June Calvin (11 page)

Now it was her turn to perform the painful duty of warning him that pursuit of Jennifer’s mother would likely be fruitless.

“What is it, daughter? Don’t you like Lady Cornwall? I had thought . . .”

“I like her very well. In fact, I had begun to lay matchmaking schemes, did you not realize how perfect she was for you.”

The duke studied her downcast, sorrowful countenance for a moment, and then led her into the silent library, waving off the servants. “We shall converse awhile, Timmons. Go to bed. I’ll see to matters down here when we are finished.” Taking a taper from a wall sconce, he lit a few candles, bathing the book-lined room in a mellow light.

“Now, then,” he continued once they were settled together on a sofa, “why so somber at the mention of Lady Cornwall?”

“I don’t know how to tell you, for I was told in confidence. I don’t want to break my word, but on the other hand . . .”

Sarah bent her head, thinking. Jennifer, knowing her mother felt a deep sense of shame, of responsibility almost, for the way her husband had treated them, had sworn Sarah to secrecy before describing their home life.

Choosing her words carefully, she tried to enlighten her father while adhering to her promise. “I can say, Father, only that Lady Cornwall was not a happy wife and has sworn never to marry again.”

Harwood leaned back and stared at the ceiling, an old memory surfacing. Eleanor, nearly in tears, had asked to leave early after a dinner party one night. Her urgent request had come immediately after a tête-à-tête in the withdrawing room with her friend Deborah.

When he had tried to discover if they had quarreled, she had shaken her head. In almost identical words to their daughter’s, so many years later, she had sobbed, “I can’t tell you, for I gave my word. But, oh! Justin. She is so desperately unhappy. I wish there were some way to help her.”

She had been unwilling to say more, and he had respected her determination to keep a confidence. Soon thereafter Deborah left London. She spent the remainder of her marriage a virtual recluse at her husband’s principal seat, Woodcrest, though Seymour had preferred town.

Other memories surfaced, more recent ones—of Deborah stiffening when he offered her his arm, refusing to dance, rejecting his assistance with her servants, changing the subject whenever he tried to hint that they make any sort of plans together that did not involve their children.

Her father’s bleak face almost undid Sarah. “Papa! Now I know how you must feel about me and Alexander, for I fear I may have destroyed your happiness.” She threw herself into his arms.

The duke enfolded her in a firm hug. “It is a wretched position to be in, isn’t it? Well, we both may yet come about. I may yet receive a good report on Lord Alexander, and who knows, Lady Cornwall could change her mind.”

Head buried against his chest, Sarah shook her head. “It may already be too late. Did you notice he did not come to the box tonight? Alexander is proud. He may have felt that I cut him, in which case he won’t be back. And I am sure Jennifer’s mother will never change her mind.”

“Ah, the much vaunted optimism of youth!” The duke gave her another quick hug and stood, half lifting her to her feet. “It is getting very late. You must have your beauty sleep.”

“Aren’t you coming up?” She looked back when she realized he wasn’t following her.

“No, I believe I will sit here and think for a while. Always a painful endeavor, best conducted without an audience.”

Sarah blew her father a kiss and slowly climbed the stairs, her mind once again drifting to the alarming nonappearance of Alexander Meade.

Her father’s ruminations were no happier. The
ton
was surely the most effective gossip machine in the world. Yet he had heard nothing about Deborah’s marriage that would explain such an aversion to remarrying. Why had she been unhappy? Was it because her husband philandered and gamed, and left her stuck in the country? Would a woman swear never to marry again for such a reason?

Or had Cornwall mistreated her? Harwood remembered how Eleanor had clung to him that long ago night after telling him how unhappy Deborah was. She had whispered over and over how fortunate she was to have a gentle, loving husband. He had been too wrapped up in soothing Eleanor to pay much attention to Deborah’s problems back them.

And then there was Sarah’s question yesterday—“Are you afraid he would beat me?” Had that been just a possibility she had plucked at random, or had a recent conversation with Jennifer put such husbandly behavior in her mind?

If that had been what was wrong with Deborah’s marriage, no wonder Eleanor had been so upset! The duke’s mind recoiled in horror at the thought of any man beating his wife. It seemed to him to be the ultimate betrayal. The very person a woman should be able to look to for protection in a cruel world should be her husband. Cruel, cruel irony, for that husband to be himself the one from whom she needed protection.

