Clifford’s face had turned greener with each word. He swallowed rapidly, then tried to speak, but a loud belch erupted. Snapping his jaw shut, he bolted. Gray hoped he made it outside.
“Time for you to return to the ballroom,” he told Mary. “It is dangerous to slip away as you do.”
“Clifford would never hurt me.”
“No. He is far too proper to seduce an innocent. But being found alone with him would force marriage, whether you liked it or not. And believe me, with him, you would not.”
“That was most unsporting of you,” she complained, but her eyes twinkled.
“It was the fastest way to be rid of him.”
Her scowl dissolved into peals of laughter. “Oh, but you were brilliant. He is so very stodgy. However did he become foxed at a ball?”
“Probably evading his mother. She is pressing him to settle the succession. Have you met Lady Clifford?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“She makes Lady Horseley seem frivolous. More rigid than Clifford and a Tartar as well. The man will be shackled by summer. But come. You must return.” He cracked the door to see whether the hallway was clear, then hustled her toward the ladies’ retiring room.
The strains of a waltz floated from the ballroom, allowing him to relax. The dance was still so controversial that everyone gathered to cast envious or censorious looks at the participants. Thus no one would notice them.
The moment Mary was safe, he sought his carriage. She’d been right. He should have stayed in bed. Even this short walk was making him dizzy.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mary curled into the corner of the carriage as it zigzagged through late evening traffic. Ladies weren’t supposed to slump, but she didn’t care. She was exhausted. Even stealing an occasional hour of privacy didn’t alleviate the strain of the Season. Of course, tonight’s private moments had not exactly been alone.
She smiled. Grayson was fascinating. And she could talk to him. Not once had she considered whether her words might offend. Nor had he. Only friends could be so open without censure. She basked in that thought for several minutes, hardly believing it was true. Even Blake, who usually set her at ease, remained intimidating at times. But Grayson did not — hadn’t from the moment he’d grabbed her sketchpad to fix the chaffinch’s beak.
He invited confidences, extracting information she never shared with others.
A shiver rippled down her spine. If she had misjudged him, he could now ruin her just by speaking the truth. She had twice met him alone, the second time far from others. Both times she had remained in his company for a considerable period.
But it was the threat to Laura that was the most serious. Again, he need only speak the truth. Laura had indeed plotted to trap Blake, but if that fact became public, society would turn on her. And it would be Mary’s fault. Forgetting to guard her words could extract a greater toll than all her other mistakes combined.
He won’t talk, her dreamer insisted. You know he won’t.
She had to believe that. Grayson was kind, intelligent, and very much a gentleman. It broke her heart that a pair of schemers had harmed him. Being innocent must make the cuts even harder to bear, for his only crime had been sympathy.
But there was nothing she could do. Gossips rarely admitted fault, and never at the urging of a nobody like her. Championing his cause would call censure on her own head – not that she would mind personally, but it would redound on Blake and could revive the false charges against Catherine. Her behavior already reflected poorly on them, as Catherine was again reminding her.
“You must stop running off, Mary,” she said sternly. “Even Lady Jersey noticed that you missed three sets tonight. Three sets! It does your reputation no good at all.”
“I was feeling faint,” Mary claimed, thankful that she had been in the retiring room when Catherine found her. Barely. Not that she regretted meeting Grayson, but explanations would have been awkward. “The ballroom was horridly stuffy.”
“All ballrooms are stuffy,” said Laura. “It gives us an excuse to walk in the garden.”
“Tonight was worse than usual,” insisted Mary. “Lord Delwyn’s scent was so powerful, it dominated the entire room. I’ve never smelled anything that made breathing so difficult.”
“He does overuse perfumes,” agreed Catherine. “But that is common in men of his age, as is his choice of heavy musk. It does not justify avoiding company.”
“Nothing does, so stop seeking excuses,” added Laura. “I know men ignore you, but manners are more important than pleasure. Cowering in the retiring room announces that you are hopeless and don’t care who knows it. You don’t see Miss Huntsley hiding, and she’s even clumsier than you.”
“Enough, Laura,” snapped Catherine. “You are not helping.”
