Two Beaux and a Promise Collection (11 page)

“Very well. What does she want?”

“Nothing. She thinks she can handle Miss Russell herself. But the girl is too determined for a single guardian to keep her in line, no matter how competent. Then there’s Jessup.”

“Jessup?”

“He’s behaving quite oddly. It isn’t done to toy with a friend’s betrothed.”

Which was why Charles had had to resort to subterfuge to make Jacob and Emily admit their love. He raised his brows.

“They slipped away a quarter hour ago. I found them in a heated embrace on the terrace. Since I don’t believe Jessup cares a fig for the girl, I put the fear of God into him – or at least fear of the Beaux – and vowed you would watch him closely. But I don’t know why he’s taking such risks. It takes a powerful motive to ignore both friendship and kinship. My ignorance bothers me.”

“And me. I’ll look into it. And speaking of the Beaux, I told Russell that you would watch him. I caught him attacking an unwilling female this afternoon.”

“Who?”

Charles shook his head. If he was wrong about Miss Knolton’s character, he could not risk harming her. Jacob would never mention the incident, but the ballroom was too near. One whisper could doom her.

Jacob scowled. “I’ll deal with him. He’s young enough to settle.”

“I doubt he has the brains. It seems to be a family failing. How Merrimont can believe Miss Russell will suit, I don’t know.”

“Find out. If he’s decided she won’t and is trying to make her end it, you can help them avoid scandal.” 

Jacob slipped away before Charles could respond, but this explained why he hadn’t just spoken with Sir Waldo, which would have settled the matter. If Jacob thought the betrothal should end, he would expect Charles to manage it cleanly. After all, he’d survived his own jilting virtually unscathed. He knew how it was done.

But he’d not done it alone. The Beaux had rallied around, shielding him from the most vicious gossip, showing their support, deflecting criticism…  And Emily’s immediate marriage to Jacob had blunted much of the talk. They were so obviously in love.

He doubted that he could arrange a similar disposition for Merrimont.

Shaking free of the memories, he returned to the ballroom to seek out Miss Knolton.

— 3 —

Edith relaxed when Diana returned barely a minute after Hawthorne had headed for the terrace. There was no sign of Jessup.

Hawthorne’s warning should keep Jessup in line, but eliminating that threat didn’t solve Edith’s problems. Even the width of a candlelit ballroom couldn’t hide the fury simmering in Diana’s eyes. It was clear Hawthorne had put her back up. Pride would make the girl prove that she could do as she pleased.

It didn’t take long. Within a quarter hour Diana was laughing with Mr. Tomling, her hand on his arm as she leaned far too close and whispered in his ear. Tomling flushed.

Edith started to join them, but she’d covered barely half the distance when someone whirled her into a waltz without warning.

“My dance, I believe.”  Charles’s green eyes laughed down at her.

She ignored the sudden warmth. “My lord!  This is most improper. I’m a chaperon.”

“This is an informal evening at a country house party. You can do anything you like, Miss Knolton. Is Russell behaving himself?”

“I—  Of course, he is. You threatened him with the Beaux.”

He raised his brows. “You mean he actually understood the threat?”

“Everyone understands
that
threat.”  She erased her scowl lest people notice.

“How unfortunate. I’d hoped for another encounter. You aren’t his only victim. He is no gentleman.”

“I know, but—” 

“He will benefit from an extended trip abroad. I’ll see to it.”

“But—”  She stopped, confused and more than a little dizzy as he spun her into a complicated turn. The dizziness had to come from the unaccustomed motion. Or maybe from surprise – his actions belied his reputation. It had nothing to do with laughing green eyes or the way his hand burned into her waist. Or so she insisted.

He grinned, twirling her faster. “I hear your charge is causing trouble.”

“No. I mean, I never—”  She stopped, not sure what she was trying to say. Why did she always sound like a ninny around him?

But Diana
was
giving her trouble, and it was getting worse. Gathering her wits, she peered around Charles’s shoulder to see Diana dancing far too close to Tomling. If something wasn’t done – and soon – they would all be in trouble.

For the moment, people smiled indulgently, attributing Diana’s behavior to high spirits as she approached her wedding. But that wouldn’t last. Already Giles was glaring. Since gentlemen could not honorably terminate betrothals, he must see his future going up in flames.

