in any way she could that her ruse with Lord Morgan made
sense?

Sally helped her comb out her hair and then
disappeared with her dress. Christiana let the tears that she had
been holding back trickle down her cheeks.

Yes, she had lied, but she wished desperately
that her lie had been a truth. She had wanted that night with
Richard more than she had ever wanted anything. All the bouquets in
the world, every hand-holding walk in the park, every kiss good
night would not have meant as much as being held in his arms for
one long night. It would have been undeniable proof of his
commitment and his love. One thing to carry her through the months
of worry for him. A tangible promise of their future together.

Richard had refused. Indeed, he had been as
shocked as Joanna at the mere suggestion. “What would your father
think of me?” he’d demanded. When she had insisted he would never
know, Richard had still refused. It was not the way a proper young
lady behaved. A gentleman would never take advantage of a young
lady’s weakness in that way. He went on and on until she was almost
convinced that he was right.

He did not understand, she had argued, that
this was never about weakness or propriety. It was about
passion.

And then Richard had said something that had
frightened her. “We share a mutual respect and know each other as
well as most brothers and sisters. That is a much better basis for
marriage than passion.”

Christiana did not care what other people’s
marriages were based on. She wanted passion in hers. She had
dreamed of marriage since she was twelve. She knew what happened in
the marriage bed and was willing to share that with Richard. Surely
passion was the only thing that made such intimacy anything but
sordid.

She had tried to convince him with more
delicately phrased words, but he had been adamant. He had ended the
discussion with three words: “We will wait.” He’d spoken with a
cool smile and calm resolution, and then followed it with one final
unarguable statement. “It is the sensible thing to do.”

She did not care a pin for sensible then, and
even now longed for some memory that was more romantic than
prosaic. Christiana turned on her side and prayed for sleep, afraid
guilt would keep her awake. She wished she had not lied to her
sister. With a sigh she realized that she would have to tell Joanna
the truth in the morning. There had never been any dishonesty
between them and she knew it was wrong.

Her conscience eased, Christiana eventually
drifted into a fitful sleep, her last waking thought the
realization that Lord Morgan had exhibited more gallantry to her
than Richard ever had. But that was all London charm, she dreamed.
Exactly what her father had wanted her to experience.

“I
swear, Morgan, if
Dante were writing
The Divine Comedy
today, it is certain
that he would have included Almack’s on one of his levels of hell.”
Rhys was nervous and the slow progress of the carriages on the
rain-soaked streets only added to it.

Morgan decided to humor his brother. “Surely
you overstate the case. You would not actually call the Assembly
Rooms the abode of Satan, would you?”

Rhys relaxed against the squabs and
considered the question. “No, that would be an insult to Dante, for
that was at the very bottom of the chasm. But there are nine
circles between that and limbo. Plenty of room for all kinds of sin
there.”

Morgan tried to recall if he had ever
actually read the
Divine Comedy.
“Then tell me, what level
of hell was reserved for mediocre music and ambitious mamas?”

“Circle Eight is for hypocrites and
panderers,” Rhys suggested.

“Too cruel, brother. These mothers do only
what they think is best for their daughters. And one can hardly
call them hypocrites when they are quite open about their hopes for
an advantageous match.”

“Then we will call them avaricious and place
them on Circle Four.”

“May the gods save me from the judgment of
youth.” Morgan was only half joking. Rhys did see everything as
black and white.

Rhys shrugged and then smiled. “Let me see, I
wonder where he put gamesters.”

Morgan held up his hand. “Spare me. Let it be
a surprise.” They had reached St. James Street and he could see
Almack’s entrance ablaze with lamps. He counted seven coaches ahead
of theirs, each stopping only long enough to discharge
passengers.

“Exactly why did we choose to arrive at the
moment the doors opened?” Rhys asked, as though only now realizing
how unusual that was.

“I thought it would add a soupcon of humility
to the game. If the gods of vanity are with me, the patronesses
will see my early arrival as a gesture of respect.” Morgan had
given each play of this game careful thought.

“And tease the rest of the
ton
with
the prospect that you may indeed be seeking a bride?”

His brother was not a member of White’s. Did
the information come from gossip or family?

The two welcomed the umbrella the porter held
and were urged inside by a sudden gust of wind. They could go no
more than a few steps into the lobby.

The hall was crammed with people, voices
raised in excited greeting. Young ladies dressed in pastels and
adorned with pearls were making their way to the withdrawing rooms
to repair the damage of wind and wet. Groups of young men, dressed
in self-conscious grandeur, clustered in small groups as though
they needed the strength of numbers to storm the fortress of
propriety that was Almack’s. Morgan nudged Rhys to the side, away
from the entry, and they waited beyond a pillar for the passage to
the receiving room to clear.