Velvet Chains (Historical Romance) (6 page)

Season was grateful that neither Mrs. Tibbs, nor the ship's crew traveled in her father's circle of friends, because it was apparent that no one aboard the Good Hope had heard about her situation.

One thing was certain, Season had become humbled by her disgrace and had decided she would behave like a proper daughter and marry her cousin, no matter how disagreeable he might turn out to be. That was the least she could do for her father after ruining his good name by her foolish actions. She worried about whether the rumors regarding her and Lord Ransford would reach her cousin Edmund's ears. She hoped not.

5

Sir Edmund Kensworthy, captain of His Majesty's Guards, entered the rose-colored ballroom, searching the faces of the crowd. He spotted Lucas Carrington, a distant cousin on his mother's side. As he made his way across the room, many of the ladies stared at him, admiring the cut of his red army coat with the gold epaulettes on his shoulders. He did make a dashing figure in his bright coat and the snowy white knee breeches which suited his muscular form. In the current fashion, his hair was powdered and pulled back in a queue. His eyes were a light blue that sometimes appeared almost gray. Edmund was accustomed to receiving admiring glances from the fair sex. He smiled now at a lovely lady he passed, but he didn't stop to chat with her.

Lucas Carrington was talking to General Henry Clinton, but he watched Edmund's approach out of the corner of his eye. Lucas, unlike his flamboyant cousin, was dressed inconspicuously. He wore a white lawn shirt with ruffles at the wrist. His black velvet trousers fit to the knees and white silk hose covered his legs. His black velvet jacket was unadorned except for silver buttons. Unlike the other gentlemen in the room, Lucas wore his hair unpowdered, and his gold-colored eyes were alert and intelligent. His handsome face was unreadable as he listened intently to General Clinton speak.

"Lucas, my boy, I could use someone with your talent in my service. You know the countryside, perhaps you would be beneficial to us in our intelligence service."

"I'm flattered by your offer, General, but alas, I am only a simple planter. It is my belief that he who feeds the army, also serves," Lucas said lazily.

"Quite right, my boy, quite right. It takes an enormous amount of food to feed the troops, and you have contributed greatly in that respect."

Sir Henry Clinton was the commander of the British troops in America. To date he had managed to hold New York and wage a successful blockade of America's northern coast. He liked Lucas Carrington, who had descended from a proud old English family on his mother's side. Sir Henry didn't hold Lucas' father against him, even though he had been born on the American continent.

"I wonder, Lucas, if there is anything you do feel strongly about?" Sir Henry asked, eying the young gentleman closely.

"Excuse me, Sir Henry," Edmund said, interrupting the conversation, "I am told that my cousin, Lucas, feels strongly about the opposite sex."

General Clinton laughed deeply. "I have heard you fare well in that department yourself, Edmund."

"Modesty prevents me from answering, sir," Edmund said, a twinkle in his eye.

"Perchance your carefree days are over, Edmund. I have heard your betrothed will be presented to you later in the evening," the general said with mirth.

"Yes, it would seem so, my lord. I wonder, have you seen her? Can you tell me what she looks like?"

"Of course I have seen her. How could I allow Lord Chatsworth's only daughter to land in New York without paying my respects to her."

"Is she fair of face, sir," Edmund asked.

"Well," the general said evasively, "good looks aren't everything. After speaking to her I found her very well informed. We spoke of the books we have read, and I found her to be most intelligent."

"Good lord, a bluestocking. I can already tell by your description that she is not fair to look upon. Pray, she doesn't have a wart on her nose!"

"What is this, Edmund?" Lucas Carrington broke in. "Am I to understand that you are to take a bride?"

Lord Clinton chuckled to himself and walked off, shaking his head. He enjoyed a good jest as well as the next fellow. He thought it wouldn't hurt young Edmund to squirm a bit.

Edmund gave his cousin, Lucas, a woebegone look. "Let's find a place where we can talk privately," he said, leading the way out of the noisy, crowded room.

Lucas gave Edmund a quizzical glance as they entered the morning room and found it to be empty; then he turned to his cousin. "Now, tell me, Edmund, what's this about you getting married?"

Edmund seated himself on the sofa and leaned his head back against the soft cushions, staring at the ceiling. "You have heard me speak of my uncle, the Duke of Chatsworth?"

