Dawn in My Heart (3 page)

He bowed.

By this time, Lady Gillian was standing along the wall, surrounded by a gaggle of overly refined young dandies, from what Sky could judge. He ambled over, Delaney at his side congratulating him on his smooth handling of Lady Jersey.

When Sky arrived behind her flock of admirers, he stood a good half-head above them, so he could observe Lady Gillian easily.

“Oh, Pinky, you mustn't be so naughty. You know he can't help who his tailor is,” she remonstrated with the young man nearest her. The others chuckled.

One by one they fell silent as they noticed Sky's presence. He didn't look at any of them but approached Lady Gillian as a path opened up in front of him. He bowed over her hand. “My lady, would you honor me with this next waltz?”

Her mouth dropped open at his request before she snapped it shut. She removed her gloved hand from his in what struck him as a studied gesture. “I must decline as I have not as yet been given the nod from the patronesses to dance the waltz.”

“But I have.” Fixing his eye on the so-called Pinky, an effete-looking young man with too much pomade on his hair, Sky quelled him with a mere look as he opened his mouth to speak. Then he turned his attention back to Lady Gillian. With a deliberately imperious gesture, Sky held out his arm as the first strains of the waltz began. Silently she placed her gloved arm in his.

The two walked onto the dance floor, where Tertius took her in his arms and began to lead.

“However did you get permission from one of the patronesses? They are notoriously strict, you know.”

The two glided smoothly over the dance floor. “I told Lady Jersey as you and I were to be leg-shackled, I could see nothing objectionable to a waltz. I think the value of the gossip I gave her overrode any hesitation on her part.”

Although he had said this with a perfectly straight face, he could see the smile tugging at her mouth at this last piece of information. She had beautiful lips, he conceded, full and rosy. “Haven't you obtained the nod from them as yet?” he asked.

“Goodness, no. They dislike me. I think they consider me too forward.”

“Are you?”

She flushed and turned her face away from him. “They are a bunch of old ladies who wield absolute power in their little kingdom.” She shrugged. “They are entirely too full of their own importance. I have danced the waltz on many occasions at private balls.”

“You dance well.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Gillian gave him a slight inclination of her head, to show the compliment pleased her. Her dislike lessened a fraction. She had been impressed by the way he had silenced all those silly young boys surrounding her. And he did dance smoothly. He was too austere for her taste, however. During the entire dance, she felt as if she were being observed through a quizzing glass.

As the music played, she wondered idly what it would take to get such a man to fall in love with her. She hadn't a
clue, she admitted, observing his dark features. His hair and eyes were nearly black, the hair a trifle long, raked back against a high forehead, his skin unfashionably dark.

With no conscious thought, she compared him to another dark-haired gentleman she'd known. The likeness ended there. The two were nothing alike, either physically or in their character.

She pushed aside the memory and focused on her dance partner. She had never known a man so completely insensitive to her charms. Since her come-out, she was accustomed to receiving praise, if not always in speeches, then certainly in the flattering looks directed her way. Young gentlemen flocked around her to pay her court. They laughed at her sallies and wrote odes to her.

She couldn't imagine this man behaving in such a manner. His less-than-complimentary assessment of her still rankled. As the dance continued, the idea of contriving an infatuation on his part continued to grow. How would she go about it?

At that second his gaze met hers. She couldn't read anything in it but indifference, before it strayed beyond her. Once again, she felt her annoyance grow. He could at least have given her a smile.

In half a year, she would be wed to this stranger.

She shuddered inwardly as the full implications gripped her.

She blinked, erasing the image that filled her mind, and set her mind to thinking of the beautiful trousseau she would have and the new measure of independence that marriage would give her. No longer would Templeton dog her every footstep or frown in disapproval at the least action.

Life as the Countess of Skylar was a step upward, she reminded herself. She wouldn't think about the other aspects of it. Or about the colossal obstacle she'd have to surmount in order to arrive there.

As soon as the dance ended, Lord Skylar took her back to her companions. Miffed that he hadn't even expressed the desire to dance another set with her, she removed her hand from his as he bowed.

“I shall come by and collect you tomorrow afternoon for a drive around the park. Is three o'clock satisfactory?”