Laura scowled. “She should have stayed at Rockburn. But since she is here, she must behave. Flaunting her vulgarity shames the whole family. Even louts like Griffin feel compelled to correct her. And her insults have discouraged half my suitors.”
“Hardly,” snapped Mary.
“Well…” She drew out the word in satisfaction. “It is true that gentlemen trip over their feet in their rush to admire me. Since society learned of Miss Norton’s elopement, I’ve gained four new suitors. And Sir Randall switched his devotion from Miss Harfield,” she added, naming another of her rivals.
“Puppy,” murmured Mary in disgust. Sir Randall was eighteen and had already joined and abandoned four courts this Season. Why Laura craved the fulsome fawning of such cubs was beyond her comprehension.
“He is charming. Even Lord Whitehaven danced the last set with me.”
Mary snorted. “Since he dances only with misfits, one must ask what you did to draw his attention.”
“That is not—” began Catherine.
Laura ignored her. “That may be why he danced with you, but having done his duty to propriety, he is now able to seek his own pleasure. And I am his pleasure. I could see it in his eyes. He was smitten by my beauty.” She sighed dreamily.
“That makes no difference,” declared Catherine. “His—”
“You said exactly the same thing about Blake,” Mary interrupted. “And Kevin Fields and John Drummond. But it was never true.”
“How dare—”
“Stop this, both of you,” ordered Catherine. “There is no point in arguing over Whitehaven, for Cromley would never allow his heir to wed you, Laura, no matter how great your beauty. He will accept no one below an earl’s daughter and would approve that only with a fortune in settlements.”
Laura sputtered.
Mary nodded agreement. “You know that he treats every partner as though she were Helen of Troy. It’s part of his charm, but it means nothing.”
“How would you know?” demanded Laura nastily. “No man would look twice at you. Why else do you hide at every opportunity? Not that I’m complaining. Your antics embarrass us all.”
“Laura!” Catherine had not sounded so furious since the day she’d caught fourteen-year-old Laura embracing a groom, her gown open to the waist.
“What? Must I pretend she makes us proud? I’m tired of having people commiserate with me every time she mortifies us. You know their real purpose is to gloat at my discomfort. Too many of them expect me to be as gauche and untutored as she. I’ve lost three suitors to her insolence. And others stay away because they are afraid to ally themselves with a family that includes her. She’s ruining my Season. It’s not fair!”
“You will apologize at once,” ordered Catherine. “If you’ve lost suitors, blame your own insufferable arrogance. You talk only of yourself and pit admirers against one another, insulting any who annoy you. No gentleman likes acting the fool, so it is no surprise that the more discerning ones avoid you.” She continued over Laura’s protest. “Yes, avoid you. Like Mr. Hawthorne. He cannot tolerate your vanity. And men aren’t the only ones you irritate. Lady Oxbridge complained that you cut her daughter just because Lord Seaton asked her to dance. And if Lady Wilkins were a man, she would have called you out for insulting her. Instead of criticizing Mary, you should consider your own behavior.”
Laura’s face mottled, but the carriage drew to a halt, forestalling any retort.
Mary escaped into Rockhurst House, hoping to reach her room without further argument. Laura was in a strange humor tonight. She had achieved triumphs that would delight most girls, yet she was furious because they weren’t bigger. Grayson’s words suddenly seemed ominous.
She is the sort who is never satisfied with what she has.
He was astute. She had noticed the problem before, though she’d not put it quite so succinctly. Laura was beautiful, but there was a devil deep in her soul that reared up whenever a dream shattered. It had done so eighteen months ago when scandal heaped censure on all Seabrooks. Mary feared it was happening again. London was the biggest dream yet, but the reality could never match Laura’s fantasy.
Laura had always expected a triumphant London Season. Through all the delays, she had honed those expectations, building London into a modern Mount Olympus that offered glamour, excitement, dashing men, dazzling ladies, and adventure beyond imagining. Her dream always ended with her sailing away to explore the world with a man who would fulfill her every desire.
Nothing could live up to that image. While London was bigger, fancier, and more exciting than anything in Devonshire, it was not mysteriously exotic. Balls might occur daily, but the dances were the same, as were customs and manners. Theaters might employ better actors and more opulent sets, but the scripts hadn’t changed, and most people still attended only to see and be seen. Gossip still dominated every gathering. Ladies still flirted, and men retired to their clubs for wine and cards. Life was no more alien than in Exeter or Bath. Thus Laura was bound to be disappointed.
