Authors: Mary Jo Putney
Lastly she double-looped the carved jade necklace around her neck, and dabbed perfume from the crystal vial Kyle had given her onto her throat and wrists. As the intoxicating scent was released by the warmth of her body, she lifted the delicate ivory fan and turned to her maid. "Shall I shock everyone?"
Bessy shook her head. "They'll never have seen such a sight, my lady."
"Good." With a smile on her lips and a deep desire to stun the natives senseless, Troth headed downstairs to join the earl's entertainment.
It was good to see old friends and neighbors, but tiring. Very, very tiring. Kyle would have to last through the evening, though, since Wrexham's gout was kicking up and he might need to retire early. They couldn't both disappear. Luckily the gathering wasn't a formal ball, but there was dancing, a card room, and ample opportunity to talk with people over good food and drink.
A pretty blond daughter of Lord Hamill, who lived near Kettering, came tripping over to Kyle. He recognized the tribe but not the individual—
Hamill had a hatful of pretty blond daughters. Brightly she said, "I have a wager with my sisters that you won't remember who I am. Will you prove me wrong?"
"You are one of the beauteous Miss Hamills," Kyle replied as he racked his brain.
"That part is easy. Which one?" Her eyes twinkled.
"The
most
beauteous, of course."
She laughed and rapped his arm playfully with her fan. "A clever answer, but not good enough. You knew my name once. A hint—our initials are in alphabetical order."
The girl was all of about twenty, which meant that she'd have been in the schoolroom when he left England. Probably she was Hamill's youngest.
Let's see, Anne, Barbara, Chloe, Diana
… "Surely you are Miss Eloise."
"How clever you are! It was worth losing my wager to see such a demonstration of memory and intelligence." She batted her eyes at him with a blend of teasing and seriousness. She made him feel… very old. Where the devil was Troth? He was beginning to wonder if she'd changed her mind about attending the reception.
Then he heard murmurs of shock from the guests around him. He turned, and his heart caught when he saw her poised at the entrance to the ballroom. Tall and slim and swathed in shimmering scarlet and gold, she was a magnificent peacock among pigeons. Her dark hair swooped up to reveal a slender neck, while her enigmatic expression made her a woman of splendid mystery.
Languidly she fanned herself as her gaze swept the room. Her brows rose fractionally when she saw him with Eloise Hamill. Forgetting the girl's existence, along with common sense and self-restraint, Kyle cut across the room and took Troth's hand. "You look stunning," he murmured. "Are you set on startling Northamptonshire out of ten years' growth?"
"Not at all." There was a wicked glint in her eyes as she glanced at Wrexham, who was regarding her with astonishment. "I am dressed as a modest Chinese lady."
"The like of which has never been seen in these parts." He couldn't take his eyes from her. She was lovely in all circumstances, but tonight's costume emphasized her foreign side. She looked like an exquisite Chinese concubine whose price was an empire.
He escorted her to his father, who was in a group with several local landowners, including the Duke of Candover, who was lord lieutenant of the county. Candover nodded to him. "I'm glad to see you returned in one piece, Maxwell."
"Not half so glad as I. Allow me to present my wife, my lords. We were handfasted in China."
Wrexham scowled, but Kyle decided to attribute that to the pain of gout rather than public disapproval of his temporary daughter-in-law. Troth bowed gracefully. It would have been interesting if she'd done a full kowtow, prostrating herself and touching her forehead to the floor, but Kyle was glad that she refrained. Good society in Northampton would have swooned at the sight.
Candover bowed in return. "I'm pleased to meet you, Lady Maxwell."
"By Jove, she certainly is a beauty," Lord Hamill exclaimed.
"I've heard that Chinese men can have as many wives and concubines as they want," Sir Edward Swithin said with interest. "How fortunate for them!"
Ancient Lord Whitby, known for his earthiness, cackled. "A handfasting, so you can sample the goods and then move on? Clever of you, Maxwell."
