Authors: Mary Nichols
Philip
Devonshire looked up when he heard her tread on the stairs and their eyes met
and held for a brief moment. He was not old, or pompous, for there was a gleam
of amusement in his dark eyes, as if he knew how much he surprised her.
He was about
thirty, she guessed. His evening breeches and silk stockings displayed legs
that were lean and muscular and his satin coat sat on his broad shoulders as if
it had been made on him, so meticulously was it tailored. His white frilled shirt
and carefully tied cravat did credit to a valet, or at least a laundress of the
highest order.
She reached the
bottom of the stairs and he came forward to bow to her. It was when he
straightened up that she realised how tall he was; she found herself looking up
at clear-cut features, a firm mouth, a dimpled chin and those deeply
intelligent eyes that held her mesmerised. She heard her mother introducing him
and heard him say, 'Your obedient, Miss Martindale,' felt him take her gloved
hand and put it to his lips, all in a dream. It was like coming face to face
with her girlhood fantasies.
But then she
came to her senses. If her parents thought it would be easy to divert her, they
were in for a surprise because good looks and an easy manner would not win her
over. She smiled and withdrew her hand. 'Good evening, Mr Devonshire. It is
very good of you to escort us. I do hope you will not be bored.'
He, too, had
been surprised. Not by her clothes, or her manner, or particularly by her even
features and striking hair, but by something indefinable, a sparkle of mischief
in her blue eyes, a spirit of independence, almost defiance, as she met his
gaze unwaveringly. And yet there was gentleness too, a kind of warmth that he
would hate to see spoiled by disillusionment. How could eyes alone tell him so
much?
He pulled
himself together and smiled at her. 'How could I be bored with two such
charming companions?' he said, offering them an arm each. 'I shall be the envy
of the whole gathering.'
The ball, given
for Lady Carstairs's daughter, Lucinda, was a glittering affair. No expense had
been spared to make it the most talked-of event of the Season. It had to be
because Lucinda was no great beauty, being plump and rather short-sighted,
although she had an exceptionally fat dowry in her favour.
Juliette was
inclined to feel sorry for her, because Lucinda so obviously wanted to please
her parents and make a good match that she had subdued her natural intellect
and good humour to be a poor copy of those silly young ladies who flitted about
the social scene like butterflies, beautiful for a day and useful only for
breeding more of the same. Except she wasn't beautiful, but intelligent and
sweet-natured.
Standing beside
her parents, she greeted Lady Martindale and Juliette with a small curtsy and
downcast eyes, before offering her hand to their escort.
`Miss
Carstairs, I hope you will do me the honour of standing up with me,' Mr
Devonshire said, as he bowed over her hand. Then he gently removed her card,
which dangled on a ribbon from her wrist, and wrote his name with a flourish
beside the second country dance. Then, smiling, he returned it to her and
accompanied Juliette and her mother into the ballroom.
For some reason
she could not define, Juliette felt put out. Mr Devonshire was her escort and
yet he had not asked her for a dance. Surely he was not attracted to Lucinda
Carstairs? He must be like all the other young bloods, looking for a fortune.
Who was he,
anyway? As far as she had been able to ascertain, he had no title, or even the
prospect of one, and his fortune or lack of it had not been the subject of any
of the gossip she had heard since coming to London. And there had been plenty
of that among the young ladies she had met at the various social events she had
attended, besides conjecture about the marital prospects of each and every one
of them, linked to the names of the eligibles of the Season. They also
discussed who had offered for whom; who had won a fortune at the card table;
who had been ruined by gambling debts; which married ladies had taken lovers,
and stories about the Prince Regent that her mother maintained were too
shocking for her ears. In all of that, Mr Philip Devonshire remained an enigma.
The ballroom
was brilliantly lit by myriads of chandeliers that made the ladies' jewellery
sparkle and the silks and satins of their gowns shimmer as if they had a life
of their own.
A full
orchestra played on a balcony at one end of the long room and there were exotic
plants and hothouse flowers everywhere. The dance area was surrounded by
chairs, some occupied by chaperons, others awaiting new arrivals. It was a
tremendous crush and the sound of voices and laughter mingled with the music to
assail their ears.
Mr Devonshire
escorted them to seats and stood behind them as they surveyed the room, waiting
for their presence to become known and, in no time at all, Juliette's card was
being filled.
She loved to
dance and was soon on the floor with Arthur Boreton, the younger son of the
Earl of Wentworth. He was followed by fat George Macgregor who kept treading on
her toes, and then Lord Hart, who was forty if he was a day, and who was, in
turn, followed by young Selwyn Lampeter. She pretended not to notice what Mr
Devonshire was up to, but from the corner of her eye she saw him take up his
dance with Lucinda Carstairs and after that to dance with her mama. Lady
Martindale had refused all offers up to then and Juliette wondered what had
made her mother change her mind; flattery and cajolement, she supposed. The man
was very good at that.
The dance
finished with a flourish and Juliette dropped into a deep curtsy to her partner
before laying her fingers on his arm to be escorted back to her seat. She was
flushed and smiling and unaware of the looks of admiration and envy she attracted.
