The Marriage Mart (4 page)

They stopped short of the back entrance, and he took his leave of her. She watched him walk away, the rain falling upon them both, he so graceful and collected it seemed only the wetted surfaces of his beaver hat reflected nature’s dewy caress, while her bonnet dripped onto her shoulders, striping the bodice of the inelegant frock even more, as she stood silent and still, soaked and strangely forlorn, and unable to do anything but stand and wish the whole world was different than it really was.

“Mary, this is Lady Hammand and this her brother, Lord Bretwyn, acquaintances of long standing. Lettice, Charles, this is my very good friend, Lady Mary Wagnall,” Rothayne said in the deep purr that was his voice, a benign smile on his face as he made the introductions.

Mary offered a curtsy to both. She noted Lord Bretwyn was the possessor of an attractive face--not beautiful like Rothayne’s, but quite pleasant--and his gaze was steady, with an attentive expression that implied intellect. He appeared to be somewhere around thirty. It wasn’t difficult for Mary to pull a smile to her lips in greeting. “Lord Bretwyn, how do you do?”

“Well, I thank you. I know your father, Lord Edgcombe, although I confess not well. We shared a box at the races once.”

She inclined her head, acknowledging the connection.

John--she was starting to get used to thinking of Lord Rothayne by his given name within her own thoughts--turned to her. “Lady Mary, may I solicit the first dance with you?”

“It is already promised to Captain Rodgers, but the next is free.”

“Wonderful.”

Rothayne took a small step backward. If Lord Bretwyn was meant to come forward and solicit Mary’s third dance, he missed or ignored the hint.

Mary continued to lightly smile, but the flash in her eyes just for John told him he could have been more subtle. She knew she must not be above coercing the gentlemen into dancing with her, but that this was a friend of John’s gave the forced act a bit of a sting.

John inquired if Lady Hammand would grant him a dance as well.

“I thank you for the honor, my lord, but I do not dance,” she replied. She added in a tone that spoke of mild disapproval, “Indeed, seldom does Charles.”

“In truth?” Rothayne asked as though in regret, even as he turned his body just a little to glance down at Mary, to silently acknowledged this mark against the gentleman. “And why is that?”

Lady Hammand did not take offense at the direct question. In fact, she seemed just as aware of the Blade’s reputation for directness as any lady present, and just as willing to overlook it. It was true the Marquess of Rothayne’s pockets were plump, but Mary suspected it was actually his charm--however wicked it sometimes was--that drew the ladies to him.

“Because I have a limb that often disapproves of the sport, and Charles, because he does not care to.”

Lord Bretwyn nodded at his sister’s side. “It’s not that I can’t. It’s that I don’t enjoy it much, and neither do the ladies when I step on their toes.”

Mary felt a finger jab into her back as John moved slowly behind her, looking about as though he were observing the crowd. She lifted her chin, hoping her slight jerk had not been noted, and cried at once, “Why, Lord Bretwyn, I would not mind at all if you should happen to step on my toes.”

Lady Hammand raised both eyebrows, leading Mary to add hastily, “For I should be stepping on yours as well.”

The lady’s doubting stare turned into an approving smile, and Lady Hammand turned to her brother. “Only see? Here is one who is not daunted by a little inexperience.”

“Your Captain Rodgers has yet to claim you, and time runs short,” Rothayne pointed out to Mary. “Bretwyn, you must play the gallant and take the lady onto the floor in his place.”

“Oh, but surely--”

Lady Hammand looked pleased and supplemented John’s suggestion. “The set is all but formed, indeed! Go on, you two. Should this Captain Rodgers come for you, Lady Mary, the third dance shall have to be his instead. I will inform him.”

“My thanks,” Mary murmured, for what else could she say? She wrinkled her nose, not quite a reprimand, at John as she was led to where the others assembled for a country dance.

True to his word, Lord Bretwyn managed to step on her toes, and so she made a point of stepping on his in turn, and was rewarded for her efforts with a gentle laugh or two and a bright smile.