A deep melancholy settled on the duke as he pondered Deborah’s past and its effect on his future.
I must be half in love with her already
, he thought, groaning in dismay at his hasty heart. He had not expected to love again, and it would perhaps have been better that way.

Harwood looked around the library, which oddly enough reminded him of his beloved Eleanor more than any room in the house, though it had been the one she had changed the least.

Once she had gained the confidence to follow her own taste, Eleanor had shown a decided flair for decorating, and he had given her free rein both at Harwood Court and here in town. But she hadn’t done much to his library at either place, declaring them to be perfect masculine sanctuaries.

She had had decrepit chairs comfortably recovered, and in general cleaned and polished, but had left the dark, masculine color scheme, the hunting scenes on the wall, and the sturdy timeless furniture. Both libraries were his favorite rooms. But suddenly they seemed haunted—haunted by a laughing, loving presence that he could never enjoy anymore.

When the Duke of Harwood at last mounted the stairs to his own bed, he was feeling lonelier than he had done since coming to London and rediscovering Lady Cornwall.

Chapter 11

Both the duke and his daughter awoke the next morning in a much better frame of mind. Sarah, with the resiliency of youth, had decided that a fine man like Alexander would pass whatever investigation her father was conducting. Harwood, with the wisdom of age, had decided that patience might yet win him the affections of Lady Cornwall, if he could content himself with being her friend until she was quite comfortable with him.

Thus it was that father and daughter attended the ball of Constance Dalrimple in an optimistic frame of mind. There had never been any thought of crying off, for Lord Proctor was a friend of Justin’s from his days at Oxford. Moreover, Sarah liked Connie, a bubbly, friendly girl who was another pupil of Monsieur Pacquin. Like Arnold Lanscombe she loved to know the latest
on dits,
though she was never malicious or spiteful.

The duke and Sarah were invited to dinner, while the viscountess and Jennifer were to arrive later for the ball. The duke watched for them, and felt a warm glow of satisfaction at observing how different mother and daughter appeared this night from the way they had looked at the first ball of the season.

Though Jennifer still looked a bit coltish and ridiculously young in her high-waisted white muslin dress, she had gained poise. With her courage restored, her natural beauty could shine through. Before the duke could even make his way to them, she was approached by several young men and calmly, graciously accepted several invitations to dance.

Her mother also was much improved from that first ball. Less anxious about her child, she also was in her best looks in a royal blue gown with an appealing though not unusually deep décolletage. She, too, had begun to make friends, and was engaging in a friendly conversation by the time the duke reached her.

The wary look she had given Harwood that first evening was replaced now by a welcoming smile that made the duke’s hopes shine even brighter.
She is changing,
he thought.
As the season goes by, she will be able to put aside her previous experiences and see me for myself.

Sarah’s optimism was less justified by events. It was quite late into the ball before Alexander arrived. She had been surreptitiously observing the entrance to the ballroom all evening, scarcely able to believe he would not attend this ball. The entire
ton
was there.

At last, stirringly handsome in his elegant evening attire, Alexander appeared, escorting a young girl wreathed in white spider gauze in the latest kick of fashion. His manner toward her was protective, almost proprietary.

Sarah was standing with her partner at the top of a set, awaiting their turn to go down the dance. Just behind her stood Connie, who had left the receiving line long since. She satisfied Sarah’s curiosity about Alexander’s companion without her even having to ask.

“Oh, do look, Sarah,” she whispered, leaning forward. “That is Anna-Marie Allistair with Lord Alexander. They say she has an enormous dowry. Such a quiet girl! She and her mother called on us yesterday, and she hadn’t a word to say for herself.”

Sarah studied the young girl with interest. She was very nearly plain, with a long face dominated by a long nose. Her expression, however, was sweet, and her slender figure was lithe and graceful. She was almost as tall as Jenny. Suddenly, Sarah hated being short!

Her partner whirled her into the patterns of the dance and Sarah executed the steps faultlessly, but her mind was elsewhere. When the dance was over, she could remember none of it. Only by the fact that she was overheated and thirsty could she be sure she had actually spent the last half hour in vigorous exercise.

She was relieved when she saw Alexander advancing on her, escorting Anna-Marie. Her fears were groundless! This was doubtless a family friend; his interest still lay with Sarah. Forgetting her father’s strictures, she smiled warmly as the two approached her.