"On the contrary," Troth said in her crisp, Scottish-accented English. "The handfasting was purely a matter of form. My situation was difficult, and Lord Maxwell gallantly intervened to assist me in leaving China and coming to Britain."
There was a frozen silence as the men absorbed her words. The Duke of Candover recovered first. Humor lurking in his eyes, he said, "You have a remarkable grasp of our language, Lady Maxwell."
She gave him the full benefit of her luminous gaze. "My father was a Scot, so I've spoken English from the cradle."
"A Scot, eh? No wonder you look foreign," Sir Edward said. Awkward moment over, they all laughed, even Troth. "My father would have turned over in his grave to know I was wed to an Englishman, but at least with a handfasting, I'll soon be free of the Sassenach."
"One could argue about the legality of handfasting if not done on Scottish soil, but it suited the circumstances," Kyle said, wishing she wasn't quite so keen on pointing out the temporary nature of their arrangement. Sir Edward said, "No gentleman could have refused a request for aid from such a beautiful lady."
Gloomily aware that Sir Edward was single, rich, and highly eligible, Kyle said, "Would you like to attempt the dancing, my dear?"
"Thank you. I should enjoy that."
He led her onto the floor. "Did you waltz at Warfield?"
"Hardly—I was in mourning for my dead husband. But I observed the dancing closely."
She moved into waltz position, placing one hand on his shoulder and the other in his clasp. As she gave him a sultry glance, he realized how unwise it was to waltz with her. This close, long-dormant desire began to stir. Her Chinese costume didn't include gloves, and he was ridiculously conscious of the bare fingers resting within his own gloved hand.
She needed little instruction in the steps of the dance. Her observations, coupled with her natural athletic grace, enabled her to quickly learn how to follow his lead. He said, "You've a gift for this." Her eyes glinted up through dark lashes with wicked provocation.
"Waltzing is not so different from
wing chun
sparring." Uneasily he recognized that she was sparring now. She was angry, not specifically at him, he guessed, or even his father. Rather, she had armored herself against a world that hadn't lived up to her wistful dreams. He had a vivid memory of the temple cave, where they'd first made love and she'd taught him about
chi
. In the heart of a mountain, they had both discovered pure happiness. But ultimately, her relationship with him had cost her something precious. He could only hope that in the future she would be able to put aside the armor and find hope and trust with another man.
As they whirled across the floor, desire intensified. Damnation, he didn't need that now! He would miss her presence abominably when she was gone, and desire would only make it worse.
He'd better hope that the year and a day was over before he fully recovered his strength, because having her nearby without physical intimacy was going to be more difficult with every day that passed. Yet in the weeks they had left he would be unable to resist her company, for he would need the memories when she was gone.
He would need them desperately.
Troth had expected the earl's gathering to be challenging, and it was, even with Kyle's support. The men weren't much of a problem. She cynically guessed that for many of them she represented an exotic fantasy, so naturally they were friendly, except for a few ancients who eyed her suspiciously.
The women were quite a different matter. When Kyle introduced her to a group of the most influential ladies in the county, a dozen pairs of eyes scanned her with varying degrees of curiosity and hostility. Not only was she foreign, but she'd stolen one of the most eligible men in England, and most of them probably hadn't yet heard about the handfast that meant he'd soon be available again.
Before any kind of conversation could begin, a servant came up to Kyle and murmured something. Kyle frowned, then glanced at Troth. "I'm sorry, I must leave for a few minutes. I'll be back as soon as I can." She could feel his reluctance to leave her to the tender mercies of the local social arbiters. The first to speak was Lady Swithin, Sir Edward's widowed mother, who said in a voice of cool courtesy, "How do you find Northamptonshire, Lady Maxwell?"
Repressing a desire to say that it was easy, she'd just hired a chaise and the driver had found it for her, Troth replied, "It's very lovely, though colder than I'm used to."