To her utter amazement, after having her dances with John and Captain Rodgers, she went on to be partnered at every new tune. Though it was true only a few of the names belonged to the youngest and most eligible men in want of a wife, it was also true several gentlemen of means--and none of whom were positive ancients--were among those who sought a dance with her.

As the evening progressed, it became quite clear to her that John’s occasional absences from her side were spent in tracking down some of these fellows in their various dens. Some gentlemen had no doubt been persuaded to leave a card table, still others their cheroots, and yet others their glasses of port. He had gone where she could not, bringing the more mature, less silly men of three or four decades from the males-only places they had thought safe and quiet, no doubt. And, more amazing yet, he, that clever Blade, had presented all these models of matrimonial material smoothly, not too overtly, not too embarrassingly, and he had made it quite clear he himself had no designs on the lady. This was accomplished by virtue of the very fact he had presented her with over a dozen other partners. She could only marvel at his adroitness; he could be forthright, but now she knew he could also be subtle.

She gave a rueful smile at realizing he was a far better matchmaker than dear, unconnected Mrs. Pennett could ever be.

So Mary gave herself up to the pure and simple pleasure of being entertained by a throng of, if not exactly admirers, at least respectful participants in the age-old game of consideration. She did not even mind when Mr. Everson twice claimed her for a dance, and when he fumbled a glass of wine he’d fetched her way and which then spattered the hem of her gown, she merely shrugged and passed on into the arms of the next man who requested a dance.

Mary was aware that although the marquess did all he could to see she was well-partnered, he was not himself without a dance or two. He smiled at her occasionally as they passed one another on the floor, and made her laugh once with a broad leer that meant the décolletage of the lady in his arms had not gone unnoticed. As the evening advanced, Mary was not unaware Rothayne spent a rather long bit of time in the corner with that particular lady. Their laughter was mostly quiet, their actions largely circumspect, but nonetheless Mary felt a sense of relief when the two at last parted. She told herself this was because she did not wish John to be so shocking in his behavior as to cause him to have to remove his presence from the
beau mond
e yet again. How could he help her if he was banished by polite society once more? She saw him move on to another group of acquaintances, only really turning her attention back to her dance partner when she saw the group did not include any temptresses.

Near the end of the evening, it was Rothayne who claimed her for a second dance. “Are you having a pleasant evening?”

“A most pleasant evening,” she sighed happily.

The dance divided them, but when they came back together, he said, “Your cheeks are flushed. You are positively aglow.”

Despite her earlier promise to him to the contrary, she blushed, and felt a thrill of happiness run up through her middle, manifesting itself in the form of a bright smile. “I feel as though the evening has been arranged just for me,” she said breathlessly.

“It has, by myself. You have made some admirers tonight, I hope you realize.”

“Have I? Then your efforts have not been in vain.”

“Lord Bretwyn has suggested an outing, the four of us, including his sister. I have accepted on your behalf.”

“My lord, it is then indeed an evening of triumph, for Lord Revenshaven and Lieutenant Hargood have also solicited outings. But which day did Lord Bretwyn have in mind? I should hate for my attempts at social success to fall to nothing because they were all arranged for the same day.”

He looked down into her flushed and radiant face. “I leave it to you to arrange the days. But, let me say, you make me glad. I confess I am used to pleasing only myself. I mean, outside the bedchamber, I am not used to making the effort to otherwise please a lady. I like making you happy.”

It was amusing that he could say such a shocking thing, yet the only part she cared about was that she’d pleased him. Too, she smiled to herself, the Blade had never once stepped on her toes, and in fact made her feel graceful and light and worthy of being made happy.

It was with a significant tug of resistance that she left his side and took the arm of a Mr. Peter Willows for the next dance.

***

Her eyes were still glowing when her mother saw her over the breakfast table.

“Whatever time did you arrive home last night?” Lady Edgcombe asked as she added jam to her toast. “I fear I thought the clock was striking five in the morning when you were all making such a to-do coming in.”

Since neither Randolph nor Lydia had yet made it to the table, it was left to Mary to explain it had indeed been as late as that. “Mama, you must not scold, for I vow I had the loveliest evening. I danced every dance. And I had two escorts over meals--one who took me in to the supper, and yet another who took me in to the midnight repast.”

