The Marquess and Miss Davies (14 page)

“No!”

“I agree that ‘tis not the best start to a marriage—”

“‘Tis the
worst
possible.” Carys put her foot down. “If we cannot agree on this point, sister mine, I won’t go at all.”

“Oh, very well.”

But before the sisters could think of some way to forestall any such scheme of their mother’s, a huge commotion was heard in the downstairs hall. The door opened and closed several times, and they heard a familiar masculine voice, calling their names.

“Tal!” cried the twins, as one, and forgetting everything else, they ran downstairs.

* * * *

“Dear heavens,” said Lady Reggie. “I cannot believe I ever thought traveling was tiring, before. With an infant—you would not credit the amount of baggage such a small person must be equipped with. And more changes of clothes than even Lady Teasdale.”

Lady Teasdale was notorious for claiming that she had never, in her life, worn any item of clothing twice.

They sat in Lord Davies’s study, all talking at once. Mrs Espey, their housekeeper, had brought in an enormous service of tea, with—it appeared—every scone, biscuit and plum cake in the house. Talfryn’s wife looked entirely exhausted, but as happy as Carys and Isolde had ever seen her. Their brother, as well, was grinning. He hovered around his small family, until Lady Reggie waved him away.

“I will be fine. And exceedingly well fed. Go talk to your mother.”

Lady Davies had not yet made her appearance. Carys and Isolde suspected she knew perfectly well that her son had returned, but was put out with him, not having been informed of his arrival beforetimes.

The viscount nodded. “I suppose I should.” He left, although not without a kiss for his wife and son.

“We decided at the last minute,” Reggie told them. “He has truly missed you.”

The young heir—bundled and asleep until then, so that neither sister had held him, or taken the chance of a closer look—made a tiny, questioning sound and opened his eyes.

“Oh!” said Isa. Taliesin Davies, the future Viscount of Cardingham, looked so like their brother that both girls burst into—quiet—laughter.

“Do you think the name too close to Talfryn?” asked Reggie. “I suppose he will be Tal, as well, and there will be no end to the confusion.”

“We will manage,” said Carys, and held out her arms.

* * * *

The arrival of their brother and Lady Reggie, to say nothing of Taliesin, was everything that Carys and Isolde could want of happiness, and Carys even spoke, if briefly, of not attending the Telford’s ball.

“I cannot bear to leave him for a moment,” she said, of the baby.

“Oh, dear heavens, if you are to ever have one of your own—”

“Yes, but—”

“—you cannot avoid social events forever. Young gentlemen like the marquess do not drop out of trees.”

Carys laughed. “They really should, don’t you think?”

In the end, the decision was made for them by the viscount himself, who felt that he and Lady Reggie were in sore need of a dance or two, and since between the nurse, Mrs Espey and every maid in the house, not to mention the footmen, young Taliesin would not want for entertainment, it was decided that the entire family would attend the ball.

* * * *

Carys was more on edge than she wished to admit. Lord Telford’s ballroom was not large for the number of people currently crowded within, and it made it difficult to see at any distance. She stepped back for a moment—as far as was possible with people on every side—and asked her sister to take a last careful look.

“The cream suits you,” said Isa. She grinned. “And the neckline should catch Lord Leighton’s attention.”

“Oh, dear.” Carys’s hand flew to her neck.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Look at Lady’s Dimitri’s.”

“Good Lord.”

“Exactly. Now relax. I will warn you,” said Isa.

“If you manage to notice him first.”

“He’ll be with Benjamin, don’t you think? They’re both quite tall.”

Carys nodded. Height was the only guarantee of visibility in a crush like this.

Their brother and Lady Reggie had gone off to talk with friends, and Carys and Isolde found Samantha Godfrey and Cicely Vale standing in a corner, as far as possible from any of the dragons present. Isa had already spotted the elderly Lady Tennant, who had narrowed her eyes quite noticeably at the twins.

“What do you suppose she objects to?” asked Carys, because Lady Tennant was ever narrowing her eyes. “Is it that there are two of us?”

“Heaven knows.”

Samantha and Cicely greeted them with smiles. Miss Godfrey was telling Miss Vale about her now and again beau, Lord Rowley.

