The Waltzing Widow (8 page)
Lady Mary acknowledged the compliment, and the conversation passed easily on to other things.
The earl stayed beside her for a few minutes more until Monsieur Francois du Bois came up to greet her, apologizing that he had not before had a chance to speak with her. Then Lord Kenmare rose and made a graceful exit, remarking that he should circulate.
Lady Mary was sorry when he was gone. Once she had recovered from her odd lack of social aplomb, she had enjoyed the conversation between herself and the earl. He was an intelligent gentleman, one of definite opinion but not insistent that another should wholly agree with him. It had been pleasant to talk with someone who listened to and respected her views.
As her eyes followed the earl's departing figure, her gaze chanced to fall on an elderly couple well-known to her, and she gasped, staring in stunned disbelief.
Monsieur du Bois was made curious by her expression. His heavy black brows shot up, emphasizing his rather prominent and extraordinary blue-black eyes. “My lady, what is it? You look as though you have seen a specter."
"Perhaps I have. I have just now seen my parents, whom I had thought to be in London,” she said, giving a shaky laugh.
"Ah? It is a pleasant surprise, then,” Monsieur du Bois said.
Only half-attending to her host, Lady Mary blinked to be certain that she was not seeing an apparition. But there was no mistake. The elderly couple rapidly bearing down upon her were her parents, Viscount and Viscountess Catlin. Monsieur du Bois, seeing that her attention was fully trained on the advancing couple, bowed himself off, shaking his head.
The viscount's eyes glittered with an equal measure of malice and amusement as he bowed to his daughter. With a shade of sarcasm he drawled, “Well met, Mary."
Unheeding of any social niceties. Lady Mary asked bluntly, “Whatever are you doing here? I thought you firmly ensconced in London."
"And so we were until we received your letter, dear Mary,” Viscountess Catlin said. She smiled, completely impervious to the warring emotions in her daughter's expression. “It was so foresighted of you, my dear, to bring Abigail to the hub of the
ton.
I was quite bowled out by your cleverness. I would not have thought of it; indeed, I did not! I had fretted for weeks that Abigail's first Season would be a shambles, all because of this ludicrous politics one hears too much about, and your letter arrived with the perfect solution. So naturally we began making immediate arrangements to come to Brussels as well."
Viscount Catlin still regarded his daughter with cynical amusement, quite aware of the turmoil in her breast. “You appear astonished, Mary. Surely you must have known that your mother could not have borne to miss Abigail's first Season?"
Lady Mary glanced at her father with the faintest lift of her brows. She noted almost with detachment that he had aged. The viscount was thinner than she remembered, his face more lined, his stature frailer. But time had not dimmed the arrogance inherent in his expression or voice, nor had it granted vulnerability to the unfathomable depths of his cold mocking eyes. “If I do seem astonished, sir, it is scarcely to be wondered at, since I know well how my mother detests travel. Naturally it never crossed my mind that she would be willing to make the long journey from England."
"That is all too true, dear Mary, and indeed the journey was a sore trial to me. But there is no sacrifice too great that I would not willingly endure for my granddaughter's sake,” Viscountess Catlin said.
The viscount ignored his wife's comment. He smiled, a bare showing of his teeth. “You underestimate us, Mary. We are not quite yet in our graves, no matter what your secret wishes may be on the matter."
Color rose to Lady Mary's face. She felt the familiar stirring of anger that her father had always been able to provoke in her. The coolness of her voice was a perfect match for the acid tone that he had used. “I have never wished that, my lord, as you must assuredly be aware."
"No? I confess to a twinge of disappointment, my dear. I had thought you a rare hater, but I was mistaken. The commoner rubbed off too well on you,” Viscount Catlin said.
As Lady Mary drew in a sharp breath, the viscountess at last chose to become cognizant of the hostility between her husband and their daughter. “Victor, pray do not tease Mary so. Of course she is not common. What an absurd thing to say! As though any daughter of ours could be,” she said. She did not understand when the viscount gave a snort of laughter, and so she turned to her daughter, seeking safety in performing the correct protocol. “We shall call upon you and dear Abigail tomorrow, Mary. But do not look for us too early, as I shall sleep in, for I mean to stay until the rooster crows in the dawn. It is all so very exciting, isn't it? Why, I have already counted a score of exquisitely eligible gentlemen that I must immediately begin to cultivate on Abigail's behalf. We shall marry her off in fine style, I promise you! Besides, I have seen so many of our old friends this evening. I do not know why we stayed so long in dreary London when all the world has come here. Really, I do not."
