Authors: Elizabeth Thornton
Harriet's eyes glowed as she took in
Briony's
appearance. That young lady hadn't an envious bone in her body. In her white muslin gown heavily encrusted with seed pearls, Harriet was as pleasing as any young
deb
could wish to be, but Briony, with her cascade of platinum hair and eyes luminous with some emotion, held a certain allure that made Harriet catch her breath. Even Lord Avery was affected. He wondered, uneasily, how Ravensworth would react.
Ravensworth idly raised his quizzing glass and surveyed the crowded ballroom with a bored eye. Briony, he reflected, had not yet arrived. His absent glance was arrested by the figure of a handsome woman, an Incomparable, who was surrounded by a bevy of eager swains. Ravensworth's lips curved in appreciation. Her glorious blond hair hanging loosely about her shoulders framed a perfectly oval face. She used her fan, he noted, with devastating effect. No disrespect to Briony, but a man must make his bow to beauty. His lordship sauntered with lithe grace toward his
quarry,
prepared to smile one of his slow smiles should he chance to catch the Beauty's eye.
Briony looked up and saw her adversary only a few feet away. The smile froze on her lips. Ravensworth, she observed sourly, had not recognized her. He threw her a devastating smile. She curtsied deeply and the babble of the swains surrounding her stilled.
Briony tilted her head a trifle and stared resolutely into his lordship's admiring blue eyes. She noted with amusement the sudden, startled recognition that dawned in his expression. Ravensworth blinked rapidly. Defiance lurked in the depths of her steady gaze, mounting fury in his. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks and after an interminable moment she averted her gaze. She had done nothing wrong, she reasoned. Why should she be the one to blush? The man had no shame!
In one long stride he had crossed the distance between them and he grasped her wrist with bone-crushing strength.
"Pray excuse us," he said affably to the group of curious bucks. "My cousin and I have a family matter to discuss." Amid the groans and protests of her admirers, Ravensworth
fragged
a stumbling Briony unceremoniously into the hall.
"What the devil do you think you're doing?" he demanded, turning on her furiously. He smiled civilly to a passing acquaintance and turned back to her with a growl. "Who gave you permission to wear your hair in that wanton fashion? What do you think this is?
A house of ill repute?"
Briony was stunned. "I—I. . ." she began.
"And what the
devil.
. .
is that rouge on your lips?" Ravensworth extracted his snowy white handkerchief and with one vigorous motion had cleansed the lady's lips of the offending stain. Briony began to whimper. Ravensworth's eye softened. He was about to reach for her when Lord Edgewood swaggered into view.
"Miss Langland, this dance is promised to me, I collect?" He laid a proprietary hand on
Briony's
arm and returned Lord Ravensworth's baleful glare.
"Do excuse us, my dear chap, but your,
er
, cousin filled me in on her card." His tone was faintly mocking.
For the first time, Ravensworth observed the card which Briony was clutching convulsively in her hands. He snatched it from her grasp and saw that there were four vacant spots on it. He filled his own name in each one of them without so much as a by-your-leave, knowing quite well that more than two dances would proclaim to the watching world that he had as much as engaged himself to the lady. He thrust it back into her shaking hands and, clicking his heels punctiliously, turned his back on her and her admiring cicisbeo.
Harriet's eyes scanned the dancers, searching for a glimpse of her elusive cousin. It had been, she thought with a sigh of satisfaction, an evening of notable success for Briony. She took vicarious pleasure in her cousin's triumph. Briony had
been the most-sought-after
deb
at the ball. The young men were wild for her and had dogged her heels the whole night through. Harriet glanced sideways at her companion. The devotion of this one gentleman who was escorting her round the perimeter of the ballroom would have satisfied her modest ambitions, but Avery had become an enigma to het. He was constant but distant in his attentions. Harriet's eyes roved back to the dance floor.
"I say, Avery," she exclaimed, stopping in her tracks, "isn't that Ravensworth partnering Briony
again?
That's the third time this evening. What is he up to? He will compromise her if he shows her such singular attention," said Harriet thoughtfully. "I must warn Briony."
"You'll do no such thing," commanded Avery firmly. "Three dances with Ravensworth won't ruin the girl." He eyed her quizzically. "I remember a time when the irrepressible Miss Grenfell would have snapped her fingers at such a paltry indiscretion."
Harriet was taken aback. "It is ungentlemanly of you, sir, to throw my former follies in my face. It was
your
wish that I acquire a little dignity." Her eyes snapped dangerously and Avery had the grace to look abashed.
"Well, wasn't it?" Harriet demanded vehemently.
Lord Avery swallowed. When he spoke, he appeared to be laboring under some difficulty. "Harriet, I have been meaning to—to say something to you."
Harriet's pulse quickened. "Yes?" she asked breathlessly.
To gain a little time, Lord Avery groped in his coat pocket and withdrew a small, round snuffbox. How could he tell this fiery termagant that he thought she had become too tame of late, that he wished she would show a little more of her former spirit? Avery decided he dare not. With habitual delicacy, he placed a pinch of snuff on the back of his wrist. From the corner of his eye, he observed that Harriet was waiting for him to continue. He cast around in his mind for something to say, and said the first thing that came to his lips. "Would you care to partake?" he asked, proffering his wrist.
Harriet drew back as if she had been scorched. "How dare you, sir!" Her voice shook with anger.
It was precisely at that moment that a glum-faced Lord Ravensworth returned a radiant Briony to her cousin's side. The exaggerated court which the young blades, yes and some of them not so young, had paid to Briony in the course of the evening had evidently ruffled his lordship's feathers.
"Avery," squealed Briony as she laid her hand on his
arm,
"may I?" She made as if to draw his wrist to her nose, but a viselike grip on her arm forced her to relinquish it.
