The Danbury Scandals (7 page)

‘Of course.’ He
went off on his errand, leaving her to look round at the glittering assembly.
The noise of conversation and laughter buzzed all around her, almost drowning
out the orchestra as everyone greeted everyone else and commented on their
costumes. It died away as the musicians began to play a waltz and the men
searched out their partners.

‘Miss Paynter,
may I present Mr Adam Saint-Pierre? He has asked particularly to meet you.’

Maryanne turned
in surprise to find Lady Markham at her side, accompanied by another of her
guests, who bowed low over her hand. Like Mark, he was dressed as a highwayman
and was equally slim and dark-haired, but somewhat taller. She gave a gasp of
astonishment when he lifted his head and she found herself looking into warm
brown eyes flecked with gold. ‘Mr Daw!’

‘
Mam’selle
is mistaken,’ he said in a heavy French accent, though there was the light of
laughter in his eyes which totally mesmerised her. ‘I am Adam Saint-Pierre. You
geev me the
plaisir
of thees dance,
non
?’ Before she could answer
him, he had taken her hand, raised her to her feet and whirled her away.

‘Mr Daw, I must
protest...’ Her heart was thumping against her ribs, and she was thankful for her
mask because she knew she was blushing to the roots of her hair.

He looked down
into her upturned face and smiled. ‘How did you recognise me? I thought I was
well disguised.’

‘Your eyes,’
she said. ‘And that little scar.’

He brushed away
her unconscious reminder of a time he would rather forget and smiled at her.
Memories of the bloodshed at Salamanca did not belong in a London ballroom.
‘Not my French accent?’

She laughed
suddenly and allowed herself to relax. He danced well and she did not need to
think about the steps as she followed his every move as if they were one being.
‘You have no accent, so why pretend you have?’

‘The ladies
usually like it.’

‘What are you
doing here?’

‘Dancing with
the most beautiful girl in the room.’

‘You know I
didn’t mean that. And why invent that ridiculous name?’

‘Saint-Pierre
or Jack Daw? They are both names by which I am known.’

‘Why do you
need more than one? Have you something to hide?’

He smiled. ‘Do
we not all have something to hide? Have you no secrets?’

‘No.’

‘Liar!’ he
whispered. ‘You have told no one of our meetings; is that not a secret?’

‘How do you
know I haven’t?’ She was acutely aware of the staid matrons and chaperons
sitting on the sidelines watching them with more than passing interest.

‘You would be
surprised what I know,
mam’selle
.’

‘What do you
know?’ She should not have asked; it would only encourage him and he frightened
her a little. Or was it herself she was afraid of? Was she afraid of her own
emotions, afraid of where they might lead her?

‘I know you are
beautiful, that you have eyes like a summer sky, a clear, honest blue, that
your lips are irresistibly inviting and just now. . .’

‘Mr
Saint-Pierre, I beg you, no!’

‘No, I won’t do
it, not in front of all these people.’

‘I am relieved
to hear it.’ Her voice was cool, but there was such a fire raging inside her
that she thought everyone must be able to see it.

‘No, you are
too delightfully good to be the subject of gossip, too. . .’ He stopped
speaking suddenly, then went on softly, ‘I should not have asked you to dance.’

‘Why not? Do I
dance so badly?’

‘You waltz like
an angel, on wings, nothing so ordinary as feet,’ he said. ‘I was thinking of
what others might think.’

‘Pooh to that,’
she said, making him laugh. ‘We are masked and there is more than one
highwayman.’

‘Indeed, yes,
the Honourable Mark is similarly dressed. Could we be mistaken, do you
suppose?’

‘You are very
alike, it is almost uncanny. One would almost think you were related, though
his eyes are grey and yours are brown, and I do believe you are slightly
taller. Your voice is very different, though, and as for your behaviour...’ She
laughed suddenly. ‘He would never behave so disgracefully towards a lady.’

‘Disgracefully?
You mean because I stole a kiss?’

