The Bachelor Trap (26 page)

Marion was burningly aware of his approach, and she was cursing herself for starting this conversation with Emily. All she'd wanted was to casually put the seed in her sister's mind that her marriage to Brand might have to be postponed indefinitely. What she'd got in return was a motherly lecture on bridal nerves.

Emily's voice was both low and forceful. “It's your age,” she said. “The longer you put it off, the more you come to fear it. It's the unknown we fear. Trust me. There's nothing to be afraid of.” She chuckled. “Not that I speak from experience, but I've talked to some of my friends who have older married sisters. If you had an older sister, she could tell you. It's as easy as taking a bath.” She suppressed the next chuckle. “Some of them say they prefer the bath. It doesn't take as long.”

If Marion's cheeks were pink before, now they were red. One day, she would put Emily right about a few things, but not tonight. “Thank you,” she said, “but I don't need an older sister with you to guide me. All the same, you've relieved my mind. I mean, of course, when you say that you're not speaking from experience.”

Emily gurgled. “You're such a joker!”

She knew he had come up behind her before he said her name. It was uncanny how she could sense him. Her skin seemed to heat, her breathing began to hum, and odd images filled her mind. She banished the more fanciful and thought of a cold bath.

He whirled her away as the orchestra struck up. All eyes were on them, so they had to behave. Tonight, he had the look of Ash Denison about him, casual, devilishly handsome, and, of course, rakish.

“Read my mind,” he said.

“What?”

“I'm testing a theory. Read my mind. Look into my eyes, Marion, and read my mind.”

She knew where this came from. It was because he'd brought a blush to her cheeks from halfway around the room. He'd caught her out fantasizing about the night he'd loved her wildly, passionately, and she'd known that that was what he was thinking about, too.

He was doing it again, making her blush.

“I'll read your mind,” she said, “if you'll read mine.”

“Done!” he said.

Eyes locked, they whirled around the dance floor.

“Well,” he said finally, “tell me what you see.”

She replied with great dignity, “If you could read my mind, you wouldn't have to ask. Didn't you feel the slap I gave you?”

His shoulders began to shake. Her lips began to twitch, but not for long. She was hopelessly, helplessly in love with this man, and she couldn't see how it would end.

Across the floor, Andrew squared his shoulders and skirted the floor to Emily's side. As the highest-ranking gentleman present, he should have been the one to partner Marion for the first dance. The rules had been relaxed tonight because this was an impromptu reception arranged by the young people. His usual practice was to hide out in the stables and let his uncle Robert do the honors.

Emily was expecting him. Her eyes made a critical inspection, then she smiled up at him. “You're the handsomest gentleman present, and I'm the envy of every girl because you're chosen me to be your partner.” She batted her lashes.

He groaned. “Don't tease me, Emily. This is hard enough as it is.”

“I'm not teasing. It's the truth. Besides, I was flirting with you. Now it's your turn.”

He'd rehearsed this part. “That gown is very becoming. It does wonderful things for your eyes.”

“You're getting the hang of it. That was very good. Ready?”

When he extended one gloved hand, she gave him her gloved hand and he led her onto the floor. She counted for him, and on the next count of one, he swung her into the dance.

“If you must count,” she said, “don't move your lips. Pretend you're reading a book.”

“I always move my lips when I'm reading a book.”

She beamed at him. “Andrew, that was a riposte. You're getting as good as Lord Denison.”

He smiled at her praise. “You've been an excellent tutor.”

“I have, haven't I? Except when it comes to small talk. We really must practice that.”

“You begin.” When she gave him a reproving look, he said quickly, “I'm still counting my steps.”

“Very well.” Brand and Marion whirled past them, and Emily forgot about making small talk. “Andrew,” she said, “have you noticed a change in Brand? He still wants to marry Marion, doesn't he?”

“Are you joking? He's crazy about her.”

Emily nodded. “That's what I thought. Then it must be bridal nerves.”

“What is?”

Since Andrew was her best friend, she felt no hesitation in telling him about the odd conversation she'd had with her sister before the dancing began.

The reception, ball, party—Marion hardly knew what to call it—should have been long over, but no one seemed inclined to go home. Marion sat on the top step of the gallery, catching her breath, waiting for Brand to join her. They had things to discuss, he said, so she wasn't to wander off until he had a chance to talk to her.

David Kerr or Hannah, it had to be one or the other, and she couldn't seem to muster any interest. After that first dance with Brand, she'd made up her mind to live for the moment, at least for the duration of the party. She owed it to her sisters and all the kind people of Longbury who had turned out to wish her well tonight.

Socrates was wrong when he said that the unexamined life wasn't worth living. He didn't know her. Too much introspection could make a person go mad.

Phoebe and Flora began to climb the stairs toward her, their heads together, whispering. They stopped when they saw her. She knew at once that they were up to something, but she felt, in that odd mood that had taken hold of her, that they were entitled to live for the moment, too. Besides, it was a good sign that Phoebe was up to something. She'd been a lonely, timid child too long. Energetic, intrepid Flora was as good as a tonic.

She smiled benignly as they came up to her. “What have you two been up to?”

Flora answered. “We've just had supper.”

That child had the most innocent eyes of any child Marion knew.