Swallowing her pride, Edith sighed. “Miss Russell is an arrogant, spoiled peagoose. I fear she will never make it to the altar if she keeps this up.”

“Is that what she wants?”  He twirled her onto the terrace.

Edith knew she should object, but they could hardly discuss Diana in a crowd. Hawthorne had insisted that Charles could help. The alternative was admitting her failure to Sir Waldo.

The moment they were out of sight, she stepped out of his arms so she could think. The darkness helped, for it kept her from seeing the green, green eyes that haunted her dreams far too often. “I suspect she wants Mr. Merrimont’s attention – according to Miss Russell, he has all but ignored her since their betrothal.”

“He has a job.”

“I know that. I’ve explained that. I’ve made sure that she knows her duties as his wife – duties beyond paying calls and hosting at-homes for society ladies. He will have to entertain often, especially if he stands for Commons.”

His face twisted into surprise. “Did he actually share that ambition with her?  Few gentlemen know of it.”

“Of course not, but I was hired to prepare her for the future. That means finding out what skills she will need.”

He shook his head slowly, as if in shock. “Then why is she balking?”

Edith turned toward the yew tree overhanging the balustrade and brushed its delicate foliage. “Lord Hawthorne said I could trust you.”  She glanced over her shoulder, waiting until he nodded. “Miss Russell has been the local diamond since the age of fifteen, so she is accustomed to men who fawn over her, accede to her every wish, and praise her at every turn. Her previous governess encouraged her.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know the woman, so I don’t care to speculate. I’ve tried to explain that contrived adulation is the fashion and thus means little. Mr. Merrimont lacks the temperament to indulge in excessive flattery. Nor does he waste his time in idle flirtation.”

Again she glanced back until he nodded.

“Miss Russell equates flattery with love. She thinks his reticence means he doesn’t love her, which raises fears that her beauty is fading. That causes panic, which increases her determination to prove his love by forcing him to flatter her. I suspect tonight’s goal is to make him jealous.”

Charles choked.

“I agree, but she no longer listens to me. She is a devotee of romantic novels and expects love to transform the world into a magical place. So far, it hasn’t. We spent last month in town. When Giles refused to forego a Four-in-Hand Club outing so he could take her shopping, she snapped.”

“She expected him to escort her around the shops instead of driving out to Salt Hill?”  He sounded appalled. “Merrimont’s prowess as a whip is legendary. I’ve never seen such light hands on the ribbons – or such absolute control. He can trot through a gate with less than an inch of clearance. Hell, he could turn through a gate that tight – at speed. Driving is how he relaxes after tense negotiations.”

“I am aware of that. I’ve explained it very clearly. But Miss Russell is spoiled – still very much a child in some ways. She needs constant reassurance.”

“No wonder Merrimont is making no progress with Schechler.”

It was her turn to raise her brows.

“I was sent out here because he can’t keep his mind on his job,” he explained bluntly. “I expected to find him caught up in wedding preparations. Instead, he is so distracted that I’d barely greeted him before he treated me to an outburst on the insanity of females.”  His glare made it clear that he shared that view, at least when it came to her.

Edith ignored it. Diana’s future was more important than Charles’s opinion. She faced him. “I fear he is close to walking away. On the other hand, if he truly doesn’t care…”

Charles paused, then shook his head. “I suspect he cares too much. There was something in his voice…  Hawthorne and Hughes use that same tone when speaking of their wives.”

“Then why doesn’t he tell her?” 

“Do you honestly suggest that he lay his heart on the floor for Miss Russell to trample?”

“She wou—”  Edith bit off the denial, for Diana undoubtedly would, if for no other reason than to prove she could. “You have a point,” she said instead, sighing deeply.

“I have several points.”  He ducked into the library to hold his hands over the fire. “This is not the weather for tête-à-têtes in the garden,” he explained when she joined him.

“No. But you were saying—”  She shivered now that the air was warmer. Or maybe it was the dismal room, which qualified as a library only because one shelf contained a dozen volumes of old sermons. None of the Russells were scholars.