“I believe he has no personal objection to marriage,” she said, “but his sisters believe that he can do better.”

“Than
you
?” asked Isolde. Miss Godfrey was not titled, to be sure. But her family was old, respectable—and very rich.

Samantha laughed. Her suitor’s lack of resolve did not seem to bother her. “I appreciate the sentiment. But if he needs his
sisters
to approve—”

“Indeed.”

“What’s the news of Peter and Alice Montvale?” asked Isa.

“I believe the engagement still stands,” said Samantha, “but the wedding is again postponed.”

“This is nonsense,” said Isolde. “Lord Peter should be done with her.”

 For the most part the girls agreed, with Cicely opining that she would gladly take Peter Wilmott herself. Alice Montvale was the type of young woman who gave a bad name to the species; petulant and pretending such sensitivity that one could hardly say two unguarded words in her presence without setting off a spasm of hand-wringing and threatened faints.

Samantha shrugged. “On the other hand, one could say that she makes the rest of us look good by comparison.”

“True.”

Carys saw Lady Reggie now approach, accompanied by a tall woman with very curly, auburn hair. There was something familiar about her face, but she did not believe she’d met this lady before.

“My dears,” said Lady Reggie, “may I introduce you to my dear friend Josephine Bainborough, Countess of Chalcroft.”

Curtseys and how-do’s were exchanged. Carys thought the name sounded familiar, and then—

“I understand that you both know my brother,” said Lady Bainborough, turning to the twins. Her face was angular and striking, if not exactly pretty in the conventional way. Her gaze was direct, and Carys found it somehow focused on her.

“Your brother?” said Isolde.

“Lord Leighton.”

“Ah,” said Isa, who could tell that Carys was momentarily without speech. “Yes, we have that privilege.”

“You are ... his lordship’s sister,” managed Carys. “I did not realize you were in town.”

“Oh, I wasn’t! I’ve just arrived and thought a ball would be just the thing. Come, walk with me,” she said, and extended a hand to Carys.

* * * *

When Miss Davies later thought of this first conversation with Lady Bainborough, she could scarcely believe that she had escaped without making an utter cake of herself. The countess was pleasant and friendly. But pointed.

“My brother has found you in some interest,” said her ladyship, without preamble.

They were strolling along the edge of the ballroom floor, arm in arm. Carys was attempting to keep an eye out for Lord Leighton without seeming to do so. She felt that if he appeared before her unexpectedly she was likely to squeak ‘oh’ and blush to the roots of her hair, or faint, or ... something.

“The marquess is most kind to say so,” she replied.

“Oh, there is no kindness at question, I believe,” said Josephine. “He is quite smitten.”

Carys wondered how on earth Lord Leighton’s sister had discovered so much in the space of one day in London, but more to the point, whether this was true. She later learned that the countess’s source was the marquess himself, and that brother and sister had engaged in a frank conversation at breakfast that morning.

 “Ah,” she managed.

“And of course, as his lordship’s sister, I am eager to make your acquaintance, and to learn
all
about the young woman who has taken his heart.”

Did Miss Davies imagine the faint note of accusation? Was she supposed to have worked her ‘feminine wiles’ on the marquess, or somesuch? Remembering how they had first met, Carys laughed softly.

“You are amused?” said Lady Bainborough.

“His lordship has only himself to blame for our acquaintance,” said Carys, with her own note of frost. She had no intention of being taken for a mushroom of any sort.

‘Twas bold speech to an earl’s wife. But Lady Josephine only nodded. “As I have heard.” Then something seemed to draw her attention; Carys thought the countess might have shaken her head, a tiny movement. “Well, my dear, we should continue this at a later time.”

Miss Davies had no idea why the marquess’s sister, having gone to some trouble to draw her aside for a
tête-à-tête
, was now so quick to break it off. Then she felt a touch on her shoulder.

“Please ignore my brother’s appalling appearance,” said the Countess of Chalcroft. “I know I should.”

‘Twas him. Of course ‘twas him.

“Hello, Jo,” said Lord Leighton. “Miss Davies, may I have the pleasure of the waltz?”