One of the women said in a whisper that was presumably meant to be private, "What an odd creature! Where do you suppose Maxwell found her?"
"No place ladies like us should know about, I'm sure," was the malicious reply.
With a disapproving glance at the whisperers, Lady Swithin said, "I'm sure you'll be a most remarkable addition to society, Lady Maxwell." The conversation ground to a halt. Then a grandly dressed lady joined the group. "Lady Swithin, introduce me to this lovely young woman," she said in a low, warm voice.
"This is Lady Maxwell, your grace." Lady Swithin glanced at Troth. "The Duchess of Candover."
The duchess's golden hair was laced with silver, and the lines around her eyes proclaimed her as well into her forties, if not older, but she was still a stunning beauty. Based on the reaction of the other women, she was the
tai-tai
of this particular society. Troth bowed. "I am honored, your grace."
"The honor is mine. I've always been fascinated by China. I hope you'll be willing to tell me more about it." The duchess touched Troth's sleeve. As she did, one gray-green eye closed in a definite wink. "Your gown is magnificent. I've never seen such embroidery."
The duchess's approval warmed the atmosphere. The dim blond child Kyle had been talking with earlier said artlessly, "I always thought the Chinese are yellow, but your complexion is as fair as any Englishwoman."
"Chinese come in several shades, none of them yellow," Troth explained.
"My mother was from a part of China where people are very light skinned, and of course my father was Scottish."
Since the ice had been broken, several of the younger women began asking Troth about her costume, cosmetics, and the lives of Chinese women. Enhancing one's appearance was a universal female interest. She also realized that language was the key to acceptance. Since she talked like one of them, the ladies soon began to forget her unusual appearance and spoke as if she were a proper Englishwoman. Or at least a Scot.
Kyle reappeared when Troth was sipping champagne and chatting with the duchess, who was not only as welcoming as Meriel, but apparently had a colorful past of her own. Troth wondered if they'd ever have a chance to become better acquainted. Probably not, to her regret.
To Kyle, the duchess said, "You've improved the quality of Northamptonshire conversation with this young lady, Maxwell. Well done." He gave the older woman an affectionate smile. "I thought you two would enjoy each other's company. May I take my wife away for a dance?"
"If you insist." The duchess surveyed the room. "Time I removed my husband from that group of bores and had a waltz myself." With a friendly wave, she departed.
As they began to dance, Kyle said, "Since the duchess likes you, you're well on the way to acceptance." He smiled fondly. "I fell madly in love with her when I was a schoolboy. She was very kind about my infatuation." Troth guessed that he'd always be a little in love with the duchess; she was that sort of woman. "Is there something wrong? I saw that you left the ballroom."
"My father wanted to speak to me before he retired."
"He left his own reception?" Troth said as Kyle swung her around to avoid another couple. He really was a wonderful dancer.
"He had a flare-up of gout. It's a horribly painful inflammation of the joints, a big toe in my father's case. He's in his bedroom, swearing at his valet."
Troth felt reluctant sympathy for the earl. "My father sometimes suffered from gout. There's a simple Chinese treatment for it. Not a cure, but it might reduce the pain."
"You'd help my father after the way he's treated you?"
"I want him to feel well enough to leave tomorrow, as he planned," she said tartly.
Kyle smiled. "That's a good reason. Shall I take you up to him?" She nodded, and when the dance ended they slipped upstairs as the other guests went in to supper. In Wrexham's bedroom, his elderly valet hovered in a corner while the earl occupied a massive wing chair. His right foot was elevated on a cushioned stool and he was drinking a glass of spirits. Kyle promptly removed his father's drinking glass and the decanter on the table next to him. "Unless your physician has changed his advice, you're not allowed to drink this, especially when you're having an attack."
"Give me that, you disrespectful pup!" Wrexham roared as he grabbed for the glass. He failed and fell back into his chair, his face shining with sweat.
"And why the devil did you bring
her
? "