Mary saw that disappointment in the growing petulance, the imagined slights, and the increasingly desperate flirting. Laura wanted more than London could provide, which endangered them all.
“You are right. Most of my suitors are pitiful puppies, and Whitehaven is too obedient to his father’s will,” said Laura, making one of her inexplicable reverses as she joined Mary on the stairs. “Society bores me. My suitors are no better than the squires and farmers at home. Their clothes may be more elegant, but behind their dash, they care for exactly the same things.”
“Why does that surprise you?” Mary asked cautiously. “The gentry and aristocracy have similar interests. But don’t make the mistake of thinking everyone dull. Town conversation revolves around gossip, clothes, and the latest wagers. Other topics are unfashionable. Even Blake adheres to that custom, though he has many interests.”
It was another reason Mary knew she could never find a husband in town. Society chatter disguised a man’s character. She might have met some interesting gentlemen at literary gatherings or intellectual soirees, but she had no time to attend. Thus the only intriguing man she knew was Grayson.
But she could hardly count him a friend. He would hate knowing she had seen him at his worst. No gentleman admitted weakness.
Laura lowered her voice. “That wasn’t what I meant, and you know it. I enjoy gossip as much as anyone. But I cannot tolerate a husband who remains on his estate, or even in London. He must be a traveler. An adventurer. Someone who ignores convention.”
“Like Lord Byron?” Mary shook her head.
“Of course not,” snapped Laura. “Byron is too conceited to ever interest me. I don’t know what Lady Caroline sees in the man. He ignores her every wish.”
Mary bit her tongue, though she knew that a man with the confidence and determination to explore the world would never devote his life to satisfying Laura’s whims.
“But I’ve finally found the perfect husband,” Laura continued, excitement threading her voice. “I suspected as much earlier, and now Lady Wilkins has confirmed it.”
Mary grasped the handrail more tightly. Lady Wilkins was vindictive and had a grievance against Laura. It would not take much intelligence to plan the perfect revenge. Laura’s penchant for coveting anyone not in her court was already known.
Laura didn’t notice her agitation. “He has traveled extensively, both in England and abroad. He is titled and wealthy, is fascinated by China and the West Indies, and would welcome a wife on his journeys. She was interrupted before she could introduce us, but I caught him watching me a short time later. The look in his eye was obvious. I expect he’ll contrive an introduction tomorrow.”
“Who is he?” Maybe her fears were groundless.
“Lord Grayson.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Laura. You know better than to take Lady Wilkins’s word for anything. She would love to ruin you. But even if her claims were true, Grayson will never do. You can’t even speak to him. Every matron in society would cut you, and your entire court would flee.”
“Her claims are certainly true. I heard the same ones at Lady Beatrice’s yesterday.”
“What difference does that make? You of all people should know how rumor can exaggerate, twisting truth into something utterly false. Have you forgotten Jasper Rankin?”
“Jasper was a consummate liar. The chances of it happening again are so remote as to be impossible.”
“I doubt it. I heard another version of Grayson’s so-called travels from someone in a position to know. There was only one trip – to Brussels on business. He splits his time between his London office and his Sussex estate.”
“That sounds like Lady Westlake. I swear she must fancy the man to champion him so consistently. But it will avail her naught. I’ll not tolerate liaisons.”
“You won’t have a say in the matter.”
“Of course I will. We will be wed before the Season is out. I saw the spark in his eye. He is already madly in love with me.”
Shock turned Mary speechless. And fury. It was bad enough when Laura formed sudden
tendres
for men she barely knew. This time she hadn’t even met the man, yet she was planning a wedding.
She must deflect her attention. Grayson already considered her a pest. The last thing he needed was another Miss Turner.
Yet what could she do? Claiming that Grayson wasn’t interested would raise questions, and Laura would deny anything she said anyway. It would do no good to reveal that Grayson had fled the ballroom to escape her. Laura would twist his actions into concern for her reputation. She’d done exactly that with Blake.