The viscount sketched a bow to his daughter and escorted away his still-exclaiming wife, who had espied someone else that she wished to talk to. Lady Mary looked after them, shaken. She could still hardly believe that her parents were actually in Brussels. But Viscount Catlin's peculiar brand of mockery was not easily forgotten, nor her mother's gushing eagerness to present Abigail to the most
eligible partis
that she possibly could.
Lady Mary knew that Abigail would be delighted by her grandparents’ presence, but as for herself, she could not now reflect upon the upcoming Season without also being keenly aware of the difficulties that the viscountess's notions of proper social advancement would create.
Abigail had already encountered much admiration in the few days that they had gone about in society. Lady Mary thought that it would take very little more to turn her daughter's head, particularly if admiration were to be coupled with the viscountess's unshakable opinion of Abigail's absolute perfection. Abigail had come back from her last two visits to London behaving with a spoiled and self-centered air that Lady Mary had particularly abhorred. Lady Mary shuddered to think how much greater the effect of Viscountess Catlin's constant strictures on the proper position for a young lady to attain would be against the glittering backdrop that was Brussels.
As Lady Mary had expected, Abigail anticipated her grandparents’ visit the following day with unconcealed excitement. While Lady Mary calmly embroidered, her daughter kept dashing to the window to discover whose carriage was stopping at the curb. Abigail had her hopes dashed several times when the callers who were ushered into the drawing room proved not to be those whom she awaited with such impatience.
Miss Steepleton observed her former pupil's migration from settee to window and back again with disapproving shakes of her head and a clucking tongue. When it became obvious that these subtle hints would not suffice to curb the girl's behavior, she said to Lady Mary with an anxious air, “I do not know where Abigail could have picked up such restless habits, for I am sure that I must have taught her to behave with more decorum."
"Of course you did, Agatha,” Lady Mary said reassuringly. She glanced over at her daughter, wondering what she must think of her former governess's criticism. Abigail had often objected to Miss Steepleton's old-fashioned and stuffy strictures, stating that the retiring woman behaved little better than a cowering rabbit in company and that for her part she would not do so. But for this once Abigail appeared completely oblivious of Miss Steepleton's comments.
It was a very long morning, despite the pleasant intervals with new acquaintances who came to call. Among the visitors were their neighbors Mr. Creevey and his stepdaughters, the Misses Ord. The Misses Ord, having been established in Brussels already for several months, were quite willing to discuss upcoming entertainments and the merits of various young officers, and succeeded in diverting Abigail's attention for the duration of their visit.
Lady Mary discovered in Mr. Creevey a well-informed gentleman who was able to give her some notion what the Bonaparte situation meant, as he apparently possessed an exceptionally wide and illustrious acquaintance. Lady Mary was so much struck by the gentleman's air of certainty that nothing was yet to be feared that she was made more confident of the decision she had made to remain in Brussels for the time being.
Luncheon came and went before at last Abigail's vigil was rewarded. When the viscount and the viscountess were announced, she flew up out of her chair with her hands outstretched. “Grandmama! Grandpapa!” She hugged each of them in turn, and with a stream of cheerful chatter tripping from her tongue, made certain that they were comfortably seated and saw that they were served refreshments.
Viscountess Catlin basked in her granddaughter's attention. She said fondly, “I am certain that I do not know how I shall go on when you are wedded, Abigail. You have always been such a comfort to me. But I shall manage, as I always have."
Abigail laughed merrily. “Oh, Grandmama! As though you haven't a dozen servants hanging about all the day with nothing to do but see to your least whim."
Viscountess Catlin patted her granddaughter's smooth cheek. “But none can compare with you, my dearest child, for the very sight of your sweet face lifts my spirits,” she said. She was rewarded for her sentiment with a quick hug from her happy granddaughter.