“Mmm,” said Marion. She turned her attention to Phoebe. She was sporting a healthy tan and had mounted those stairs as though she'd been running up and down stairs all her life. There was a satchel under one arm.

“What's in the satchel?”

Phoebe shrugged. “Nothing that you would think is important. Just our treasures.”

And that child had the most honest eyes of any child she knew.

“Don't stay up too late.”

“We won't,” said Phoebe.

Marion watched them troop off to Flora's room. As a treat, Phoebe had been allowed to share the room for one night, so Marion doubted that they'd get much sleep.

She sat there waiting for Brand, idly watching the company through the wrought-iron slats of the banister. She'd have to go down soon if only to say good-bye to their guests, so Brand would have to postpone that talk he wanted. He was at one of the windows, in conversation with the bishop. Lord Robert and Theodora were there, too, though they had barely looked at each other all evening. Anyone would have thought that John Forrest, her man of business, was Theodora's escort. Miss Cutter was talking to him, and the poor man looked very ill at ease. And who could blame him? Poor Miss Cutter was becoming more and more confused.

Marion got up and started down the stairs with some idea of rescuing Mr. Forrest, but Clarice's husband, bless his heart, got there before her. Oswald Brigden had that happy knack of putting people at their ease. Mr. Forrest's look of relief was almost comical.

Miss Cutter looked rather lost, so Marion crossed to her.

“I haven't had a chance to talk to you all evening,” said Marion with a warm smile.

Miss Cutter fussed with the pearl pendant at her throat. “Dear Lord, child, I don't expect it of you. You're young. You should be with young people.” She gave Marion a sideways look. “You take after your aunt, so I shouldn't be surprised. A kinder girl I have yet to meet.”

Miss Cutter, Marion knew, was referring to Hannah. They'd had this conversation before. When Hannah came home to Yew Cottage for a holiday, she often visited Miss Cutter at the Priory. Until that moment, Marion had never doubted Hannah's visits were innocent. Now she was remembering what Mrs. Love had told her, that Hannah had come home to Longbury that last time to be with the great love of her life.

Could Hannah have confided in Miss Cutter? Could Miss Cutter know something without knowing that it was important? And how did one get any useful information from an old lady whose mind kept wandering?

She gave a start when a hand snaked around her waist, but it was only Emily. A shawl was draped around her shoulders.

Emily said, “Andrew and I…that is, a group of us are going out stargazing. Andrew is quite an astronomer. We won't go far.”

“Who is going to chaperon you?”

Emily laughed. “Don't be silly. If we have chaperons, it won't be any fun. Marion, you worry too much.”

Peter Matthews and his sister, Ginny, joined them. “Ready, Emily?” asked Ginny.

Emily said, “If my sister gives me permission.”

Marion relaxed. She liked Peter Matthews and his sister and could not see the harm in stargazing if they were to be there. “Go,” she said, “and enjoy yourselves.”

As Emily and her friends moved to the entrance doors, Miss Cutter edged closer to Marion. “First you and Brand, then Emily and Andrew,” she said. “Mark my words.”

Marion stared at the older woman. Andrew and Emily? The idea was laughable. Andrew was a boy. Emily was a woman. It was Ash Denison who got her sister in a flutter.

“Miss Cutter,” she said, “Andrew and Emily are too young to form an attachment. They are friends, nothing more.”

Miss Cutter nodded. “Friends,” she said. “Yes, that would explain why they spend so much time together. But you're wrong about Andrew. He isn't a boy. He'll be nineteen in a few months. Her Grace is very proud of him.” And with a complacent smile, she moved away.

Sometimes, thought Marion, Miss Cutter could sound as lucid as the next person. All the same, she knew her sister. Emily had taken Andrew under her wing. They were more like brother and sister. And they were never alone. They were always with a crowd of friends.

Poor Miss Cutter had got it wrong again.

She really must stop calling her “poor Miss Cutter.”

She looked around for Brand, found him, and went to join him.

Guests began to leave, and the trickle soon became an exodus. The Great Hall had almost emptied when Manley entered. He made straight for Brand and spoke quietly in his ear. A moment or two later, Brand drew Marion aside and spoke to her.

“Manley has just told me,” he said, “that a group of young people from the Priory, among them my brother and your sister, caused quite a stir tonight at the Rose and Crown.”

“They were supposed to go stargazing,” said Marion. “What were they doing at the Rose and Crown?”

“Stargazing?” Brand's brows shot up. “Is that what they call it these days?”

“Don't keep me in suspense. Tell me what happened.”

“There was a brawl,” he said. “The boys have been locked up in the roundhouse until someone pays the damages and stands bail for their good behavior.”

“The roundhouse?” Marion went weak at the knees. “Don't tell me Emily is locked up in the roundhouse?”

“No. She is free to go, but she won't leave without Andrew. I'm going there now.”

Marion was beginning to recover from her initial shock. “I'll come with you.”

When she started forward, Brand grabbed her wrist and held her fast. “You'll do no such thing. What I have to say to Andrew is best said in private. I don't think my language is going to be suitable for a lady's ears. I'll send Emily home with Manley. You can deal with her. Make my apologies to my grandmother.”