Major Lord David (11 page)

“Gladly. And as Lady Grimstock’s equipage has run off, I
shall invite that vigilant lady to accompany us”

David knew that Hayden would only endure Lady Grimstock’s company in his own interest. No better protection from
Charis Athington than coldly correct Lady Grimstock!

“If Leigh-Maitland takes more of the female contingent
with him, we might significantly reduce the party here,” Hayden added. “You will still stay?”

David nodded. “Mrs. Sanders is overset. Though I hear cries
that the Guards approach, I would see them before leaving. As
it is, anyone might come through the windows.”

He watched Myles cross to Billie and escort her and her
aunt toward the back of the hall. When Billie briefly glanced David’s way, he attempted a small smile, which he suspected
she could not see-or did not choose to.

The roar from the street was dissipating. David opened the
front door to find the Guard now clearing the crowd before
them. With that development, he sent the overwrought Mrs.
Sanders and her daughter safely upstairs to rest, then dispatched a manservant for a carpenter and glazier. He pressed
more servants to locate blankets to hang upon the drapery
rods in the drawing room against the chill of the night. He escorted two parties of relieved guests out back, where several
constables had arrived to shepherd them home. Upon Mr.
Sanders’ return an hour later, David at last walked back alone
to his grandmere’s, to find a supper of soup and bread in the
kitchen and a scribbled note from Hayden: Miss Billie requests, `When all is calmer-when he is able-would you ask
him please to come to me?’

And David knew she had at last made her decision.

The week was a miserable one. When Billie recalled what
she had heard of the previous season’s pleasures, she wondered what whimsical fate had determined that her own comeout should occur during such a decidedly unsettled spring. In
the streets, railing and rioting against the Corn Bill had consumed the previous three days, leading to damaged property,
countless injuries, and even several deaths. Throughout the
West End a pervasive air of nervous tension never eased. And
from all reports, the discussions in Parliament over the proposal were almost as violent as the crowds outside. In light of
such tumult, fretting over society’s cancelled engagements
had seemed frivolous in the extreme.

Billie knew that her mood echoed the agitation in town.
She had secretly been delighted by Lord David’s appearance
at both her birthday evening and the Sanderses’ musicale, but
she could not rid herself of a pronounced melancholy. Though
for years she had anticipated happiness in achieving her
heart’s aim, in obtaining the attentions of Lord David, she instead felt little-as though she had taken advantage, as though
she had not been quite sporting. Yes, at the Braughton New
Year’s gala, Lord David had maneuvered her to that secluded
alcove, but she had wanted to go. And though everything
about him had signaled his intention to kiss her, she had made
no move to flee. She still considered she had trapped him, and
in trapping him, herself.

Her honor, her belief in fair play, demanded that she release him from all obligation, that she remove any claim her
family had upon the house of Braughton and David Trent.
The major had not taken her seriously in January-perhaps
rightly, since her refusal then had been so tempestuously delivered. With time, she herself had thought her reaction excessive. In any event, their fathers had not abandoned their hopes
for a union; they still thought their offspring intended for each
other. Billie wished now only to relieve her own sense of guilty
oppression; the “getting” of David Trent had not proved as satisfying as she had always imagined. She could not bear the sly
smiles and speculative asides of May Sanders and Charis
Athington. If the idea of a betrothal were openly denied, Billie
thought she might still find some noble, lonely enjoyment in
the season.

Yet he was apparently ignoring her request that he come to
see her.

Billie tried to concentrate on her needlework as she and her
aunt awaited callers. Sewing was one of Billie’s least favorite
occupations; she knew Ephie heard her frustrated sighs with
answering, silent reproof. That afternoon Billie might almost
have preferred the arrival of Kit and the necessity to confront
yet another of his increasingly rash and troubling starts. A sorry
state indeed, she thought-pricking her finger once againthat she should long for another of Kit’s disasters as entertainment.

They were soon, thankfully, treated to companyin the
form of Lord Grenby, whose marked attentions to Billie were
becoming more frequent. Several other young gentlemen, perhaps aware of Major Lord David Trent’s prior claim, tended to
hover with sheepish looks and irritating hesitance. The season’s misses, given fears for their safety in the streets that week,
had been venturing out infrequently. But Billie and Ephie had
paid some calls the previous day, and that afternoon they were
rewarded in turn. Yet as the afternoon advanced, and despite the full drawing room, Billie despaired of ever seeing Major
Trent again. When Charis Athington arrived, to quiz her yet
again regarding the nonexistent betrothal, Billie found it impossible to remain composed.

“I assure you, Miss Athington,” she snapped as Charis cornered her over the seed cake, “it is all unfounded. A complete
hum.”

“We should not be anticipating the announcement any day,
then?” Charis’ dark eyes glittered speculatively.

“No.

“Then-pardon me, Miss Caswell-but if there is no real
affection in the case and no hope for an attachment, you might
inform the rest of us. Perhaps then we might … try our own
fortunes?” Though Charis’ tone was light, Billie thought the
comment far from playful. And as determined as she had been
to end all chatter about an engagement, she was tempted to
direct Charis Athington elsewhere.

“I suspect Major Trent would be most happy to entertain
you,” she managed instead, while privately hoping that David
would have the good sense to send Charis off about other business.

Major Trent had the pleasure of encountering the departing Miss Athington just as he himself was announced. Billie
watched the two briefly exchanging words, then watched David
bend low over Charis’ hand. Billie thought it likely that Charts
would find an excuse to delay her departure. Abruptly turning
her back upon the two, Billie beamed upon a delighted Lord
Grenby. But she was aware of David’s approach just behind
her left shoulder-even before he spoke.

“Grenby,” he acknowledged. “How d’you do?”

