Barbara Metzger (14 page)

Now that her dragon of a mama wasn’t guarding her, every gentleman with pockets to let asked Trixie to dance. She went off gaily, more often to the refreshments room than to the dance floor, leaving Sydney alone and uncomfortable. By the time the doors closed at eleven o’clock, though, Trixie hardly knew her name, much less the figures of the quadrille. Proper manners forced the fortune hunters to ask Sydney to dance in default, to no one’s benefit or pleasure.

Trixie’s doughy complexion was taking on a grayish cast, and she kept trying to rest her head on Sydney’s shoulder. Embarrassed and concerned, Sydney tried to catch Sophy’s eye. They may as well go home anyway, for all the notice Lady Jersey, et al., were taking of them. Contrarily, Lady Royce was finding the place unusually stimulating. She sent one other cicisbei off to fetch a restorative lemonade for Trixie and chided Sydney for not being more accommodating.

“Why, you were positively snappish to Lord Dunne, and he’s worth ten thousand a year.”

“Not to me, he’s not,” Sydney replied, “not when he keeps squeezing my hand in that oily way of his. And I truly do have the headache, Sophy. Can’t we go— Good heavens, what’s he doing here?”

All eyes—all that were open anyway—were turned to the door. Standing framed by candlelight in the hush between dances was Lord Mayne, magnificent in black and white evening formals. The only dash of color from his curly black hair to his shiny black pumps was a blue sapphire in his perfect cravat. His blue eyes would be gleaming to match, Sydney knew, though she could not see from so far away.

He looked like a true nonesuch, but she knew better. Sydney’s opinion of this supposedly exclusive club fell another notch. “You mean they let in people like him?” she asked in disgust.

Trixie drawled back, “La, you silly cabbage, Almacks
exists
for people like him.”

She was right. All the languorous mamas pushed their daughters forward; the torpid patronesses bestirred themselves to have their hands kissed; matrons like Sophy, not the least bit sleepy, tugged down the necklines of their gowns and licked their lips.

Sheep, Sydney thought, they were all sheep. The ninnyhammers thought that since he had a title and a pleasant face—all right, a heart-stoppingly handsome face—then he must be worth knowing. Hah! You could dress your cat up in a lace bib and sit him at the table; he would still put his face in the food.

Just look at Lord Mayne smiling at those boring old dowagers, when she knew what little patience the foul-tempered peer had. Look at him making his bows to several giggly young chits, when she knew the rake could send them fleeing to their mothers’ skirts with an improper suggestion. And look at him kissing Cousin Sophy’s hand! Why, that—

“Lady Royce, how charmingly you look tonight. No, I should say how particularly lovely, for you are always in looks.” Sophy tapped his arm with her fan and pushed her chest out. If she took another deep breath, Sydney seethed, Almacks would truly be enlivened. Then he turned to Sydney and bowed. She gritted her teeth and curtsied, almost low enough for royalty, just out of spite. She could behave like a lady, so there.

Sophy’s fan hit the floor. “You mean you actually know the chit? I mean, the gossip and rumors and all, but I never dreamed ... Why, Sydney, you sly thing.”

Lord Mayne smoothly interrupted: “We’ve never been formally introduced, actually. I was hoping you could do the honors. You see,” he went on, not exactly lying, “my mother asked me to look up the daughters of an old friend of hers.” Sydney noted that the silver-tongued devil did not mention what old friend.

Sophy performed her part before reluctantly leaving on the arm of her next partner. A fine chaperone she was, Sydney stewed, leaving an unfledged deb alone with a shifty character who was grinning at her discomfort, blast him. And everyone else was staring! She tried to kick Trixie into escort duty, but the caperwit actually winked at the viscount before putting her head down on Sydney’s seat. He raised an eyebrow.

“She was, ah, tired out from all the dancing.”

Forrest raised his quizzing glass and surveyed the room in what Sydney considered a horribly foppish manner. “There seems to be a great deal of that going around.”

“I always understood Almacks to be quite staid. I can’t imagine what would bring a man like you here.”

“Can’t you, Mischief?” he asked with that lopsided smile. Sydney looked around to make sure no one heard him. “I came to dance with your sister.”