Carys turned toward Lord Leighton and her eyes widened in shock.

“Dear heavens!” she said, before she could think better of her words. “What has happened?”

A long cut on the marquess’s forehead was very much in evidence, together with a bruise on his jaw. Closer inspection—she was staring, she knew, and probably with her mouth open—revealed that one eye had been blacked, albeit not badly enough to be swollen shut.

His lordship was smiling at her as if nothing was really amiss. And in truth Miss Davies had seen worse than this before, and she had even seen it at a ball. Some males who fancied themselves true out-and-outers wore a blacked eye proudly, with smears of blood—decorously small, and sometimes artfully arranged—not unknown.

Young men and their idiotic fights, thought Carys. She had believed better of Lord Leighton. And with whom had he been fighting? She had little patience for those among the
ton
who were forever taking offense at one thing or another, and claiming that honour required fisticuffs. Talfryn was never like that.

“I must beg your pardon,” said the marquess. “‘Twas a mistake to have visited Gentleman John’s so soon before a social event. Perhaps I should have absented myself tonight—but I could not bear to miss the chance of a waltz.”

Well.

Boxing
was another matter, Carys said to herself. A fair number of the gentlemen of her and Isolde’s acquaintance seemed obsessed with the sport, even though every female in London thought it the most ridiculous of enterprises. Still—

“Perhaps on your next occasion,” she said to his lordship, “you should choose a different opponent.”

Lord Leighton threw back his head and laughed.

* * * *

All this was the work of mere seconds. The music had not quite started as the marquess drew Miss Davies onto the dance floor, his hand warm against her back. Carys was uncomfortably aware of Lady Bainborough’s gaze following them as they edged their way into the crowd. And crowd it was; for all that the waltz was still considered scandalous by some, most of the
ton
seemed willing enough to dance it.

For several moments Miss Davies and Lord Leighton did not speak. She took her place opposite him and held her breath as she tipped her gaze to his face. One did not begin a waltz without looking at one’s partner, and when his eyes found hers she could not turn away. His right arm supported her, her left fingers rested nearly to his shoulder, where she felt the muscles work against her fingertips.

The first strains of paired violins drifted over the crowd and Lord Leighton, with no evidence of effort, swung her into a wide turn. She knew from Isa that he was a fine dancer, but she had not realized that she would feel quite like this.

I could not step on his toes if I wanted to, thought Carys. ‘Twas almost as if her feet were not her own.

They were soon circling the ballroom in a confident, sweeping spiral. The silk of her gown flowed and swirled at her ankles, the Marquess of Clare was dashing in what must be the best-cut dress coat in the room, and Miss Davies felt that she must be the most fortunate of any young lady at the Telford’s ball.

This is what Isa always talks about, thought Carys. This sense that the evening is the best of all evenings, that the company is the best of all companies, and that one could dance forever. Carys had never felt anything of the sort before, and ‘twas difficult to imagine the sentiment with any other partner. Her heart sang and a smile tugged on her lips. She fought to keep from breaking into an outright grin, which was simply not done.

What a fine orchestra! What lovely people! And the decorations of the ballroom, what exquisite taste!

* * * *

One concentrated on the steps, at first, as the various couples sorted themselves out. Then a young lady waited for her partner to continue the conversation. Lord Leighton wasted little time.

“I hope that my sister has not been ... outspoken.”

“She has been most kind.”

Lord Leighton nodded, with a brief, sharp laugh. “Oh, I imagine so.”

“Truly. She is quite concerned for your welfare, of course, as any good sister would be. I took nothing amiss.”

 “She is my
younger
sister,” said Lord Leighton, a bit ruefully. “So I do not see—”

“Oh, younger sisters are the worst, so my brother says! Although he has none older, so I can hardly see how he could know.”

The marquess smiled down at her. “And two of the same age, at that.”

“Talfryn claims that there is no greater trial.”

“I must argue with him, then, regrettably. I
do
have two older.”

Three sisters! Miss Davies smiled, inwardly hoping that she would not be under scrutiny by the lot. “Are they here tonight?” she asked Lord Leighton.

“As it happens, no. Neither husband much enjoys a ball.”