***

It was one thing to know the correct thing to do, and another to do it, Alexander found. His noble resolve to behave in such a way as to set Sarah entirely free wavered in the face of the rush of admiration he felt upon first laying eyes on her this evening. She was dressed in a shimmering yellow silk with sufficient décolletage to show her lovely shoulders to advantage. His breath caught in his throat as her movements in the dance whipped her dress around, outlining her perfect, curvaceous form.

Alexander had never been forced to hold a tighter rein on his emotions than when he led Anna-Marie up to Lady Sarah to introduce the two. He had decided that the correct path was to be punctiliously polite to Sarah, but without allowing himself the least sign of partiality. Soon she would cease to harbor notions of a deeper acquaintance, and would be free and heart-whole to marry where her father would approve.

His pain was intensified by her radiant smile. She was so adorable, so obviously uneasy about his failure to appear at her side last night at the opera, and at the same time so eager to welcome him tonight. He yearned to put her mind at ease with a warm smile, a quip, a request to dance. But he must do the right thing. And so he introduced Anna-Marie, chatted briefly about inconsequentials, and then led his sister’s friend away for a dance.

As Sarah watched him go, her hopes plummeted. Surely that single indifferent greeting last night had not offended Alexander so much that he would turn to another woman? But he seemed so distant to her, so concerned about Miss Allistair. And he hadn’t even asked her for one dance!

Henry Fortesque watched this tableau from across the room. His own feelings were bruised tonight. Jennifer Silverton had treated him with cool indifference. She had refused his invitation to drive out with him this morning. This evening she had granted him a dance, but her demeanor was unencouraging.

The mother’s doing
, he thought, grinding his teeth. That the viscountess had disliked him from the first, he did not doubt. She had pokered up at his first reference to gaming, and no amount of exertion had succeeded in charming her.

Alexander and I would both seem to be without a prayer
, he thought. Henry pitied his friend for having to exchange the adorable Lady Sarah for plain, shy Anna-Marie.
But lucky Alex has another heiress to fall back on
, he thought.

Henry watched Sarah’s crestfallen countenance as Alexander walked away, and suddenly a brilliant notion struck him.
I have another heiress to fall back on, too! And mine is a lovely, likable pocket Venus!

Sarah was surprised but not displeased to find Henry Fortesque asking for a place on her dance card. She hoped that this man, who shared quarters with Alexander, might drop some hint to let her know what was going on. She accepted a waltz with him immediately and found him such a good dancer and conversationalist that for a few moments she forgot her other troubles. A glimpse of Alexander waiting out the waltz with Anna-Marie brought her back to herself.

“Miss Allistair seems quite a sweet young lady,” she observed, studying Henry’s face.

Henry heard the question behind the comment. He wouldn’t have betrayed Alexander’s confidence in any case, but now his own interest lay in helping his friend disguise his true feelings for Sarah.

“Yes, I believe Alexander admires her very much. She is quiet, biddable—just the sort to make him a good wife. And the family approves of the match, you know.”

“No, I . . . you mean they’ve already . . .”

“By no means. She is to have a season before a decision is made. A wise approach, don’t you agree?”

“At least my father would agree with you,” Sarah responded, not without some bitterness. The dance was ending. One final twirl placed Sarah so that she could see Alexander, and he seemed to be looking her way. Pride brought her chin up. She lifted sparkling eyes to Henry. “You dance exceptionally well, Mr. Fortesque.”

“Aided by a delightful partner.” He gave her his most charming grin and bowed. “May I escort you to supper?”

Only then did Sarah realize she had given Henry the supper dance, the one she had saved, hoping Alexander would claim it. With her audience firmly in mind, Sarah flashed Henry a brilliant smile of acceptance and left the dance floor on his arm, in animated conversation.

***

Jennifer did as her mother had bid her. She gave no more than one dance to any suitor and studied each one carefully as they shared commonplaces, determined to keep her wits about her and encourage only those who might make good husbands. When the handsome Heywood brothers pressed her with their attentions, she was polite but cool, even though she thought the older one, Harvey, might actually be a worthwhile person to know.

Thus she felt she had been sufficiently virtuous to be entitled to accept the request of Mr. Warner for a dance, though she avoided looking at her mother as she allowed him to lead her out.

But once she had danced with John, her interest in her other partners diminished; it became much easier to see their defects, and impossible to see their virtues. Everyone she met seemed a useless fribble beside John, who did not talk down to her, but paid her the compliment of speaking to her as a thinking being. He even disagreed with her, which to Jennifer seemed a sure sign he respected her opinion.

Not only that, but the short periods when they were able to touch in the figures of the country-dance were moments of pleasant discovery, not jarring distaste, as with some of her other partners.