For a moment she felt her heart sink to her slippers, then outrage took over. “Well, I wish you wouldn’t. You’ll ruin everything! I imagine one dance with you would label her fast. Lord Scoville would have a kittenfit if he saw her in such company.”

“Is that really what you think, Mischief?” He flipped open a cloisonné box and took a pinch of snuff, one-handedly.

No, she really thought Winifred would fall in love with the rake and follow his blandishments right down the garden path! Out loud she said, “Don’t call me that,” forcing herself not to stamp her foot. “And you need not persist in these dandified affectations for my sake. You might humbug the ton, but I know you for what you are, and I do not want you near my sister.”

“I am continually amazed at what you know and what you don’t. Nevertheless, my dear, I am going to have the next dance with her. My brother was promised a set with Miss Lattimore, but fell too ill to attend. He was devastated that she might take umbrage at his defection, so I gave my word to deliver his regrets. I always keep my word. Like now, I’ll promise not to eat the gel if you’ll stop scowling for all the
haute monde
to see. After all, I do have
my
reputation to consider.”

Sydney smiled, although she was even more worried for Winnie if he was going to be charming. “I hope nothing serious ails Lord Mainwaring. He seemed fine this morning.”

Lord Mayne was watching the dancers, a slight frown on his face. “No, something about overindulging in a box of candies he purchased for our mother. Some new chocolates that were all the crack, he said, and my other mission was to have another box sent on to Sussex for the duchess.”

“Did he, ah, say anything else about them? Where he got them, perhaps?” Sydney bit her lip.

“No, but most confectioners seem to carry them suddenly. I even thought I recognized a box or two in the refreshments room here, if you’d like to try one.”

“No, I, ah, have a few in my reticule, as a matter of fact. I was told they served only stale cake, you see.” Sydney looked at Trixie slumped in her chair, snoring. Aunt Harriet and her friends were in no better frame, the ones who hadn’t already left on the arms of their footmen. Sophy was now doing the stately Galliard as if it were a galop. And she herself had the headache. “Did you say Lord Mainwaring got sick from them?”

“I can’t be sure. He couldn’t wake up enough to describe the symptoms. I had to leave him in the hands of my father’s valet before they closed the doors here. Perhaps I’ll taste one of these new sensations after my dance with your sister.”

“Please do. I’d like to hear your opinion.” Her headache was getting worse every second.

Chapter 14

Waltzes and Woes

“We talked about his mother,” Sydney said for about the hundredth time. One would think the man some kind of oracle the way the other girls on the sidelines wanted to know his every word. “No, I was only introduced to him tonight and, yes, I do think Lord Mayne and Winifred make an attractive couple.”

Lord Mayne and Sally Jersey also made an attractive couple, as did Lord Mayne and Lady Delverson, Lord Mayne and Lady Stanhope, Lord Mayne and Miss Beckwith. Sydney finally escaped to the ladies’ withdrawing room, sick and tired of hearing the wretch’s name on everyone’s lips. Which reminded her that she was also sick and tired. The chocolates!

She hurried to the refreshments room, which was nearly deserted now. Sydney had no doubt everyone stayed in the dancing area to watch Lord Mayne. The gentlemen were wagering on his next partner or trying to figure out the new arrangement of his neckcloth. The ladies were hoping to be that next partner, or admiring his graceful leg. Prinny himself wouldn’t have drawn more attention from the gudgeons. Sydney had more important matters to consider.

Drat Trixie! She said she was taking some boxes to her mother in lieu of stopping at a sweetshop for them, but here they were. Sydney counted three empty boxes and another half filled, hidden behind a fern. She stuffed candies into her reticule until it looked as if she had a small cannonball in it, then dug around in the fern, burying the rest. That’s where he found her.

He looked at her dirty glove through his quizzing glass and muttered something suspiciously like, “I knew I shouldn’t have taken my eyes off you for a minute.” Sydney blushed and felt her face grow even hotter when he asked, “You do not dance,
petite?”

She was not about to admit that no one asked her. Then the strains of the next number started and she could thankfully claim, “It’s a waltz, my lord. I have not been given permission.”

“Then perhaps you’ll take a turn about the room with me,” he offered, placing her hand in the crook of his elbow.