"Yes, of course I have. I met him once while we were at Eton together."

"Well, it seems I am to marry his daughter," Edmund stated flatly.

Lucas laughed and lowered his tall frame onto a gray brocade chair. "I must say you don't sound too happy about the event. Am I to gather you aren't looking forward to a life of wedded bliss?"

"My feelings don't count in the matter. It seems the duke paid a visit to my father, and between the two of them, it was decided I would marry my cousin, the Lady Season Chatsworth," Edmund said sourly.

"Good lord, an arranged marriage. I am well pleased I am only related to you on our mother's side. I don't believe I would want to be under the thumb of the illustrious Duke of Chatsworth."

"You can mock him if you like, Lucas, but my uncle is a very powerful man in England. It is said he is second only to the king. Had I been consulted in the matter, I might well have said no to the arrangement, but I doubt that my uncle's wishes have ever been thwarted."

"Am I to take it that you have never seen your bride-to-be?" Lucas asked in a disbelieving voice.

"I am sure I must have seen her at some family gathering, but she didn't seem to leave a lasting impression on my memory. From the way General Clinton spoke of her, I assume she is no great prize," Edmund said ruefully.

"Still, Edmund, she is the daughter of a duke. That's reaching high, is it not?"

"You haven't heard the worst, Lucas. A letter arrived from my sister, only this morning. She wrote me of the gossip going around London concerning my betrothed. It seems the Lady Season was pledged to marry a Lord Ransford, until he caught her in a very compromising situation with a stable boy. The talk is she isn't too selective about whom she beds. She is no innocent maiden."

"That could explain many things. Do you think you are being used to cover the rumors about the lady's past . . . indiscretions?"

"Damned right! I'm being made the scapegoat. By marrying her, I give her respectability."

"You could always say no," Lucas suggested lazily.

Edmund shook his head. "No. That is a luxury I can't afford. I was told by my father that the lady brings with her a large dowry, and I'll be assured of a promotion in the army. My father suggested it wouldn't be wise to offend my uncle by not accepting my cousin's hand in marriage."

Lucas studied his fingertips. "Oh well, take heart, Edmund. You can always keep your little wife in the country and visit her as infrequently as possible. I have never put too much importance on marriage vows."

Edmund looked at his cousin sourly. "That's easy for you to say. You aren't being forced to take a wife against your will."

"Let's just say that I, like you, enjoy the free life. I refuse to be tied down to just one woman. Cheer up, being married doesn't mean you have to be the model husband."

"Dammit, Lucas, in my mind's eye, I can already see her! Most probably she has a horse face and twitters or giggles excessively. I can only imagine that she is a wretched creature if her father sent her from England in disgrace."

"Well, as for myself, I would never allow anyone to force me to marry—especially if the lady's reputation were tarnished. You had better consider long and hard before you give your final consent, my friend," Lucas warned.

"Would you take the lady in question as your wife if you were offered a country estate of two thousand acres and a yearly income of fifty thousand pounds?" Edmund wanted to know.

"No, my friend, not even then. If I ever do get married, it will be to someone of my own choice."

"Let's talk about something else," Edmund said, changing the subject. "Why didn't you accept General Clinton's offer this evening? I'm having very little doubt he would see that you got a worthy commission."

"It doesn't suit me to be a soldier. As I told the general, I am but a humble planter from Virginia."

Edmund frowned. "If you are a humble planter, then I'm a Whig sympathizer, Lucas. There has never been anything humble about you."

"Don't associate me with your ambitions, Edmund. You are the one who won all the honors at swordplay when we were at Eton—you are a natural-born soldier."

Edmund stood up. "Let's join the ball. There are some pretty misses with whom I would like to dance, and I have little doubt that my intended bride will arrive shortly. It wouldn't be wise to keep her waiting."

The coach stopped in front of the large stone mansion where the ball was already in progress. Sounds of music and laughter drifted through the air as Colonel Tibbs led Lady Season Chatsworth up the steps. When they reached the top, Season took a deep breath. She felt very young, and frightened. It had been her wish to be introduced to her cousin at the formal ball, since she had been nervous about meeting him in private. She now wondered if that had been such a good idea. Tonight she was in a foreign country, surrounded by strangers. One of those strangers would soon be her husband.

