The Bachelor Trap (4 page)

He turned back. “And Manley,” he said, “I want you to find an upholsterer or a decorator or whatever. This place is downright shabby. I want everything refurbished, but don't replace anything.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Manley.

“And be careful with those glasses.” The glasses had also belonged to his grandfather.

“Yes, sir.”

With a courteous “Good night,” Brand left the room.

Three days later found Marion in Cousin Fanny's dazzling ballroom, sitting with the chaperons, as the orchestra tuned their instruments for the next dance. With a will of their own, her eyes kept straying to the tall, broad-shouldered figure of Brand Hamilton. He was in conversation with Cousin Reggie, and she knew they would be debating some finer point in the latest bill before Parliament. She'd done a little eavesdropping of her own these last few days, and as far as she could tell, Mr. Hamilton's politics could be summed up as antimonarchy, antiestablishment, and just about anti-everything her father once championed.

Yet everyone said that he would go far in politics if he chose to take up the challenge. Strange.

Her reflections were interrupted when Lady Anne Boscobel's chaperon leaned toward her and whispered, “The orchestra is striking up for a waltz. It would be quite improper for a young girl such as Lady Emily to dance the waltz.”

“Thank you for the warning, Miss Barnes.” Marion's reply was cordial, but inwardly she was annoyed. Miss Barnes had set herself up as the arbiter of good manners and was always finding fault with some young girl or other. What was all the more galling was that Miss Barnes was always right.

Marion got up and had almost taken a step before she remembered to reach for her cane. She felt ridiculous having to use a cane for nothing more serious than a few stubbed toes. As long as she kept the weight off her foot, she felt hardly any pain, but the least pressure made her knee buckle, hence the cane.

The first step made her wince. At this rate, it would take her a week to reach Emily. She took another small step then stopped when she saw Brand Hamilton threading his way through the couples on the floor to Emily and her partner. He nodded in Marion's direction, showing her that he understood her predicament and he would take charge. He then led Emily from the floor, a laughing, flirtatious Emily, who was obviously enjoying all the masculine attention. Satisfied, Marion was just about to sit down again when she was joined by Fanny.

“I see we both had the same idea,” said Fanny. “Thankfully, Brand is well aware, if Emily is not, that young, unmarried girls are thought to be fast if they dance the waltz before they are presented at Court. These silly rules are meant to try us.”

What Cousin Fanny seemed to have forgotten was that Emily would not be presented at Court. They couldn't afford it.

Marion smiled at her cousin, knowing that she wasn't finding fault so much as commiserating with the trials that parents and guardians had to endure. Fanny was really her father's cousin, and her senior by a good many years. She and Reggie had two sons close to Emily's age who were presently away at university, so they expected young people to test the rules their elders laid down for them. Her most endearing quality in Marion's eyes, however, was that she possessed a deep well of affection for the three orphaned cousins she had not seen since Phoebe's birth.

“Handsome devil, isn't he?” said Fanny. She was watching Brand Hamilton.

Marion didn't pretend to misunderstand. “I suppose you could say that.”

Fanny laughed. “Faint praise, indeed! I'm sure there are plenty of other ladies present who think as I do. If I were ten years younger, I'd give them a run for their money.”

“If you looked any younger,” replied Marion dryly, “you'd be giving girls as young as Emily a run for their money.”

She was exaggerating, but there was a germ of truth in her words. Fanny's figure was firm and supple, her skin glowed with health, and there wasn't a trace of gray in her dark curls.

“Look,” breathed out Fanny. “Elliot Coyne has just arrived.”

Marion obediently looked. She saw a man in his mid-thirties, handsome without being too handsome, and very much at his ease.

“Who,” said Marion, “ is Elliot Coyne?”

“He's Brand's rival for the nomination for the seat that has become vacant.”

He was joined almost at once by a tall, dark-haired young woman in her early twenties, dressed in floating muslins. They made a handsome couple.

Fanny went on, “And that is his betrothed, Lady Veronica, heiress to the Marquess of Hove. Elliot has done himself proud. Lady Veronica will make an excellent wife for a member of Parliament.”

“Really?” Marion was truly interested. “How can you tell?”

Fanny chuckled. “Because she has the right bloodlines, and the right connections. She will be a real asset to him.” She clicked her tongue. “Brand had better start looking to his laurels.”

“Is it decided then? Is he running for the nomination?”

“Reggie is counting on it. It's not that we don't like Elliot, but he doesn't have Brand's drive. I must go and greet them.”

With an airy smile, she left Marion's side and began to skirt the dance floor. As she reached the couple, she was joined by her husband. Reggie Wright was as fair as his wife was dark, and it was only on close examination that one could tell that his fair hair was liberally laced with silver. Marion liked him immensely. Like Fanny, he was warmhearted and took a keen interest in his three cousins by marriage.

Her expression softened as she watched them together. She couldn't help feeling a little envious. They seemed so content with their lot and content with each other. She doubted that Reggie had chosen Fanny to be his wife because she had the right bloodlines, or the right connections, or could advance his career. They had the kind of love that most couples could only dream about.

So where did that leave her?

Just where she wanted to be, she thought with a touch of defiance. In her cottage in Longbury with the people who meant most in the world to her, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

Though Marion stayed close to the dowagers, well back from the dance floor, she was anything but a wallflower. Lord Denison was never far away, and introduced her to a host of people whose names she forgot almost as soon as she heard them. She liked Ash Denison and enjoyed a mild flirtation with him, but she wasn't deceived. She knew that he wasn't seeking her company of his own accord, and suspected that Cousin Reggie had put him up to it.