Sydney couldn’t refuse without making a scene, for a flock of gawkers had followed him to the refreshments room. She could see tongues wagging everywhere. She wanted to ask him why he was doing this thing, making a byword of her, but there were too many interruptions. Gentlemen kept shaking his hand, telling him how glad they were to see him in town and inviting him for dinner, cards, morning rides. Ladies of all ages nodded and smiled and batted their eyelashes at him, while the prominent hostesses begged him to attend their next affairs. Or
affaires,
Sydney thought maliciously. Finally she blurted out, “They like you.”

He stopped walking and looked around. “I never thought about it in those terms. I have known many of these people my entire life and value their respect. I hold some in affection, and believe my regard is returned. I don’t see a single soul here whom I have wronged, so yes, I suppose you could say they like me.”

“But, but why? I mean, how could they when you—”

He laughed. “Ah, Mischief, your candor delights me. Much more so than your buffle-headed reasoning.” He patted her arm on his and started walking again. “They like me,” he told her, “because I really am a fine fellow. Honest, polite, helpful, even-tempered.” He lightly tapped her fingers with his quizzing glass when she started to giggle. “I know everybody and treat them equally, no matter rank or fortune; I try not to abuse the privileges my title and wealth give me.”

Sydney was giggling even harder. “0 ye of little faith,” he chided, mock-frowning at the gamin grin she gave him. “You doubt my power? What if I said I could bring you into fashion with just one dance?”

Sydney laughed. “Gammon, my lord, no one could do that.”

“Just watch, and keep smiling.”

* * * *

He was gone a few moments, only till the end of the set. When the music next began, he returned, bowed, and held his arms out to her, his blue eyes dancing with deviltry.

Sydney looked around uncertainly. It seemed all eyes in the place were on her. “But ...”

“Chin up, little one. Didn’t your grandfather tell you that good soldiers never back down under fire?”

“But it’s a waltz.” She looked over to where the patronesses stood, the ones who were lively enough to stand. Lady Jersey nodded and waved her hand.

“Sally likes me,” was his simple comment.

“But they just played a waltz.”

“The orchestra likes me.” He dropped his hands. “You do know how to waltz, don’t you?”

She nodded. “I practiced with the twins.”

He laughed that Brennan was right: Mischief did dance with the servants. Then he swept her onto the floor the way no cousinly footman ever had.

Sydney’s head was spinning. It must be the headache coming back, she decided, but she no longer felt the least bit tired. Her feet were as light as soap bubbles, and her hand where he clasped it tingled as if from cold. But she wasn’t cold, not at all. He smiled down at her and she could only gaze back, her eyes drawn to his like magnets, and she smiled. Her heart was beating in waltz tempo and her thoughts were swirling like clouds in a kaleidoscope. Heavens, what had they put in those chocolates?

She realized the dance was over when Lord Mayne raised her hand and, turning it over, kissed her wrist. Of course, she thought, her fingers were dirty. He winked and said, “Now watch.”

One gentleman after another asked to put his name on her dance card. They tripped over each other to fetch her lemonade. And these were not callow youths who were busy digging in all the ferns, at any rate. They were Mayne’s friends and contemporaries, men of means and influence and taste—just like him, she was forced to concede. These gentlemen spoke of books and politics and her grandfather’s renowned career. They were interesting and interested in her, and did not seem to mind when she gave her own opinions about anything and everything. She felt more alive than she had in days.

Sydney tried to rouse Trixie between sets, but her cousin only stirred enough to visit the room set aside for the ladies, where she had earlier stashed the other three boxes of Churchladies’ Cordial Comfits. Sydney was too busy enjoying her new popularity to notice Trixie passing the treats around to her girlfriends and bringing a box over to her mother. Lady Windham was staring confusedly in Sydney’s direction, wondering if her two nieces had changed identities.

A few dances later,
he
was back, piercing Sydney’s euphoria with a dagger look. “It is time to go home, Miss Sydney” was all he said through his clenched jaw. He took her arm, none too gently, when she protested that it was early yet and she was having the best time ever, thanks to him. “There will be other balls,” he ground out, then added, “with any luck.”

Lord Mayne stuffed Lady Windham and her daughters into their carriage. Trixie offered him a chocolate while Lady Windham and Sophy tittered over his well-filled stockings. He tossed the candy to the ground in disgust and ordered the driver to move on.