‘And your
familiar manner.’ Why was it so difficult to be serious when she was talking to
him? ‘But you have still not said why you are here in London; the last time I
saw you, you said you were in Beckford looking for a past. Did you find it?’

‘Partly.’

‘Tell me about
it.’

‘There are more
important things to talk about. Are you going to marry Mark Danbury?’

‘Mark?’ She was
shocked into stumbling. He caught her in his arms and whirled her round so that
her feet hardly touched the floor. Breathlessly she said, ‘Such a thing never
entered my head and I am sure it has not occurred to him.’

‘Forgive me if
I disagree. He has the look of a man determined to keep you to himself, and if
marriage is not on his mind he is a greater rogue than I took him for...’

‘Rogue? How can
you say such a thing? Mark is a very kind man; he has been good to me ever
since...’

‘Kind? No more
than that?’ Why had he insisted on Beth Markham introducing him? Why had he
come to the ball in the first place? Was it so that he could observe Lord
Danbury and Mark at close quarters? Would it help him to make up his mind what
to do? Or was it because of the girl he was dancing with? Oh, why did she have
to be a Danbury? He was in danger of being diverted from his purpose. His
annoyance was directed at himself, for his weakness, not her, who could know
nothing of what he had been through. He found himself wanting to tell her, to
try to explain, but then he pulled himself together; she was simply a girl who
had fallen into his arms, nothing more, and it was unfair to involve her. But
she was involved, and if she was going to marry Mark Danbury she had a right to
know the truth.

‘I must see you
alone,’ he whispered against her ear. ‘I have something to tell you.’

‘Tell me now.’

‘No, not here.
We must meet later.’ His hand, gripping hers, tightened. ‘Or are you afraid to
be alone with me?’

‘You know I am
not. But it would not be proper. People will talk.’

He grinned at
her. ‘Then it is as well they know nothing of our other meetings, don’t you
think?’

‘They were
accidental.’

‘This could be
accidental too. I must see you. I need to ask you something.’

Ask her
something; surely he wasn’t going to propose without even offering for her in
the proper manner? Whatever would she do? She could not possibly entertain the
idea. ‘I cannot meet you alone, you know that, and you should not have asked. I
have heard that Frenchmen can be very forward but you are in England now, Mr
Saint-Pierre, and in this country...’

He laughed,
drawing a click of disapproval from the matrons on the sidelines. ‘It is no
different from any other, except there’s a deal more hypocrisy.’

They were
dancing near the open French window and a cool breeze fanned her hot face. She
wished she could go out into the cool darkness and be alone to think. It was so
hot and noisy in the ballroom. ‘It is out of the question,’ she said.

‘I could dance
you straight out on to the terrace here and now.’

She looked up
at him in alarm. ‘You wouldn’t.’

‘Try me.’

‘Is it really
important?’

‘I think so.’

‘But how can I
possibly manage it? Where and when and how can it be an accident?’ It was
unthinkable that she should even consider it and yet her questions implied that
she would.

‘At suppertime,
when everyone is moving from room to room. Make some excuse and come to the
garden-room. I’ll meet you in there.’

‘I don’t
know...’

The music was
drawing to a close and they were back at their starting place, where Mark stood
with the glass of lemon cordial he had fetched for her. His dark brows were
drawn down in a deep frown.

‘
Merci,
mam’selle
,’ Adam said, releasing her to her official escort. ‘Perhaps you
will do me the honour again?’

‘She will not,’
Mark said abruptly. ‘Her dances are all taken, even the one you stole...’

Adam laughed.
‘If that is all I have stolen, then I am no thief, for the lady came
willingly.’

‘Please,’
Maryanne begged. ‘Please don’t quarrel over it.’ She took the glass from Mark
and sipped the cool drink appreciatively. ‘Thank you, Mark.’ She pretended not
to see Adam leave, but she knew he had gone from behind her; his going left a
kind of emptiness inside her. How could he have that effect on her, a stranger
with two names and apparently two characters to go with them? And why had he
and Mark taken such a dislike to each other? She needed to know and the only
way to find out was to meet him as he asked. But that, she decided, she could
not do.