Season had dressed carefully, hoping to make a good impression. Her ice-blue velvet gown was adorned with yards and yards of silver trim, and silver lace flowers were sewn along the hem. In the center of each flower was a tiny seed pearl. Season's matching floor-length cape was lined with rich mink, but she felt no warmth from it at the moment. She didn't know if her hands trembled from the cold or from fright. Molly had arranged Season's hair atop her head, except for one long curl which hung over her shoulder, and although Season had given in with ill grace when her maid had insisted on powdering her hair, she knew she had seldom looked better. Indeed, she had rarely been dressed as fashionably and she had never been to a ball such as the one she was attending tonight.

Season wished Mrs. Tibbs hadn't taken ill. She would have preferred her company tonight. A hundred butterfly wings fluttered inside her stomach as they approached the double doors, and Season felt the chill wind sting her cheeks as the doors were quickly opened and the colonel ushered her inside. A butler in full military dress and powdered wig took Season's cape and requested their names before leading them into the grand ballroom.

Edmund was deep in conversation with Lucas when the butler cleared his throat to make his announcement. The servant's voice rose above the music since he was introducing such an important guest. "The Lady Chatsworth, and Colonel Tibbs," he boomed.

Season could feel all eyes turn in her direction and she nervously clutched her silver lace fan tightly in her hand. She smiled weakly at General Clinton as he moved forward to take her hand.

"You are the loveliest young woman I have seen since leaving England, Lady Season," he said, beaming at her.

Season was unaccustomed to receiving compliments and made no reply other than a soft "Thank you." She was acutely aware that somewhere in that sea of faces was the man she was to marry. She laid her hand lightly on General Clinton's proffered arm and raised her head proudly, hoping she would present a picture of elegant sophistication. She did not want to reveal the frightened young girl she felt herself to be at the moment.

General Clinton smiled down at her in a fatherly manner. "Come, my dear. I have it on good authority that Edmund Kensworthy is anxious to make your acquaintance."

The music had ceased, and the crowd seemed to move aside to allow them free passage. Season couldn't help but overhear some of the remarks people made as she passed. "Imagine, a duke's daughter," someone declared. "What an exquisite gown," someone else was heard to say. "She is beautiful," another whispered. Season felt anything but beautiful at that moment. She was terribly frightened.

She caught a glimpse of two men standing at the end of the long line of people. Her eyes went first to the taller one. His imposing presence seemed to cast everyone else into shadow though he was modestly dressed in black velvet. He was tall and broad shouldered. Season couldn't help but notice that his handsome face was deeply tanned and his hair was unpowdered.

As she drew near she could see that the man's eyes were the startling color of liquid gold. He didn't smile, but instead looked at her boldly, almost insolently, causing her to lower her gaze.

Season's heart was beating rapidly as General Clinton stopped before the two men. She waited for what seemed an eternity for the general to make the introduction, meanwhile she dared to steal another glimpse at the imposing stranger through half-veiled lashes. This was the man of her girlhood fantasies. Handsome was too tame a word to describe him. He was alive and virile. His brilliant golden eyes were half amused, half mocking. Oh, please, please, she prayed silently, let this man be my cousin, Edmund Kensworthy!

As Lucas watched the Lady Chatsworth walk gracefully toward him he thought the blue of her gown gave her skin the appearance of silken alabaster. As she drew nearer, he noted her lovely, delicate features and her unusual green eyes. Surely nature had erred in painting her eyes; never had he seen such a brilliant green. Although the lady's hair was powdered, Lucas instinctively knew in its natural state it would be golden in color. Lucas was a man of the world and had seen many beautiful women, but he had not seen one who rivaled this lovely vision. He remembered the story of her tarnished reputation. Why does she appear so shy and frightened? he wondered. She must be a very adept actress, he thought, because she certainly seems to be an innocent. She appears as pure and untouched as an angel. He reminded himself that she was a trollop, and reflected that he had thought she would be older. His eyes rested on her slightly parted lips that seemed to invite a man's kiss; then his gaze dropped to the modestly high neckline of her gown and he noticed how snugly it fit her full, firm breasts. When he looked back at her face, he could have sworn the blush that stained her cheeks was genuine.