Miss Lindel's Love (8 page)

She emerged, repaired, and determined to apologize to Mrs. Paladin. Trying out words in her mind, she was not watching where she was going. She stepped on a blue satin train whisking along the floor. The woman it belonged to gasped and stopped, perforce. Her two friends walking beside her also paused.

“Clumsy child,” Mrs. Armitage said. Then she checked and peered at Maris. “Miss... Miss Lindel, is it not?

“
Yes
,
ma’am,” Maris said, dipping a hasty curtsy.

Mrs. Armitage’s color was higher than it had been at the cathedral. Her gown was excessively low-cut to make a better display of the stunningly beautiful necklace reposing upon her white bosom. Impossible not to mention it, after her apology. Mrs. Armitage brushed her fingers across it, setting the articulated clusters to swaying. “I’m sure there are many such trifles in your future.”

“I’ve no such ambition.”

“You seek a simple golden band, no doubt.” Her friends, both well-dressed and bejeweled, tittered behind their hands,

Mrs. Armitage’s hostility had no basis, so far as Maris knew. Surely, she’d apologized enough for tripping over her train. She frowned. “Every woman must hope to marry. If you’ll pardon me, ma’am, I should find my party.”

As she walked away, with the obscure feeling that she should run, she heard one of the other two ask Mrs. Armitage, “Who was that?”

“That,” Mrs. Armitage said, icily clear, “is the minx who was making sheep’s eyes at Lord Danesby.”

Maris couldn’t believe that anyone would be so thoughtlessly cruel to someone who had done them no harm. She returned to the ballroom, blind now to elegancies and follies alike.

“Miss Lindel,” Lord Danesby said, taking her arm. “You are unwell.”

“No, no, sir,” Maris said, looking back, worried that those dreadful women would see Lord Danesby with her. She wanted to protect him from their distorted view,

“It’s far too stuffy in here.” He looked about him. “Come nearer the window and catch a breath of air.

“I am quite well, my lord,” she answered, resisting the gentle guidance of his hand. “It’s all very wonderful, isn’t it?”

“Your first grown-up ball?”

She had not thought that blue eyes could be so warm. Though she nodded at first, so mesmerized she’d hardly heard what he said, she instantly corrected this misapprehension. She was no child, allowed out of the nursery to peep at the party from over the banister. “I attended some winter assemblies last year in Guiverston.”

“Indeed,” he said, as though this were fascinating information.

Maris smiled up at him, forgetting for a moment that they might be observed and her expression misinterpreted again. “But even Guiverston is nothing like London.”

“The comparison is not generally made. Do you miss Finchley?”

“I miss the people. They are dearer to me than I knew, when I saw them every day. Do you miss it?”

“I am something of a weathercock, Miss Lindel. When in London, I wonder why I ever left home. When I am at Finchley Place, I wonder what possessed me to think I could ever bear the retired life.”

“At least you are not tied to either one by some occupation.”

“There is that. I would be very unhappy as a laborer, unable to leave my position for fear of poverty and yet yearning to be elsewhere.”

“You could have run away to sea.” Maris enjoyed countering his flight of fancy with one of her own. “Sailors are never still even at rest.”

“True. But they cannot escape their ship in the middle of the ocean. I think, you know, if I’d needed to choose a profession I would have liked to have been a shoemaker.”

“A shoemaker?” Maris repeated, looking at his well-cared-for hands. “They stay at their lasts.”

“But perhaps I could take comfort in thinking of all the places my shoes might go.”

“And never go yourself?” She shook her head. “I have lived vicariously now for some twelve years. It does not satisfy.”

Maris did not mean to be mysterious. Seeing his interested gaze, she hurried to explain herself. “As a girl, I mean.”

“‘As a girl,’ you live vicariously?” He tapped his cheek thoughtfully with his forefinger. His eyes looked even bluer when focused intently on her and they were already the most fascinating sea blue she’d ever seen. “As a man, I confess I cannot understand what you mean.”

Maris caught the corner of her underlip in her teeth and looked past him at a large sparkling chandelier, seeking words. “I mean ...girls live so quietly, learning our letters, sewing our samplers, playing with dolls and other girls ... unless you have brothers.” She was getting confused.