Still, she knew her duty. After the dance, she thanked him with an air of finality that did not encourage him to request another.

Lord Threlbourne stood and talked with Jennifer, Deborah, and the duke during the supper dance, which he had asked to sit out with her, thus gaining the privilege of her company at supper. Gilbert, too, was able to hold a sensible conversation with a female, she noted approvingly. But when she saw John dancing with Connie, she suppressed a sigh, for the eminently eligible Lord Threlbourne did not appeal to her the way John Warner did.

Harwood and Lady Cornwall stayed together through most of the evening, sharing one another’s pleasures and concerns over their offsprings’ behavior, and fending off would-be partners. Harwood was well-satisfied with the results, for Deborah obviously was growing more trusting of him, and even dependent on him, by the hour. He could not despair of a happy outcome to his suit.

About Sarah, though, he was less sanguine. He saw and comprehended the sequence of events from the time Lord Alexander entered the ballroom. He felt a measure of relief that Meade was looking elsewhere. It appeared the man was a fortune hunter who had decided to pursue a more vulnerable prey.

But he also felt a pang of sympathy for his daughter. No matter how correct he had been to warn his daughter away from Meade, the knowledge must hurt her. He was grateful when Henry Fortesque stepped into the breach.

Deborah watched her daughter in animated conversation with John Warner while they waited their turn at the dance. There was too much ease in their manner with one another, too much obvious pleasure in one another’s company, to suit her. Her concern was allayed somewhat when, after supper, Jennifer brought Lord Threlbourne to her and that fiery-haired young worthy told them of a projected picnicking expedition to Richmond Hill two weeks hence.

“Everyone is going, almost. It will be a jolly group, and Eberlin is spreading a feast for us near the Star and Garter Inn. I would like to escort Jennifer if I may?”

Deborah gave her permission with pleasure. How fortunate they would be if Jennifer could form an attachment with this kindly, intelligent young man. Seeing both his title and handsome fortune, Vincent would be pleased to give his assent to the match.

Later in the evening Lord Eberlin himself invited not only Jennifer but her mother and Harwood along on the trip to Richmond. “Additional chaperones might be useful, sir,” he explained. “My mother and I shall be challenged with so many lively young people about.” Eberlin was sponsoring his sister in her come-out and looked as concerned as any father as he monitored the girl’s behavior while she danced.

“The occasion is growing like a snowball. Everyone seems in the mood for an outdoor entertainment. Hope the weather is clement.” Eberlin glanced up at the ceiling as if it held some portent of the coming event.

The duke and viscountess both accepted readily. When Harwood rejoined his daughter late in the evening to depart for home, he learned that she had accepted the offer of Fortesque’s escort, and felt a good deal of paternal self-satisfaction.

However, in the carriage on the way home, Sarah’s mood grew progressively more pensive. When they had mounted the steps and entered the foyer, the duke asked her if she wanted to talk for a few minutes.

Abruptly, she whirled around. “I couldn’t bear it!” Tears were starting in her eyes. “May I be excused, sir? Please?”

“Of course, Sal.” Harwood kissed her forehead. “You’re tired, and why not? It’s been a long evening.”

She nodded, biting her lower lip, before turning and dashing up the steps as if hoping to outrun a demon.

***

Hardly more satisfactory was the end of Deborah’s evening. When she rhapsodized upon Lord Threlbourne as a suitor, Jennifer looked dubious.

“Yes, he is all you say, Mother, but I somehow don’t feel that he is considering me for a wife.”

Ignoring the uncharacteristically formal way Jennifer had addressed her, Deborah responded briskly, “What nonsense. He kept by your side during the waltz, for the privilege of taking you in to supper—”

“I know, but—”

“And asked to escort you on Lord Eberlin’s picnic. What more would you require as an expression of interest—that would be decent, that is?”

Jennifer looked doubtfully at her mother. She knew how inexperienced she was. Her mother knew a great deal more about the world and the male of the species. Yet . . .

“Somehow there is nothing of the lover in his manner toward me.”

“That is because he is a proper gentleman, not a loose fish like Mr. Fortesque, or a fortune hunter like—”

“Don’t, Mother.” For the first time in as long as Deborah could remember, her daughter was suddenly looking at her defiantly, her voice harsh with agitation. “Don’t you dare say anything to Mr. Warner’s detriment. He can’t help it that he is poor, and he is quite the finest gentleman of my acquaintance.”