"I forbid it!" Ravensworth hissed in her ear.
Such intimidation provoked
Briony's
eyes to flash with anger. She turned a rigid back on his lordship and addressed herself to the Viscount. "If you please, Lord Avery?" she coaxed.
"Oh no, Briony," pleaded a distracted Harriet.
Then began a discreet tussle between the grim-faced gentleman and the lady with the flashing eyes.
There was never any doubt who would win the contest.
Lord Avery's arm grew weary.
"Oh, damn!" said Harriet. She determined to settle the argument once and for all. She hauled Lord Avery's wrist to her nostrils and inhaled most indelicately. With her nose only an inch from Avery's wrist she stole a glance up at him. His eyes glowed warmly with admiration. Harriet tremulously returned his smile. Then Harriet sneezed.
The snuffbox slipped from Avery's inert fingers and rolled toward the row of dowagers along the wall. It struck the
wainscotting
with a crack and the lid snapped open, spilling the contents over the floor.
With great presence of mind, Lord Ravensworth grabbed the two ladies by the elbow and escorted them determinedly in the opposite direction.
"What about my snuffbox?" demanded a petulant
Avery.
"Not now, man, not now."
The Viscount stood irresolutely for only a moment. A dowager sneezed, and then another. Soon a whole row of formidable matrons were bobbing up and down with their little white caps dancing on their heads like the billowing sails of the British Fleet outward bound on a fair wind for France.
Lord Avery took to his heels.
In the following weeks, their days fell into a predictable pattern. A stream of fawning admirers descended on Half Moon Street to escort the sought-after cousins on a round of pleasure. The girls changed their partners as often as they changed their gloves, and Briony found it impossible to form more than a passing acquaintance with any of her alternating swains. She soon came to perceive that she and Harriet had attracted
a certain
notoriety by their forward conduct at the
Castlereaghs
' ball. The snuff incident had not gone unremarked. To have the reputation of a dasher, a high flyer—words that she heard the bucks admiringly bandy about—brought the fetching dimples flashing to
Briony's
cheeks. She noted wryly that any gentleman who had the good fortune to be seen in the company of either of the scapegrace cousins achieved a certain cachet among his fellows.
Great Aunt
Sophy
, not unnaturally, saw nothing out of the way in the current vogue among the younger dandies for her nieces' favors. There was only one cloud on the horizon which troubled that obtuse lady. There had been an inexplicable delay in procuring one of the scarce vouchers for
Almack's
—a slight inconvenience which she was sure would soon be resolved. Harriet knew better but forbore to enlighten her aunt, thankful that for the present her parents were miles away in Bath.
At first, Briony had been amused by her newfound popularity, but it did not take long for it to pall, and she became increasingly bored with the inanity of the interminable excursions in the park in the up to the crack phaetons and curricles which every young man who aspired to fashion was obliged to sport.
Lord Ravensworth's ardor had evidently cooled. He was never to be found among the other gentlemen who came to wait on the cousins in Aunt
Sophy's
best, upstairs, company drawing room. Briony told herself firmly that she was glad of it. There could be no future for a girl of her gentle breeding and a man of his questionable morals.
That Ravensworth was now in possession of the knowledge that she was an heiress of a considerable competence was confirmed by his conduct. She had, of course, known perfectly well that Avery would apprise his friend of her circumstances. Ravensworth would know
,
she consoled herself, that there was nothing a man of his ilk could possibly offer that would entice a lady of her character and fortune to accept him on any terms, not even if he were to lay his dukedom at her feet. Miss Briony Langland was far above his touch. She hoped that his lordship knew it.
The
Marquess
of Ravensworth was not to be numbered among
Briony's
admirers; nevertheless, he was frequently encountered riding in the park or on any of the innumerable excursions Briony made into Mayfair. He appeared to be in the best of spirits and would doff his hat to her in the most gallant manner and go so far as to engage her in a few minutes' desultory conversation, and since Briony was always accompanied by one of her attentive
cicisbeos
and Ravensworth invariably had some doting beauty hanging on his sleeve, Briony was compelled to a civility she deplored.
When his lordship addressed her, however, she never again subjected him to one of her clear-eyed gazes, but slid
her eyes away to focus on the points of his collar, or even lower, to the top button of his impeccable waistcoat. Once, when she chanced
to meet
his insolent stare, the provocative glint which she caught lurking in the depths of his eyes brought the color rushing to her cheeks. Briony did not care to be so
discomfitted
. She sensed that the
Marquess
was mocking her, that he was flaunting some kind of power over her, and Briony was incensed.
She took to practicing before her mirror and developed quite a repertoire of stares. No aspiring dandy ever spent more time on perfecting the intricate folds of his fine, starched, linen
neckcloths
than did Briony in assiduously rehearsing the various glances with which she hoped to wither the proud lord. Her imperious "cool appraisal" sent her eyebrows arching disbelievingly into her hair; her "go to the devil" glare had her lips curl in derision. But of them all, she thought her "
stare the world
down" scrutiny quite the best invention. With eyebrows arched and cheeks sucked in till her rosy lips formed a sullen pout, she would look down her straight nose with studied insolence.
When she tried it on Ravensworth, however, something went amiss. He had contrived a few minutes' private conversation with her at Lady
Besborough's
musical evening. He laughed outright and asked her if she was short- sighted. Briony thereupon glared fierily into his eyes. She watched the mocking gleam go out of them. His pupils dilated, darkening the irises to black and his eyes held hers. She tried to look away but she was mesmerized until Ravensworth took it into his head to release her. It left Briony breathless and shaken and determined to avoid his lordship's eyes until she became glare perfect.