Did he think her acquiescence was to be taken for granted just because their two families had agreed on their betrothal? Did it imply she was not to be won? “I must check my engagement book,” she told him haughtily.

His eyes narrowed. “As I am your intended, I believe I take precedence over any other engagements. I suggest you clear your calendar for my invitations.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Do you?”

“If you prefer we not see each other until our wedding day and bed a stranger that night, be so good as to inform me. I can find suitable occupation and companionship until then, I assure you.”

“You are insulting!” she said through stiff lips.

He gave her a thin smile. “But nevertheless honest. Until tomorrow afternoon then?”

Leaving her no chance to reply, he turned and left.

L
ord Delaney approached Tertius as soon as he saw him alone.

“Well, how goes the courtship?”

Tertius hid a yawn behind his gloved hand. “Normal, I expect.”

“I must say you make a fine couple.” He cleared his throat. “You haven't taken it amiss your father's ordering you to marry and choosing your bride for you?”

Sky shrugged. “As long as my affianced has received the proper upbringing and is a virtuous young lady, the two of us should make out tolerably well together.”

Lane smiled. “You can rest easy on that score. Lady Gillian is a diamond of the first water. Your father has chosen the best of the season's crop.”

Sky's lip twisted. “I'm sure that was no hardship for him. Women are his specialty.”

Delaney laughed. “Lord Caulfield is an expert in the field of beauty and wit.” He rubbed his hands together. “Speaking of which, the evening is still young. What say we leave this establishment and find greener pastures?”

Sky raised an eyebrow at his friend. “What had you in mind?”

“Since you've been away from London so long, why don't we start by getting you reacquainted with some of the—er—delights of town?”

“The only delights I recall are waking up with my head about to split open like a ripe melon and going to my father like a young whelp, begging him to cover a debt of honor incurred the night before.”

Lane chuckled. “London hasn't changed much, but I trust you have. You are a man of means. You don't have to go to your father anymore, do you, to cover your gambling debts?”

“That is one thing that has changed for the better. I also know how to hold my liquor,” he added as the two headed out of the ballroom.

“I have the most delicious thing to show you.”

“Yes? Whereabouts?”

“Drury Lane.” He removed his watch. “We're in time for the second show. Come along. You shan't regret it.”

 

Once seated in Lord Delaney's box at the theater, Sky observed that the earlier show had been a performance of
Richard the Third
with Kean. He would have preferred seeing the debut of the actor who was causing such a stir on the London stage to the farce being enacted now.

“See, what do you think?” his friend asked him, leaning forward in his seat.

Taking up his opera glasses, Tertius regarded the players on the stage. He lingered on a pretty actress before replying to Delaney. “The one playing the maidservant?”

“Isn't she divine? Look at that leg, that shapely calf!”

“Yes, she is the handsomest of the lot,” he said, continuing to eye the young woman who was retorting to a male actor. As she swiveled around, he gave her a slap on the backside. The crowd roared with laughter.

“Handsome? She's beautiful. A goddess.”

Tertius nodded. She was beautiful, even beneath her painted face and atrocious wig. He recognized the classical features. Suddenly she looked straight at him and acknowledged his scrutiny with a saucy wink before performing a pirouette away from his end of the stage. He could say the wink wasn't meant for him for all the attention she paid him after that. But he knew it was real. He had enough experience to know.

“I tell you,” Lane waxed on, “I shall have her before another fortnight is out. She has been holding off, but she won't be able to resist me much longer. Everyone in town is vying for her affections. I have sent her flowers, candies, baubles. Yesterday, I sent her a pair of silver bracelets. I promised their duplicate in gold the day she allowed me to visit her after a show.”

“Has she replied?”

“Not yet. But I expect to receive word any night.”

“Well, let's hope your gifts are not in vain.”

Lord Delaney's hopes were not dashed. Before the end of the last act, a young errand boy delivered a note to his box. He smiled slyly at Sky after reading it.

“We are requested the pleasure of Miss Spencer's company backstage after the performance.”

When the actors had given their last curtain call, Tertius followed Delaney along the dim corridor, as they wended their way past actors, stagehands and props. At the dressing-room door, the stagehand knocked and called out, “Your visitors, Miss Spencer.”