Her mother’s toast halted halfway to her mouth. “Truly?” she asked, eyes wide.

“Truly. Oh, Mama, there is another ball only one week hence, and I can hardly wait to attend. What should I wear, do you think?”

Lady Edgcombe nodded her head at the proper moments, and once or twice murmured “mm-hmm”, but otherwise it was Mary who went on for twenty minutes as her mother looked upon her with suddenly hopeful eyes. Could her maiden daughter finally be attracting the opposite gender? Were the girl’s marital hopes rising from the ashes of spinsterhood? From the positive bloom in her daughter’s face, Lady Edgcombe felt a growing belief in the miracle.

***

Two days later, John handed Mary up into the carriage, where she settled beside Lady Hammand. He crawled in after her, apologizing for the rain he brought in with him, and settled next to Lord Bretwyn.

“I understand we are to have an interior picnic,” Mary said to Lord Bretwyn. He had the sort of hair that developed waves when it was a bit long, and was lightly touched with silver at the temples. He was very distinguished in appearance, despite the smile lines that ran from his nose to his mouth, or perhaps because of them.

“Quite right. I suggested it to Rothayne there. Said ‘Why not a picnic at my Sussex place?’ We can’t let the rain run our lives forever, and it’s really not all that far out, and we can chat a bit as we make our way along.”

“How delightful.”

“Lady Mary, I wonder if you knew that we have met before our introductions at the Frelorns’s cotillion?” Lady Hammand asked.

“Oh, I am sorry. I regret to say I don’t recall--”

“Nor should you, for we were all in masks,” Lettice explained with a friendly smile. “I was the Fancy Bird that helped you when your headpiece broke at the masquerade Lord and Lady Upton held last fall.”

“Oh! How marvelous we should meet again, for I never had the chance to thank you properly,” Mary cried.

“Well, as I recall, you did me the favor of setting my turned up hem to rights, so I always considered that thanks enough.”

“I wondered for weeks afterward who might have been under those feathers.”

“And how were you dressed, Lady Mary?” Lord Bretwyn asked. “Perhaps you and I had occasion to speak as well, without knowing. I came as a pirate. Even borrowed my brother’s saber, he being a navy man.”

“I was dressed as a princess of old. My mask was attached to the conical hat I wore. The hat was too heavy, and I had to walk about with one hand holding it up in place, until eventually the mask tore away from it. That is when Lady Hammand assisted me.”

“Ah, so then we did not speak after all. But I do recall I wondered if supporting one’s hat was an actual affectation from the days of the knights,” Charles said, and his expression was so reflective of his bemusement at the time, that Mary had to smile at him.

The ride passed in gay conversation, making the journey seem short. John was in an excellent mood, and Mary found herself thinking his was still the sleek, observant demeanor of a tiger, only at the moment the tiger was at play. He was obviously relaxed with these two who had joined them, and there was no need for him to be anything but pleasantly diverted.

When they arrived at their destination, he leaped from the carriage first, assisting the ladies and jovially stating Lord Bretwyn could carry the picnic basket as he himself was quite occupied with a lady for each arm. He led them quickly through the rain, through the door that had been opened at the sound of carriage wheels, and past Lord Bretwyn’s butler. The former struggled in behind them, mumbling good-naturedly about overstuffed baskets meant to feed twenty rather than four.

The ride had been of some length, so they set about laying out their repast at once, with the housekeeper, Mrs. Briggins, being sent for plates, glasses, and silverware.

They sat on the floor, which was covered by a thin blue square of cloth, and the ladies served, passing high-piled plates to the gentlemen, after which they served themselves. A footman hovered nearby with an ever-ready bottle of wine, and the meal was filled with laughter and light conversation. When Mrs. Briggins brought forth a fresh-baked apricot tart sent in by the cook, they all groaned, for they were already replete, but yet the sweet was temptingly aromatic. John talked them all into trying ‘just a slice’ and commenced to serve up half the tart in gargantuan proportions, gaining a comment from Mrs. Briggins that “Cook will be most gratified.”