The Princess & the Pea (10 page)

Her fists tightened by her side in an instinctive acknowledgment of her resolve. Only then did she realize that Jared's crushed words were still clasped in her hand.

And in her heart.

"There she is. She's the one I told you about." Millicent nodded at the tall, walnut-haired beauty on the opposite side of the dance floor, surrounded by an impressive throng of obvious admirers. "She's quite lovely, isn't she?"

"Indeed," Olivia said, casting a speculative glance at the young American. "And you say she's an heiress?"

"Oh my, yes," Millicent's voice rose with enthusiasm. "Her father has a substantial fortune. Built a virtual empire on beef. They call him the meatpacking king."

"She does carry herself well." Olivia murmured approvingly.

"Doesn't she, though?" Millicent sighed. "I had so hoped she and Quentin would make a match of it, but he seems far more interested in the younger sister—the girl standing beside her."

Olivia's gaze swept the smaller figure. "She's quite young for a gathering like this, isn't she?" Olivia said, a touch of disapproval in her tone.

"Not at all," Millicent said defensively. "She is nearly eighteen and quite mature for her age." She narrowed her eyes pointedly. "If I recall, there are somewhat legendary stories about another younger woman who, at approximately the same age, cut a rather wide swath through society, including balls like this one."

Olrvia laughed and held up a gloved hand. "Please, don't remind me. It took a great deal of determination and hard work to erase the provocative reputation of my youth."

"You've accomplished it quite well," Millicent said mildly.

Olrvia cast her a sharp glance. "One does what one must." She smiled ruefully at her friend. "It was all long ago, and talk of the past only serves notice of how very much time has gone by. For both of us."

Millicent sighed wistfully at the memory of lost youth: then, with a mental shake of her head, she returned firmly to the here and now. "At any rate, her mother, Phoebe, has decided she can make her official debut next month here in London, so the girl was permitted to attend tonight. I am planning the event: a grand ball, I should think. Something wonderfully spectacular."

She leaned toward Olrvia in a confidential manner. "I haven't hosted a party like this in years. It should be great fun. Phoebe is, by the way, one of my oldest friends."

Olivia's attention returned to the elder girl. "Well, her daughters definitely do her credit. The tall one: what is her name?"

"Cecily. Cecily Gwendolyn White."

Olivia nodded in appreciation. "Very nice." She studied Cece for a long moment. "She certainly appears quite composed. Not at all intimidated by this rather illustrious gathering. She does not strike me as having that flighty exuberance of so many young Americans."

"No, not at all." Millicent said thoughtfully. It did seem extremely odd. Cece's behavior since they'd returned from Paris last week had been quite restrained, nothing at all like the young woman who'd originally sailed into her breakfast room in eager pursuit of follies. Cece was now extremely subdued, preoccupied and positively listless.

Emily, on the other hand, seemed to have undergone a transformation quite as dramatic as her sister's. She was far more animated, enthusiastic, even downright chatty than before their trip. Millicent wondered if perhaps Emily's behavior was an attempt to distract the older girl from whatever it was that seemed to prey so heavily on her mind.

Millicent had, of course, mentioned her observations to Phoebe. But her friend had just shrugged helplessly and explained that she had long ago abandoned trying to understand the children she had given birth to. Either of them.

Phoebe's behavior, as well, had been a bit unusual. She seemed somewhat pensive and reserved, as if here in England, memories buried in the past were abruptly fresh and vivid. Millicent was not surprised. Returning to the scene of emotional turmoil, no matter how long ago, would surely give anyone pause.

It was not as if Phoebe and Henry were unhappy with each other. On the contrary, the private glances exchanged between the two were more than enough to make Millicent sigh with envy.

"I believe Jared should meet her." Olivia said, steely determination underlying the ofthand tone of her voice.

Millicent brightened. An interesting suitor might be just what Cece needed to shake her out of her doldrums. "A wonderful suggestion. Although," she paused thoughtfully, "now that you mention it. Emily had asked if he would be here tonight."

Olivia raised a brow. "Really? Have they met?"

"I don't believe so." Millicent shook her head. "Emily simply asked if the Earl of Graystone frequented gatherings of this nature. Apparently a friend of Cecily's from Chicago is acquainted with him."

"Chicago?" Olivia frowned in concentration. "Of course; I remember now. The buxom blonde with the annoying giggle."

"I gather she did not meet with your approval?" Millicent said dryly.

Olivia shrugged. "She would not have been a good match for Jared. But this one ..." Her considering gaze returned to Cece, and Millicent's followed.

Cece did meet Olivia's prime requirement for a daughter-in-law: a sizable inheritance. In that need, the Grayson family was not alone these days. Millicent was more than grateful that the economic conditions that left so many of England's venerated families tottering on the brink of financial disaster had not touched the fortune amassed by her late husband.

But for Olivia to seriously consider Cece as a wife for Jared was to pursue more than a mere heiress: it was to court disaster. Once the child snapped out of the strange mood she'd been in, Olivia would surely consider her anything but suitable.

