The Waltzing Widow (10 page)

Mr. Creevey's round face looked grave. “It is as bad as you have heard, my lady. Colonel Hamilton, who, as you know, is aide-de-camp to General Barnes and the elder Miss Ord's fiancé, visited us earlier today and confirmed that Bonaparte could indeed be in Brussels in two days’ time. I have myself seen the arrival of several personages who have fled Paris, among them the old Prince de Conde and all his suit, as well as Marmont, Victor, and Berthier.” At the exclamation of the ladies, he sighed heavily. “Indeed, Lady Cecily, it is very bad. I was sitting earlier today with Lady Charlotte Greville when the Due de Berri came to call upon her. He expressed his great astonishment to me that any English should remain here, as Bonaparte was certainly at Lille and will no doubt be here on Wednesday, and that he himself was going to Antwerp, there to catch passage to England."

"But we shall stay,” one of the Misses Ord put in.

Lady Mary glanced at her and then looked at Mr. Creevey, her brows rising. “Indeed! May I inquire why, sir?"

Mr. Creevey shook his head. “Mrs. Creevey's state of health is such that removing her would cause great pain and difficulty to herself. I have consulted some people as to the supposed conduct of the French if they should arrive, and I am encouraged by what I have heard, so that we have resolved to stay."

"That is something, at least,” Lady Cecily said.

"It is so prodigiously exciting, but frightening as well,” said Abigail with a shiver. She looked at her mother, whose brows had knit in a slight frown. “Shall we stay too, Mama?"

Lady Mary's expression lightened. “I shall give it a lime more thought, but I am inclined to do so. William is here. And I do think that we may rely upon Mr. Creevey's information to guide us in this,” Lady Mary said with a nod and a smile at the gentleman. He bowed his acknowledgment of the compliment.

Soon afterward Mr. Creevey and the Misses Ord took their leave, saying that they had another call to make. When they were gone, Lady Cecily turned to her hostess. “Are you and Abigail really staying on in Brussels?"

"I think so, at least for the moment. I have never heard Mr. Creevey convey an intelligence that is unfounded. Perhaps I am mistaken, but I should not wish to leave the city only to learn later that we had done so prematurely. I wish to remain as long as possible so that I will know where William is ordered off to,” Lady Mary said.

"Yes, I feel the same. About Reginald, I mean. Robert also shall not wish to leave just now, I know. It is bad enough that he is bound by his oath to Reginald to stand by me, when I suspect that what he would rather do is to join in the fray.” Lady Cecily sighed and shook her head. “These are odd times that we live in, are they not?” She began to pull on her gloves in order to take her leave.

After Lady Cecily had left, Lady Mary and Abigail spent the remainder of the day periodically watching the incredible scene of confusion outside in the street as the English left in every type of vehicle available. It was during one of these moments that Abigail exclaimed, “Why, that is Grandmama! And Grandpapa!'’ She looked around at her mother, her eyes shining, as Lady Mary joined her at the window. “Look, they are just coming up the steps."

"Then come away from the window and deport yourself demurely on the settee. You know that your grandmama thinks it the height of vulgarity for young girls to be caught peeping out of upstairs windows,” Lady Mary said, herself going to the wing chair close to the fireplace and taking up her embroidery.

"Pooh! Much I care for that,” Abigail said, tossing her head. But she did as her mother suggested, so that when the butler announced her grandparents, she looked the very picture of respectability.

The viscountess swooped down on Abigail, her arms outstretched. “How pretty you look, dear child! I am surprised that you have not a crowd of young officers at your feet, to be sure. Oh, Mary, how are you, my dear? You are looking well as usual."

Lady Mary returned her mother's dutiful kiss of the cheek. “I am well, Mother. We have not seen you or my father for several days. I confess that I am surprised.” Her glance traveled to her father, who had held back from the physical exchange of greetings, and the expression in her eyes was questioning.

Viscount Catlin gave his mocking smile. “Your mother insisted upon the visit. We have called to see how you and Abigail are weathering the rumors flying about town. As you may guess, your mother has been ready to depart for hours."