“Lord David.” And Grenby graciously bowed. But he was
quick to excuse himself. “I will not intrude upon your time
with Miss Caswell.”

The major’s presence, or perhaps Grenby’s departure, ap peared to signal the rest of the company, for Billie was immediately flooded with well-wishes and adieus, until-after scarcely
more than five minutes-she and Major Trent were left alone
with Ephie.

“Should you like some refreshment, Major?” Ephie asked,
making-at least as it seemed to Billie-an excess of bustle
and noise with the china.

“No, thank you, Miss Caswell. I have all I might desire.” At
that Ephie smiled benignly and settled herself once again to
embroider. Though her aunt now sat at the far end of the
hearth, Billie fervently wished her even farther.

“You look lovely, Miss Billie,” Lord David said, at once
drawing her attention from her aunt. Her gaze met his with the
recognition that he always seemed curiously familiar, as
though he had simply stepped away for an hour or two, though
the interval might have been months. “What would you call this
color?” he asked, as her bemused gaze focused on his gesturing hand. “The color of your sash?”

“Blue,” she said, instantly aware that that would not do, just
as the simple word blue could never quite describe his eyes.

Lord David’s smile actually reached those eyes.

“I had thought the drapers more imaginative,” he remarked.
“Surely it must be called `ocean’ or `sea mist’?” As he held her
look, Billie wished she might avoid this conversation-though
she had been anticipating it for some weeks.

“Major .. ” she began, only to see him shake his head.

“I think it should be David now. As we are such … old
friends.”

“Perhaps you ought to hear me first,” she said.

And at that rather ominous caution, his look sobered. “I
must compliment you, Miss Caswell, on your performance the
other night-both at the piano and in the face of considerable
danger.”

“You called me a fool.”

“Just so” He shrugged. “All bravery is foolish. But only one
man in a thousand would have stood his ground as you did, untrained.”

“Oh, but I am trained, Major,” she admitted easily. “All of my
life, I’ve had to force myself-always-to match my brothers
for boldness. Indeed, sometimes to exceed them”

“Whatever its basis, ‘tis bravery.” He smiled. “I should prefer ten of you to a battalion.”

She swallowed, suspecting she had never before been more
highly complimented.

“I have not thanked you,” she managed, “for the lovely porcelain box. It is charming and does indeed remind me of my
brothers. ‘Twas thoughtful of you to bring it so far.”

Again he shrugged. “Paris no longer seems far. As I mentioned, I was struck by the figures. Your brothers mean much
to you, and you are very good to them” His gaze assessed her.
“I’ve encountered Mr. Morty occasionally in town this past
week. But he did not attend the musicale?”

“No. He-he seems to have fixed his interest on a certain
young lady. She is also just out this season-Esther Urquhart?”
As he shook his head, Billie feared she threatened to bore him;
the season’s debutantes could not be of the slightest interest to
him. Except, of course, for Miss Athington.

“And your youngest brother, Edward? I have not seen him
since the New Year.”

“Edward will be joining us here soon, for end of term, at
Easter.” There was a silence as Christopher’s whereabouts and
activities went unacknowledged. Kit’s rudeness in the kitchen
at her birthday was only the least of Billie’s concerns. She
thought it likely that Kit’s heavy wagers had come to David’s
notice, as the ton seemed most eager to broadcast all. “My
brother Jack writes that he will soon make me an aunt,” she relayed instead, and as brightly as possible.

“My compliments to him,” David said. “He sold out when?”

“Last May. Almost a year ago” The opening was one she could not ignore. “Do you-do you intend now to relinquish
your commission, Major?”

His relief was almost palpable.

“You must determine it, Miss Caswell,” he said with a
smile. “In January you released me. I grant I’d been unforgivably rude. But given the uncertain circumstances-there at
the doorstep-and since you have not alerted your father,
or-I should say-since he has not alerted mine-they still
have their hopes”

Whatever courage he had found to commend in her seemed
to have deserted her. Billie’s gaze took in his striking uniform, with its bright red wool and elaborate braided epaulets.

“Sometimes,” he continued softly, observing her, “a decision, any decision, is the only requirement. I should like one
now-yes, no, or that you must have more time.”

Billie swallowed. She did not truly wish to say no, but she
could not condemn him to yes. And she could not ask again
for more time; doing so would delay the decision he deserved.
The major wished to be getting on.

“No,” she said.

His smile held. But something of humor fled his gaze. Billie suspected that no man could enjoy being refused, whatever
the relief of it. She sensed also that no matter what she said,
their connection was accepted, a given. There had always
been an undercurrent that defied words.

“You think we would not suit?” he asked lightly.

“That is not the point.”

“It is very much the point!” But he checked himself and
partly turned from her. “I suppose it says a great deal about
my vanity-that had you said yes, I would not have sought the
reasons. But as you’ve told me no, and as we’ve always spoken openly with each other, perhaps you might share your reasons with me now? Despite your dismissal in January, I
confess I’d expected to send an announcement to the Times.”

She thought her jaw might actually have dropped. She’d had no notion he was so committed. But he had asked for an
explanation….

“First, then-the circumstances are not at all conducive to
any … any lasting contentment. You should not-that is, we
should not be held accountable for a moment’s indiscretion.
‘Tis not … enlightened.” As his eyes widened, she added, “I
am certain that if either of us could return to the New Year, we
would not repeat the mistake. That alone is in the nature of a
test-repentance”

He looked amused. “I assure you, Miss Billie, my thoughts
have returned to the New Year quite often indeed, and with
too much pleasure to believe myself at all repentant” As she
blushed, he went on. “You cite the `circumstances’ that bound
us as something entirely negative. But could they not also be
an opportunity?”