Maris stopped and began again. “We have only our dreams, yet even while we are dreaming, we know there’s no chance.... A man might dream of being a sailor or a soldier or ... or prime minister. He can sail away or march off to fight or take his seat. Or even choose to make shoes. Unless a girl limits her dreams to the possible, she must know they will never come true.”

“And what use are dreams only of the possible?” Lord Danesby murmured.

She smiled at him again, just as she would have at any friend. “Exactly. My lord.”

“Don’t start ‘my lording’ me now, Miss Lindel,” he said with a chuckle. Then, more seriously, he added, “Would you have a woman be prime minister?”

“I would, if she were capable. I have known women who could give the Duke of Wellington lessons in strategy and men who cannot give an order to the cook.”

“Lord, so have I,” he said, as if surprised. “Are you a strategist, Miss Lindel?”

She shook her head. “I am not clever, sir. I wish I were.”

“Can you dance? You must, if you attended the winter assemblies at Guiverston. Will you honor me, Miss Lindel?”

Maris recalled with a sense of shock that they were not alone. Quite the reverse. She stole a look about her. As she feared, this long chat had not gone unwitnessed. All about them, women whispered behind their fans while a few were even so vulgar as to stretch upon their tiptoes in order to see over their taller sisters. As the flush mounted into her cheeks, she stammered out a plea to return to her friends.

“You won’t dance with me?” Was he offended? She stole a peek at his face and saw confusion but no lack of amusement. “I assure you that your companions won’t object to me.”

Thinking of Mrs. Paladin’s rapture at his notice of her, Maris did not doubt that Lord Danesby would prove acceptable in every way. If she were here now, no question but that she would be urging Maris to accept at once. Even more intently did her heart wish it. To dance with him, just once, would be as near to a dream as any waking experience could be.

“It’s not Mrs. Paladin’s objections that concern me, sir.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “It’s the notice of the larger world.”

Now he looked about them as well. She saw his chin lift with pride even as his strong brows drew together. “Shall I tell you my family motto?”

“‘Flinch not nor fear,’ ” Maris said, her own chin rising.

“Would you mind telling me just: how you know that?” he asked sharply as her words passed over his.

“It’s carved into the stone lintel over the front door at Finchley Old Place, as well as over the fireplace in the kitchen. Did you forget my mother is your tenant?”

“Yes, I did. Tell me, is she here tonight?”

“No, she’s gone out of town.” She explained briefly about Sophie and her uncle’s invitation.

“I see. I will call on her when she returns. I have something of particular import to discuss with her.” She looked up at him interrogatively but he shook his head. “Well, Miss Lindel, will you dance with me?”

How could she refuse again? “Yes, my lord. I should be honored.”

“Yes, you should be. I don’t dance with the daughters of all my tenants, you know.”

“You ought to consider it. Some of the farmers have very beautiful daughters.”

“They do? You make me regret I don’t spend more time at home.” She laughed as he presented her into the line for the dance just beginning.

Dancing with Lord Danesby gave strength and substance to all Maris’s dreams. As they linked arms to promenade, she breathed in his scent, grounding herself in reality. A tingle swept over her, not unlike the ones she’d feel when brushing her hair on a dry winter’s morning. Just as her hair would leap to the brush, so did she feel drawn to his lordship. When she touched him again, she almost feared a spark would leap between them, burning them both.

Maris was at least spared the fear of tripping or stepping on his toes. Though not possessed of Lilah Paladin’s languid grace, she could dance well and, moreover, she enjoyed the exercise. It wasn’t riding, but it was better than most of London life. Lord Danesby, too, seemed to smile rather more at her than with the others he met in the course of the steps, though that may have just been his polite way of honoring his partner.

When it ended, all too soon, he stood with her for a moment, both of them breathing hard. “Shall we attempt the second half of the set?” he asked.

“I’m game for it, if you are.”

Just then, two ladies walked by. Maris had been introduced to them earlier in the evening and she gave them a nod and a smile. The smile faded when one looked at her with half-closed eyes and gave a small but audible sniff. The other murmured, “Some girls waste no time.”

Puzzled, Maris looked at Lord Danesby. He stared after the ladies, an eyebrow lifted. “What was that about?” he asked.

“I have no notion. Do you know them?”