The viscountess tossed an irritated glance at her husband. “Really, Victor, as though anyone with sense would not be anxious! Naturally we must have every confidence in our army, but one must not forget that that horrid little Corsican is a veritable devil. I am certain that Mary is aware of the circumstances. As for our little Abigail, she is such a fragile, sensitive creature that she cannot help the nightmarish thoughts that must be tumbling about in her head. Now, Abigail, you are not to fret."

As Abigail regarded her grandmother in open astonishment, Lady Mary said dryly, “As you have pointed out, Mother, we can trust our army to protect us from Bonaparte. I do not anticipate a hurried flight just yet."

The viscount laughed and addressed his wife with a biting satisfaction. “There, my dear, what did I tell you? Our Mary has ice water in her veins. You will not ever discover her in a distracted swoon.” He turned to his daughter. “I am unsurprised, of course. For all your faults, you still have a head on your shoulders. Not like some of these idiots haring off without the sense that God granted them."

Lady Mary inclined her head. “Thank you, my lord."

Abigail finally found her tongue. “But, Grandmama, surely you and Grandpapa are not leaving Brussels!"

"Your grandfather is as stubborn as your own mother, child. He shall not be satisfied that there is any substance to what we have heard until Bonaparte himself knocks at the door,” Viscountess Catlin said with asperity. She realized when her husband laughed that she had exposed herself again to his sardonic sense of humor. “But let's not talk about nasty politics. My sweet Abigail, I have the most wonderful news. I have gained an introduction to the Comte l'Buc and he has indicated significant interest in meeting you, my dear! In fact, I am nearly positive that he can be induced to partner you at Lady Charlotte Greville's party this evening."

"But, Grandmama, I have already half-promised myself to Lord Hay for that evening,” Abigail said, dismayed. She liked young Lord Hay, who was seventeen like herself and could be counted on for merry talk.

Viscountess Catlin smiled brightly. She patted her granddaughter's cheek. “Indeed, Lord Hay is a very eligible young gentleman. As an elder son he will certainly inherit his father's title; but his lordship is still in his prime, and so that day will be long in coming. The Comte l'Buc, on the other hand, has already come into his own and he has the advantage also of being some years your senior, so he can be counted upon to be a proper guide for a young wife. He will naturally be proud of his wife's social accomplishments and perhaps be more inclined to be lenient of her circle of admirers than would be a gentleman of lesser years, who might exhibit distressing signs of jealousy."

"Mother, that will be enough,” Lady Mary said.

Her tone was such that the viscountess looked up at her in surprise. There was a certain coolness in Lady Mary's wide gray eyes, the slightest rise of her winged brows, that the viscountess recognized from old, and she tightened her lips. “Really, Mary! One would think that you do not
wish
Abigail to make a brilliant match."

"I do not believe marriage to a confirmed old roué to be a
brilliant match,
my lady. Furthermore, I shall not sit quietly by while you intimate to Abigail the mistaken notion that all husbands and wives must expect dalliance from their spouses,'’ Lady Mary said.

The viscountess regarded her daughter with a measure of superiority. “My dear Mary, how can you still be so incredibly naive at your years? Why, I had no notion that sitting about the country for all those years would blind one so completely. If the truth but be known, Sir Roger was probably little different from any other gentleman, and—"

Lady Mary smiled, but the warmth of her expression did not quite reach her eyes. At that moment she looked uncannily like her paternal parent at his most dangerous. “You shall not finish that unworthy thought in my presence, nor ever to my daughter."

Viscountess Catlin rose precipitately, two spots of angry color in her face. “Well! I have never been treated so shabbily! Victor, I think it past time that we leave.” She turned away without thought to the social amenities and sailed out of the drawing room.

The viscount was slow to follow his wife's hasty exit. He bowed to Lady Mary, a small sardonic smile playing about his lips. She half-expected him to rebuke her, but he said nothing. Instead, he turned to his granddaughter and raised Abigail's hand to his lips. Her eyes reflected her distress at the scene just ended, and he laughed softly. “Pray do not appear so anxious, dear child. Your grandmother has never understood the nature of your mother's character. Indeed, it took a great many years for me to become reconciled to it. But I do understand your mother, perhaps more than she suspects, and I can assure you that what she says of your father can be believed in whole cloth."