"You will introduce them for me, won't you?"

"I should like nothing better." Millicent suppressed an impudent grin. She'd been friends with Olivia for years, and even though she loved her dearly, she could well see the other woman's flaws. Prominent among them was a simple fact of Olivia's nature: She was something of a snob, especially where her sons were concerned.

In spite of her best efforts, Millicent's grin slipped out. If Olivia settled on Cece as the next Countess of Graystone, she would get far more than she bargained for.

And just what she deserved.

Cece smiled politely at the young men surrounding her and murmured an occasional appropriate comment. She had no idea exactly what they said and cared even less. In spite of her love of excitement and the unexpected, Cece White was nothing if not well trained.

Under other circumstances the glittering ballroom, handsome, formally attired gentlemen and beautifully gowned ladies would have captured her wholehearted attention and full-fledged participation. She would have sparkled with enthusiasm, flirted outrageously, danced every dance. Tonight, however, she couldn't muster the minimal energy demanded for even the tiniest bit of fun.

She glanced around the crowded room and sighed silently to herself. Even Emily's information that the Earl of Graystone would attend the gathering tonight failed to lift her spirits. While initially she'd directed every bit of rage, every morsel of fury triggered by Jared's defection at the unsuspecting earl, her desire to wreak her revenge on him had vanished. It simply wasn't worth the effort. Even her ambition to follow in the footsteps of Nellie Bly had lost its appeal. All she seemed to want to do these days was sleep. And, when finally alone, in the privacy of her own bed, to weep.

The gentleman next to her proclaimed some bit of wisdom that the others of the group decreed humorous and she laughed lightly. What on earth had he said? Recent days were reminiscent of the time when she was twelve and had been thrown from a horse. The pain in her head had fogged her waking hours and turned sleep into a welcome escape to the nothingness of oblivion. The only real difference between then and now was that the pain today was not in her head but in her heart.

"You are not having the least bit of fun, are you?" Emily frowned by her side and drew Cece a step away from those around them.

"You've always claimed that I have far too much fun," Cece said, faintly amused by her sister's concern.

Emily sighed. "I know, but it appears I was wrong." Her eyes clouded with worry. "It seems I like you a great deal more when you are the rash, high-spirited sister who uses me to disguise your own highly improper pursuits." She shrugged. "At least I know to expect that virtually the unlikeliest things can happen with you. Now ..."

"It's sweet of you to worry, but I'm fine," Cece said gently, and for a fleeting moment wondered if she would ever be really fine again.

Emily shook her head and cast her glance around the ballroom. Abruptly, she gasped, and Cece looked at her with mild surprise. "Whatever is the matter?"

Emily directed eyes wide with shock toward her sister. "Cece ... I think you'd ... or rather ... perhaps it would be best if..."

Confusion pulled Cece's brows together. "What are you babbling about?"

"Dear girl, I'd like you to meet someone." Lady Millicent tapped briskly on her shoulder. Cece composed a pleasant smile and gracefully turned to face her mother's friend. A tall figure shadowed the older woman's back. "Cece, this is the Earl of Graystone." The shadow stepped forward.

Cece's heart stilled. Her breath caught in her throat. Her hands trembled. Her knees threatened to collapse.

"Jared Graystone, this is Cecily Gwendolyn White." Lady Millicent smiled encouragingly.

Cece stared, unable—unwilling—to believe her eyes. It was as if the room had faded into a dim, vague blur. As if nothing existed on the face of the earth but the two of them. As if they were isolated in a world all their own. He returned her stare, apparently as dumbfounded as she.

Jared Grayson.

The Earl of Graystone.

She pulled a deep, steadying breath. "You!" she said, in a voice barely audible.

A myriad of emotions flashed through the dark blue of his eyes. Shock. Disbelief. Acknowledgment. His eyes narrowed.

"Miss White," he said, his manner composed, his tone cool.

Surely he was not going to pretend they were strangers? Apparently he was. The ache she'd lived with since Paris abruptly blossomed to sheer, unadulterated fury. She grit her teeth and lifted her chin a notch. Two could play this ridiculous game. For the first time in nearly two weeks, she welcomed the challenge.

She extended her hand. "Your ... lordship."

His eyes snapped at the subtle sarcasm implicit in her tone, and satisfaction surged through her blood. He grasped her hand and lifted it to his lips, his gaze never leaving hers. "Have you been in London long, Miss White?"

Even now she steeled herself against the warmth of his hand, a heat that seemed to burn through her glove and sear into her very soul. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to resist the desire to snatch her hand away. Instead she pulled back smoothly, as if contact with the man did not threaten to break her defenses, as if she cared nothing for him, as if he were indeed a stranger.

She shrugged nonchalantly and kept her voice controlled, reserved, aloof. "We've been back in London about a week. We were in Paris before that. Do you know Paris, Mr.—pardon me—your ... lordship?" she said sweetly, favoring him with a pleasant smile.