“Very well indeed. One is a distant cousin on the distaff side, the other her longtime bosom companion.” His smile returned. “Never mind. Shall we dance again?”

Maris wanted to accept, very badly. But she felt chilled, not by the temperature of the room itself but by a change of atmosphere. Everywhere she looked, she met censorious gazes. “I had better return to Mrs. Paladin. She’ll wonder what became of me.”

“I’ll take you to her at once. Er ... where is she?”

He tucked her arm under his own and held her to a pace more moderate than she would have chosen. “Slowly, slowly, Miss Lindel. If the world wishes to stare, let it look its fill.”

“Why should they wish to stare at me?”

“You may wrong yourself. It may be myself they wish to observe. This new way of tying my cravat is most unusual. No doubt everyone wishes to study it in detail.”

“
You
sound like a coxcomb, my lord.”

“Dandy, my dear child, dandy. Alas, that I forgot my quizzing glass for I’d soon make a few souls look blue.” Lord Danesby may have sounded like a lazy-voiced dandy but his eyes were that of a giddy boy.

“They’ll never believe me at home when I write them about tonight,” Maris said, hardly realizing she had spoken aloud. “It’s like a fairy tale.”

“I’ve never been the hero of a fairy tale before,” Lord Danesby said, the faintest tinge of bitterness seeping into his tone. “We viscounts are usually found in fiction as wicked uncles trying to chouse the heroine out of her fortune.”

“I only meant... they think of you as someone so unapproachable and haughty. You don’t mingle very much with the townsfolk, after all.”

“I hope I do my duty by them.”

“Oh, you do. The new pulpit is very much admired. Dr. Pike hurt his shin so badly when the old one gave way. No one had had any notion of how completely it had rotted.”

“Fifteenth century, wasn’t it?”

“I believe so.” Maris felt a little guilty for never listening when Dr. Pike droned on about the history of their little church.

“I did try to find some craftsmen who could make something in keeping with the period of the original but the war made it impossible to import Italian artisans, as my grandfather would have done.”

“The modern one is more to my taste,” Maris said. “Antiques are so gloomy.”

‘Yes,” Lord Danesby said, his steps slowing even further as he pondered this. “Finchley Place is full of antiques and it’s very gloomy indeed. I don’t believe my ancestors ever discarded anything, from a full suit of parade armor to my school reports.”

“You should have seen all the dress material my mother had hoarded against the day of my debut. Trunks and trunks of it, all dragged out into the middle of the floor and strewn about the room.”

“She must regret, very much, not being here tonight.”

“I regret it more but my sister’s constitution, cannot support London at present. I only hope she recovers her strength before she must appear herself.”

“Will you attend a Drawing Room this year?”

“I don’t know but I certainly hope riot,” she said, leaning in to speak more softly. Mrs. Paladin had been shocked by her radical notions. “The thought of making my curtsy to the Queen while wearing hoops and feathers terrifies me. I’d be bound to go over like a ninepin!”

His eyes laughed at her image. “Does Almack’s also terrify you?”

“Even more so than a Drawing Room. Besides, Mrs. Paladin says it’s impossible to acquire vouchers lately. She has been turned down twice and says it’s useless to ask again until some weeks have passed.”

“Yes, I imagine it must be. I would intercede on your behalf but that is something no single gentleman could do for a young lady to whom he was not related.”

“That would cause terrible gossip, wouldn’t it?”

“Terrible. It would be tantamount to a public proposal.”

They were talking of other things, of spring returning to the great public parks of London, of horses, of art, when a shrill voice called out Maris’s name. Startled out of her dream, Maris stopped short. They’d walked right past Mrs. Paladin, seated on one of the dainty gilded chairs against the wall.

Her teeth were much in evidence as she thanked Lord Danesby for returning her wandering charge to her. “You are always finding her when she has strayed away, Lord Danesby.”

“You make me sound like a sheep,” Maris said, still in alt from her long conversation with Lord Danesby.

He choked a little, turning a laugh into a cough. “So pleasant a lady will be welcome wherever she strays,” he said, quite like a prince from a fairy tale.

Lord Danesby turned away from Mrs. Paladin, who stammered an unheard reply. He bowed to Maris. When she arose from her curtsy, he held out his hand. “A pleasure to see you again, Miss Lindel.”