“Merrimont’s reticence is more than protection against pain. He is a diplomat. We are trained never to reveal our thoughts.”

“That hasn’t stopped
you
.”  She glared, recalling the names he’d called her after she’d slipped and knocked him into a suit of armor back in July. The clatter as he and the armor crashed to the marble floor had drawn a dozen spectators.

“That’s different.”

“Really?”

“We are discussing Merrimont,” he snapped. “Most gentlemen are taught from birth that emotions are vulgar, thus indulging in them reveals inferior breeding. And love is the most vulgar of all, suited only to the lowest classes. Merrimont won’t acknowledge such a feeling and won’t admit he can’t handle Miss Russell. Pride won’t allow it.”

“So it’s all right to be emotional around inferiors, but not your equals?” she asked, suddenly angry.

“That’s not what I said.”

“Really?  Mr. Merrimont, younger son of a viscount, can’t tell Miss Russell, daughter of a baronet and his affianced bride, that he loves her. But you, who are a great deal higher, think it’s permissible to attack, revile, and otherwise disdain a lowly governess.”

“That’s not true!” he snarled, slamming his fist on the mantel in a vivid show of temper. “I said
most
families eschew emotion. Mine doesn’t. We’re not quite respectable, if you need the truth, though we’ve enough power that all but the highest sticklers overlook our oddities. We don’t deride emotion. We even champion fidelity after marriage. But that is not the point.”  He sucked in a calming breath. “Does Miss Russell want this marriage?”

“Yes, but on her terms. I think she’s terrified that he doesn’t care and that she might face living with a man who ignores her. Somehow I must convince her that compromise is necessary – and trust. That will be easier if Mr. Merrimont makes even a small show of approval. Can you convince him to abandon pride long enough to admit he wants this match?”

“I doubt it. If this has been building for some time, he will see any concession as a defeat. And while he is trained in the art of compromise, he never makes the first move.”

“Damnation,” she muttered under her breath. “Fools, both of them, standing on pride when they ought to trust each other enough to be honest. Why did he offer for her anyway?  Surely he could see what she is.”

“Which supports my contention that he loves her. It’s the only reason he might abandon sense. But he won’t admit it even in his mind, and he won’t risk being hurt. Pain is never pleasant. A smart man learns to avoid it.”

The pain in his voice halted her reply, for he’d been trampled rather badly himself not long ago. London had talked of little else for weeks after his fiancée jilted him. “Then we need another approach. What if he finds her in danger?  The shock might break down his pride.”

“No.”  His tone was final.

She stared. “Why?”

“I once arranged that scenario to force two other proud fools to admit the truth. Despite precautions, one of them nearly died. I won’t risk it again.”

“I see.”

“I doubt it, but it doesn’t matter. I swore then that I would never again meddle in other people’s affairs. I’m already uneasy about involving myself in this. I won’t tempt fate.”

“Very well. What do you suggest?”

He paced to the window, stared over the grounds, then returned to the fire. “You said Miss Russell expects love to produce a magical transformation. How?”

“She is fond of romantic poetry, and her favorite novels always end with the characters transformed by love. So the idea that marriage will saddle her with a host of responsibilities and surround her with serious-minded diplomats instead of fawning suitors does not sit well.”

“She is mad.”

“You asked what she expects.”

“Didn’t she foresee this when she accepted him?”

“I doubt it. She was too caught up in the Season. Reveling in her success left little time to think about how marriage would change her life.”

“Hmm.”  He clasped his hands behind him and resumed pacing. “Magical transformations…  Does she believe in magic, then?”

“How should I know?  I don’t include magic in my lessons.”  But her irritation faded when she met his eyes. “What do you have in mind?”

“A magic amulet. Wearing it would force those around her to speak only the truth.”

She snorted. “She won’t believe anyone but Mr. Merrimont, and she won’t accept anything short of capitulation to her demands.”

“I wonder how true that is. Using an amulet might force her to see herself in a different light.”

“How?”

“Suppose I encourage Merrimont to repeat today’s outburst. Suppose Miss Russell overhears him.”  He sharpened his gaze. “If she’s as selfishly arrogant as you imply, I doubt his words will contain much flattery. It will be up to you to control her.”