“Send them in.”

“Those dulcet tones, music to my ears,” Delaney murmured.

The small room was crammed with costumes and various other paraphernalia ranged along the walls. Sky shoved aside a silken garment to station himself by the door.

Miss Spencer swiveled about on the stool in front of her dressing table. Her amber locks tumbled behind her shoulders. She was draped loosely in an embroidered silk dressing gown.

“Good evening, Lord Delaney. Who is your friend?” she asked, her gaze lingering on Sky. He stared back at her until she gave him a coy smile with her carmine-red lips.

“This is the Earl of Skylar, lately arrived from the Indies. He was bowled over with your performance and threatened me with untold dire consequences if I didn't escort him to meet you.”

“Indeed? We couldn't permit that.” She held up a slim, white arm, allowing a pair of silver bracelets to fall from her wrist to her forearm.

“You flatter me with sporting so trifling a gift,” Delaney responded with a bow. “May I say your performance was magnificent tonight?”

“You may,” she answered, her focus on the worked brace
lets. Suddenly she yawned, a large gaping yawn. “I'm famished. Would you care to escort me to dinner?”

Sky watched his friend's unfeigned delight and anticipation. As she motioned the two of them to have a seat on a damask settee, she rose slowly and made her way behind a dressing screen. Lane lounged on the settee while Sky remained where he stood. He listened to their conversation as he watched the silk robe being tossed onto the top of the screen.

When Miss Spencer reappeared, she looked like a proper English lady in a long-sleeved muslin dress. Delaney helped her on with her cloak and together they went out to Sky's carriage. At Miss Spencer's request, he gave his coachman directions to the Shakespeare.

Despite the late hour the chophouse was full when they arrived.

“All the theater crowd comes here,” she told them, “but the owner always has a place for me.” They followed a waiter to a snug table by the mullioned windows. Golden candlelight glowed in the reflection from its uneven surfaces. The room was redolent with the smell of grilling meats and tobacco smoke.

They were soon served thick steaks smothered in oyster sauce and pots of porter. Sky relished each savory bite. For weeks he hadn't been able to tolerate any but the blandest soups and broths during the last bout of fever. He shoved aside the memory, not wishing to dwell on the long, terrible ordeal, only relieved it was over.

Miss Spencer frequently waved to or called out greetings to fellow theatrical acquaintances.

When their main course had been cleared away, they
enjoyed an apple tart. The actress listened tolerantly to Lane's flattering remarks but mainly treated him with careless disdain.

“What brings your friend back from the Indies?” she asked Delaney with a sidelong glance at Sky.

“A death in the family,” Sky replied before Lane could speak.

“Oh, dear, not close, I trust?”

Sky cracked a filbert and offered it to her. “A brother.”

“The eldest,” added Lane. “You see before you the new Earl of Skylar.”

She took the nutmeat from Sky's palm. “I see a gentleman of few words but deep thought.”

“And very deep pockets,” Lane added with a laugh.

She joined in his laughter. “Tell me, how is the theater in the Indies?” she asked Sky directly this time.

He shrugged. “Not to be compared to London, by any means.”

“Is there a chance for a working girl like me?” she asked.

“I think a girl of your talents would have a measure of success anywhere she chose to reside.”

“A measure only?”

“That probably depends on the efforts she puts forth.”

“I'm a very hardworking girl.”

“I'm sure you are.”

“My dear Miss Spencer,” Lane said, bringing her attention back to himself. Sky watched his friend strive to engage her, wondering if this young woman was anything like the series of dancers his father had enjoyed over the years of Sky's youth. He hadn't been back long enough to know whom his father was currently involved with.
Sky had discovered long ago his sire was a very private man. He wondered if there was anyone privy to all his secrets.

Sky had hardly seen his father. When the marquess wasn't at the races, he was at the gaming table or at someone's house in the country round about London.

The three of them lingered over their table until two in the morning. When at last they rose, Sky gave instructions to his coachman to drop off Miss Spencer first at her residence. She gave him a very pointed look of open invitation, but he ignored it.

When she had left them, Lane closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat. “Have you ever seen such an exquisite complexion? And those eyes, they make you feel either you can conquer all or that you're the biggest imbecile she's ever come across.”