He left then, leaving Lady Mary and Abigail equally off-balance. It had been a strange speech and, for Lady Mary at least, had hinted at far more than the actual words. She wondered whatever he could have been getting at, but it was a puzzle that must wait. She could see from Abigail's expression that she had not come off in the encounter as well as she could have wished. She held out her hand to her daughter. “Abigail, come sit beside me a moment."

Abigail hesitated, then seemed to decide that she should hear her mother out. She took her place on the settee, but before Lady Mary could say anything, she blurted, “How could you speak so coldly to Grandmama? She was greatly distressed, and so hurt! She only wants what is best for me."

Lady Mary sighed. “Indeed, according to your grandmother's notions, I was completely out of line. However, you must realize that the viscountess's ideals are not always what I wish, or what your father would have wished, for you. We had something very precious, Abigail, so precious that its worth cannot be measured by social prominence or wealth or any of the other enticements that you may be offered this Season."

"I know that you and Papa loved one another. I know that you gave up everything that you were bred to—Grandmama has told me so over and over again. But I do not know why I should be like you. Why shouldn't I encourage a wealthy titled gentleman? Why shouldn't I make a brilliant match if it is what I wish to do?” Abigail said all in a rush. She had withdrawn from her mother and now sat half-facing her on the settee as though they were antagonists. Her expression was angry, and in her blue eyes was a hint of confusion.

"If it is what
you
wish to do, Abigail. That is the very crux of the matter, is it not? Oh, Abby, don't you see? I wish you to have that choice. I don't care whether you marry at all, as long as you are happy,” Lady Mary said. She saw at once that she had said the wrong thing.

Abigail flushed and jumped to her feet. Her small hands bunched at her sides. ‘'
That
is it! You do not wish me to make a splendid match. You do not wish me to marry at all! Grandmama was right. She said you were jealous of me—of my chances. She said you secretly regretted running away with Papa and creating a scandal and living in a lesser society. And now you wish me to share in your misery, so that you can prove to the world that you were right. Well, I shall not do it! Do you hear? I shall not do it!” She whirled and ran to the door of the drawing room.

Lady Mary had sat stunned and speechless through her daughter's tirade, but Abigail's flight set her in motion. She rose, crying out, “Abby! Come back! You are so wrong, my dear!"

But Abigail was unheeding. She flew out of the drawing room and slammed the door behind her.

Lady Mary did not pursue her daughter. Indeed, she was at a loss for what she might say. Her thoughts were in a turmoil, and dismay over the argument with her daughter was as nothing to the anger that she felt toward her mother. She had not even suspected that Viscountess Catlin was filling Abigail's head with such idiotic lies. If she had known, she would swiftly have set straight the viscountess's account. But it was rather too late for a simple explanation, she thought with a trace of bitterness.

How Abigail could ever accept such nonsense was in itself astonishing. She had never hidden her past from her children, believing that they should not ever come to feel that there had been anything wrongful in the love between her and their father. It was true that theirs had been a runaway marriage and that she had in consequence been excommunicated from her former place in society. But Lady Mary knew in her heart that she had never for a moment regretted the circumstance, and she had been certain that her children had known of her contentment.

With her reflections, Lady Mary's troubled spirits lightened a little. Abigail was at the moment somewhat spoiled and confused, but she was an intelligent girl. Surely she could not set aside all of her childhood memories of the happy family the three of them had constituted at a few contrary words from her grandmother, Lady Mary thought. She felt confident that after a period of reflection, Abigail would realize how false had been the impressions given her by the viscountess.

Thus it was that Lady Mary went upstairs to begin dressing for dinner with her serene composure once more intact. Later, however, she began to wonder at her earlier confidence. Upon joining her in the front hall to set out for the evening, Abigail had maintained a stony silence toward her which covered the entire distance to Lady Charlotte Greville's residence.

Alighting from the coach, Lady Mary was certain that she had never spent a more unpleasant ride. Ill humor had begun to settle around her shoulders, and it was with an effort that she smilingly greeted their hostess. She glanced toward Abigail and was relieved to see that her daughter's sulky expression had given way to one of anticipation. Surely matters would mend themselves in very short order, she thought. But she was rudely awakened from the last of her complaisance by Abigail's subsequent behavior.