She moved off
on Mark’s arm in a dream, hardly listening to what he was saying. Later they
went into the supper-room, pushing their way through the crush to the laden
tables. A servant carried their two plates of food to a table where Caroline
and Mrs Ryfield sat, and she could do nothing but sit down with them and
pretend to eat. In spite of her resolve not to do as Adam asked, she was
preoccupied trying to think of a way of leaving the company without raising
suspicions. She was mad, she told herself, completely off her head, to make
assignations with a man she hardly knew. And she did not have to go; she could
stay by Mark’s side all evening and, though the gossips might have a good crack
at that, as least it would not be considered beyond the pale.

‘I saw you
dancing with that mysterious Frenchman,’ Caroline said, and made it sound like
an accusation. ‘Who is he? You seemed to be getting on remarkably well
together.’

‘Mysterious Frenchman?’
Maryanne repeated, hardly hearing her. ‘Do you mean
Monsieur
Saint-Pierre?’

‘So that’s his
name! I had heard that he was handsome and prodigiously rich. He is certainly
good to look at; I wonder if the other is true too.’

‘I am sure I do
not know,’ Maryanne murmured, wishing Caroline would talk about something else;
she was sure her flushed cheeks would give her away.

‘I wonder if he
is married?’ Caroline went on. ‘Maryanne, did you find out?’

‘No, of course
not. I should not ask such a personal question on so slight an acquaintance.’

‘It didn’t look
slight to me,’ Mark said, taking a good gulp from his wine glass. He had
already had quite a lot to drink and Maryanne was afraid he was getting rather
tipsy. One thing she was certain of; it had now become much too late to tell
him, or anyone else, of her earlier meetings with the Frenchman.

‘Why did you
call him mysterious?’ she asked Caroline, pretending she had not heard Mark’s
comment.

The other girl
shrugged. ‘That’s what everyone is saying; he turned up out of nowhere as soon
as the armistice was agreed, and no one knows a thing about his family.’ She
turned to Lady Markham, who had come to see if they had all they wanted. ‘Do
you know his background, my lady?’

‘Whose?’

‘Why, the
Frenchman. Maryanne danced with him, though how she could do so I cannot
imagine.’

‘I introduced
them,’ Lady Markham said. ‘So you may blame me.’

‘Is he an
aristo
?’
Caroline persisted. ‘Does he have a title?’

‘That I cannot
say,’ her ladyship said with perfect truth. ‘He was brought up in France,
though he speaks English well, and he is as forthright as most of his race, and
used to having his own way. You would think that would deter the young ladies,
but if anything the competition is fiercer.’

‘I am not
afraid of competition,’ Caroline said. ‘Will you introduce him?’

‘If I can find
him,’ her ladyship said, looking round the crowded room. ‘He seems to have
disappeared.’

‘You are surely
not thinking of setting your cap at him?’ Mrs Ryfield said, tapping Caroline’s
arm with her fan. ‘He doesn’t sound at all suitable to me.’

That was just
it, Maryanne thought; he would not be considered suitable and the manner in
which she had first met him made it even more impossible. She would not go to
him; whatever he had to ask her would have to go unasked. She forced herself to
concentrate on the conversation, thankful that the subject had moved on and the
Frenchman was no longer the talking point.

Supper was over
and she and Mark were strolling back to the ballroom when a servant came to
tell Mark he was wanted by his father in the gaming room. He excused himself
and left her to return to the ballroom with Caroline and Mrs Ryfield, who were
walking a few paces in front. Maryanne hesitated; she would never have a better
opportunity. She turned and walked back along the corridor and slipped into the
garden room, telling herself that he would not have waited and if he had she
would tell him exactly what she thought of his manners, and then leave.