Sky had to chuckle at that. “She is, after all, an actress.”

“Ah, her talent!”

Sky hadn't actually seen her act, merely prance across the stage, but he didn't point this out to his enamored friend. He shifted against the squabs, feeling a vague discomfort. He had already begun to feel it in the restaurant, but now it grew stronger. The meal had obviously not agreed with him.

Just a bout of indigestion, nothing more. Probably bad oysters. He refused to think it could be anything else.

Certainly not a recurrence of the fever that had almost killed him.

“Pity you shall soon be leg-shackled, although I think Lady Gillian is a wonderful girl.” Lane gave a deep sigh. “But I wouldn't want to miss the delights of a Miss Spencer.” He grinned wickedly at Sky in the darkened coach interior. “Of
course, after a suitable period, the proverbial honeymoon, you can always keep an eye out for another such morsel.”

“Except for the fact I'm one of those who believes in the exclusivity of marriage.”

“What? You mean keeping one's marriage vows?”

Sky pulled aside the curtain, not caring to enter into a discussion on his views of matrimony.

“Oh, come on, man, show me one London couple who keeps their vows after, say, five years of marriage.”

“I daresay one would be hard-pressed,” he admitted.

“Is this some West Indian custom you've picked up?”

Sky breathed in deeply, hoping that would ease the queasiness stirring in his stomach. “Let's just say I would want to know my heirs are my own.”

Lane nodded. “Of course. But say after a time, once your lineage is secure…”

“There's a small matter of pride. If I can't satisfy my bride, I probably deserve to be cuckolded.”

Delaney laughed. “If only more gentlemen held that viewpoint.”

They fell silent as the carriage crossed Haymarket. Then Lane ventured once again, “What if, despite everything, your wife should stray?”

“Well, let us hope my marrying a young lady of high birth who knows little of the world will give me someone innocent enough to conform to my way of thinking.”

 

Lord Skylar appeared at Lady Gillian's residence promptly at three o'clock the next afternoon. Gillian saw him descend from his curricle, hand his tiger the reins and give him some instructions, before striding toward the front
steps. She sat ensconced in a comfortable chair at her bedroom window, having retired to her room with a book at half-past two and neglecting to mention to her mother that Lord Skylar would call.

Twenty minutes went by before she received a summons. During that time, she had paced and stopped in front of her full-length mirror a half-dozen times, wondering why her absence hadn't been noted sooner.

She smoothed down the jonquil-yellow lawn dress and readjusted the moss-green ribbon tied under the bodice, knowing the colors enhanced her complexion and dark hair. Giving herself one final look in the glass, with a quick rearranging of her curls, she left the confines of her room.

She could hear voices through the drawing room door. Quietly she opened it, wanting to observe before being observed.

Lord Skylar sat forward on the striped settee, with his hands upon a cane, directing himself to Templeton. He looked perfectly at ease chatting with her.

“I know precisely what you mean,” he said to Gillian's companion in an understanding tone. Gillian stared from his benign demeanor to her tormentor's parched features, which reminded her of a desiccated fish. Templeton coughed and reddened, stammering something in reply. It was probably the first time someone had agreed with her on anything.

Her mother sat across from them, regarding Lord Skylar with an interested smile.

“Ah, there is Gillian at last,” she declared, turning to her.

Lord Skylar rose in a leisurely fashion and gave her a slight bow. “Good afternoon, Lady Gillian.”

He wore black, and she realized he was still in mourning
for his brother. His appearance continued to unnerve her, those dark looks deepened by the dark garments he wore.

She gave him a brief nod. “Good afternoon.”

He waited until she had seated herself as far away from him as possible before taking his seat again.

“Lord Skylar has requested your company for a ride around the park. He was hopeful to find you at home today. I told him of course you would be available to him at any time. He has but to send round a note.”

Gillian gave Lord Skylar a tight smile, conceding him the victory. At least he hadn't given her away. “Lord Skylar did mention paying a call this afternoon. It must have slipped my mind.”

“Slipped your mind!” Templeton's disapproving tone intruded. “Good gracious, my lady. You have better manners than that. You owe Lord Skylar an apology.”