Mr. Hamilton hadn't neglected her, either, but he rarely missed a dance. She supposed that a man with his eye on Parliament couldn't afford to miss any opportunity to make friends and win votes.

She couldn't make it to the dining room for supper, but Emily had promised to bring supper to her. Ash Denison was keeping her company when a ravishing redhead in a form-fitting scarlet gown swooped down like a hawk. The diamonds around her throat were magnificent, but did not lessen the impression of a beautiful, exotic bird of prey with gimlet eyes.

Lord Denison jumped to his feet. “Julia! This is a surprise!”

He sounded more shocked than surprised, and Marion almost pitied him, thinking that she wouldn't like to be in his shoes. She sensed a lovers' quarrel and was highly amused. Then she saw that those gimlet eyes were trained on her, and she automatically reached for her cane.

Denison said, “Lady Marion…ah…allow me to present Mrs. Milford, Mrs. Julia Milford.”

Marion didn't try to get to her feet. She acknowledged the introduction with a slight inclination of her head. “How do you do, Mrs. Milford,” she said. “As you see, I am slightly indisposed or I would greet you properly.”

“Oh, pray don't apologize.” Julia Milford showed off a perfect set of porcelains. “I heard about your accident.” Her expression registered a mild sympathy. “It was to your right foot, was it not?”

“No. To my left.”

Marion gazed down at her feet. She was wearing a pair of Fanny's satin pumps because they were the only shoes she could get into without feeling as though her toes were in a vise.

She lifted the hem of her gown to get a better look at her foot, and that's when Mrs. Milford did the unthinkable. Quite deliberately, she stepped on Marion's stubbed toes. Marion would have screamed if she could have found the breath, but the pain was so excruciating that she could do no more than gasp. Tears sprang to her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

The pressure was removed when Ash grabbed the gimlet-eyed predator and hauled her off. “Behave yourself, Julia,” he remonstrated, giving the woman a rough shake.

Whatever Mrs. Milford may have said was lost as Ash's angry words drowned her out. He had her firmly by the elbow and was propelling her to the door. If Marion had had the strength, she would have chased after them with the cane and whacked the stupid wretch. She couldn't remember being so angry.

Of course, she knew what had provoked Mrs. Milford's temper. The woman was insanely jealous—and it was all for nothing. Ash Denison wasn't attracted to her any more than she was attracted to him. And even if he was and she was, what of it? You couldn't go around attacking people. That vulture belonged in a cage.

She was beginning to catch her breath when Brand Hamilton approached, carrying two plates of food. The little tableau that followed made Marion forget about her sore toes. Julia Milford tore herself out of Ash's grasp and stalked over to Brand. He had the presence of mind to hand the plates of food to Ash before the termagant lashed out and caught him across the face with her open palm. The sound of that blow made Marion wince. She looked around the ballroom. Everyone's eyes were riveted on the trio in the middle of the dance floor.

Head held high, Mrs. Milford sailed out of the ballroom. Brand Hamilton retrieved his plates from his friend and strolled toward Marion.

Now she understood. The real object of Julia Milford's jealous rage wasn't Ash Denison, but Brand Hamilton. Obviously, the woman was a jilted mistress. Equally obvious was that Mrs. Milford regarded
her
as the other woman.

Other thoughts circled in her mind: Lady Veronica, who had the right bloodlines, the right connections, and who would be an asset to her husband's career. A man with Brand Hamilton's ambitions wouldn't tie himself to a shrew like Julia Milford in or out of marriage. He would choose for his wife someone who would be an asset to him, someone who would be accepted by the cream of society, someone like Lady Veronica—someone like
her
!

When he came up to her, he said, “You've got that look on your face again.”

She was as cool as ice. “What look?”

“The one that conceals what you're really thinking.

Here, this is for you.” He handed her a plate. “I told Emily I would deliver it to you. It seemed a shame to take her away from her friends.”

When he took the chair beside her, she looked down at her plate. Lobster tarts, potato puffs, a medley of roasted vegetables, and thin-cut slices of ham and beefsteak. She was sorely tempted to dump them in his lap.

“I'm sorry about the scene with Mrs. Milford,” he said. “What did she say to you?”

His careless apology grated. “She stood on my toes,” she replied, mimicking his indifference, then she took a bite of a lobster tart and almost moaned with pleasure. Emily had chosen her favorites.

“Ouch!” he said, but he said it with a smile.

Ouch?
That's all he could find to say?
Ouch?

“Had I known she was here,” he went on, “I would have steered her away from you. I thought she was in Paris.”

She gave him a tepid smile. “I see how it is. With Mrs. Milford out of the way, you had a better chance of drumming up support for the nomination.” She popped the rest of the lobster tart into her mouth and munched on it without tasting a thing.

She caught a flash of something in his eyes, annoyance or anger, then the look was gone and he gazed at her coolly. “What does that mean?”

“Come, Mr. Hamilton, I'm not naive. I hardly think a woman of Mrs. Milford's temperament would enhance your career.” Her own temper began to sizzle when she remembered her stubbed toes. “On the other hand, to be seen with someone like me may well add to your credit.”