Meanwhile, greetings were taking place between the viscount and the other two ladies. Miss Steepleton, who stood in the greatest awe of her mistress's parents, was always flustered in their presence. She uttered what she thought an unexceptionable nicety. “I hope that we see you well this morning, my lord.” She was aghast when the viscount swept cold, contemptuous eyes over her.
"My state of health is hardly a topic for public bandying, madam,” he said bitingly. His response reduced Miss Steepleton to an ineffectual stammer.
Lady Mary had greeted her father even as she listened to the byplay between the viscountess and Abigail. But his acid tone firmly attached her attention and she resignedly came to her companion's rescue. She gave a laugh, saying with an air of easy amusement, “The viscount's state of health can nearly always be gauged by the degree of his irascibility, Agatha. I judge that today his lordship is in fine fettle."
Viscount Catlin gave a short bark of laughter. Miss Steepleton was uncertain whether she should also laugh; one could never tell with the viscount. She decided that her best policy would be to efface herself as unobtrusively and as quickly as possible, and she faded into the background behind Lady Mary's chair.
Viscount Catlin was barely aware of the Steepleton woman's retreat. She was unworthy meat for his ill-humor today. He regarded his daughter's serene expression, relishing the cool expression in her gray eyes. Already she was on the way to climbing on her high ropes, he thought with satisfaction. “Very neatly done, Mary. One day you must explain to me your reasoning in keeping that useless woman hanging from your sleeve,” he drawled.
Lady Mary smiled, quite aware of what he was attempting. “I am not to be drawn so easily this day, my lord. I neglected to inquire at the ball, but where are you staying during your sojourn in Brussels?"
Viscountess Catlin heard her query. She leapt in before her husband could draw breath for an acidly phrased reply. “We are at the Hotel d'Angleterre, Mary. I had wished to hire a residence for the term, but alas, none but the meanest hovels were to be had at such short notice. I am very sorry for it, for I shall be unable to get up just the sort of grand entertainments that must launch Abigail into prominence. But never mind, dearest, I shall think of something and we shall all be very gay despite such an unhappy inconvenience,” she said, giving her granddaughter's hand a slight squeeze. She turned again to Lady Mary. “Mary, I think it past time to plan Abigail's come-out party. I have several marvelous notions, and though this house is not as large as one could wish for entertaining, we must make do, mustn't we? I shall simply have to trim the guest list to the absolute bare bones, and perhaps hire a quartet rather than full strings, and—"
Lady Mary saw instantly what was transpiring. “It is not at all necessary to put yourself out for Abigail's come-out, Mother. I have already set all the arrangements in motion."
"Mama! You never breathed a word to me,” Abigail exclaimed, astonished and pleased.
Lady Mary was aware of her father's cynical smile and she silently cursed her quick falsehood. She managed a credible smile. “I had wished to surprise you, Abigail. I know that this first party is of great moment to you, and I wanted it to be my present to you,” she said. Abigail jumped up with a squeak of excitement and ran over to embrace her, causing Lady Mary to laugh in mock protest. “Abby, my cap! Pray...!"
Abigail released her mother and helped to readjust Lady Mary's lace cap. “I am so very happy, Mama. And I shall not badger you for a single detail of the arrangements, I promise you. Only, may I please have a new gown? All of my evening gowns are so shabby and old and—"
"Yes, yes, of course,” Lady Mary said, giving way without even a pang for the expense to be involved. It would not hurt to have Abigail occupied with a seamstress while she whipped together the arrangements for an instant ball and supper. She only hoped that she could pull off an evening to meet her daughter's undoubtedly giddy expectations.
The viscountess regarded Lady Mary with a somewhat brittle look about her mouth. “Well! It appears that you have not lost any time sitting about since your arrival, Mary. I assume that you have already had introductions to enough suitable
partis
to make up a proper guest list.” She raised her thin brows in interrogation.
"Why, Mama and I have already met scores of personages, and all of them are ever so nice. We have received invitations to dinners and balls, and ever so much more, have we not, Mama?” Abigail said, completely oblivious of the undercurrents about her.