Almost as soon
as she had taken her place beside her mother, they were approached by a tall
young man in black evening breeches, black velvet coat and a white shirt with
points so tall they grazed his cheeks. He bowed over her mama and asked if she would
consent to him dancing with his cousin.
Juliette was
startled, wondering whom he could mean, but her mother inclined her head and
said. 'Good evening, Mr Martindale. I am sure Juliette will be pleased to stand
up with you.'
He turned and
favoured Juliette with a broad smile as he bowed and held out his hand.
Bewildered, she rose and allowed herself to be led into the set.
`Mr
Martindale,' she said as the music began and he executed a flourishing leg,
'you said cousin. Are we cousins?'
`That is what I
have been led to believe.' He had even white teeth, she noticed, and dark eyes
that seemed to flicker about as if he needed to take in everything that was
happening all about him. 'Viscount Martindale and my late father were
brothers.'
The dance steps
parted them but as soon as they reached each other again, Juliette took up the
questioning again. 'Why have I never heard of you before now?'
`You must ask
his lordship, Miss Martindale. It is not for me to comment.'
`Good gracious,
it all sounds very mysterious. Did Papa and your father quarrel?'
`They may have
done.'
Again they
parted and again returned to each other. `What about?'
`I do not know.
Money, I shouldn't wonder. My father, being a second son, had very little of
it.'
`Oh, but Papa
has always been most generous. I find it difficult to believe he would deny his
own brother.'
`Then perhaps I
am wrong.'
`Are you my
only cousin, or are there more?'
`No, there is
just you and me. And Hartlea.'
`Hartlea?'
`I am the heir.
Did you not know?'
`Oh.' She was
silent as he took her hands and they moved up between the ranks of their fellow
dancers. It was extraordinary that she should learn all this at a ball and not
from her parents. Why had they not spoken of family connections before?
`Did you
suppose you would inherit?' he asked her. 'I am sorry if I have disappointed
you.'
`You have not
disappointed me,' she said sharply. 'I had not given it a thought, but if I
had, I would have come to the conclusion that there must be a male heir.'
`How very
sensible of you!'
She wondered if
he were being sarcastic, but his expression was bland and she decided to take
his remark at face value. 'Mama did not seem at all put out by your appearance
and she consented to me standing up with you, so the quarrel, if there was one,
could not have been so very serious. Perhaps it was all in your papa's head.'
`Perhaps.' He
smiled. 'We shall never know, for he died several years ago.'
`And where have
you been hiding yourself since then?'
`Hiding, Miss
Martindale? I have not been hiding. In truth, it is you that has not been out
and about in Society, or we should have met.'
She
acknowledged the truth of that. 'Papa prefers the country when he is not
working,' she said. 'He has an important position at the Horse Guards.'
`Yes, everyone
knows the war could not run without Viscount Martindale.'
She looked up
at him sharply because she thought there had been a note of acrimony in his
voice, but he was smiling pleasantly and she supposed she had imagined it. 'I
am sure he would be the first to say he is not the only one,' she said. 'There
are others.'
`Among whom I
include my humble self,' he said. `But I am merely a cipher.'
`A very
important one, I am sure,' she said. 'We must all play our part.'
`Indeed, yes.'
The dance came
to an end and she put her hand lightly on his arm to be escorted back to her
seat beside her mother. Of Mr Devonshire there was no sign. She supposed he had
found more congenial company in the card room. She told herself she did not
care what he did and constantly looking about for him was a futile exercise.
James smiled as
he relinquished her to her mama. 'May I claim the first waltz, Miss
Martindale?' he asked before leaving. 'I believe it is to be the dance after
next.' He took her card from her. 'I see it has not been spoken for.'
`It is not for
want of asking,' she said, more pertly than she had intended. 'It is because
Mama was not at all sure I should be waltzing.'
He turned to
Lady Martindale, smiling easily. 'Aunt Elizabeth, you surely do not object to
Miss Martindale dancing with me. I am her cousin, after all, and everyone is
waltzing these days. It is only at Almack's they are so stuffy about it.'
Her mother, who
had been very sombre of late, as if she had a heavy weight on her shoulders,
returned his smile, though it did not light up her eyes. 'I do not see why not.
You are family after all.'
He waltzed
supremely well and Juliette found herself carried along by the music, though
she was uncomfortably aware that Mr Devonshire, who had returned to the room as
the dance began, was standing near her empty chair, watching them from beneath
lowered brows, as if he disapproved. Well, it was not for him to approve or
disapprove; her mama had given her consent and that was all that mattered. When
they returned, it was the supper dance Mr Martindale requested.
`No, I am
afraid that is taken,' Mr Devonshire put in before Juliette could answer. 'By
me.'
Chagrined, the
young man left to seek another partner and Juliette turned to the tall man at
her side, eyes flashing. 'Sir, you have not marked my card at all, so why did
you say the supper dance was taken?'
He smiled.
'Because I have taken it. Mr Martindale has already danced twice with you and
to claim a third would invite comment of a disagreeable nature. Your papa would
not forgive me if I did nothing to prevent that.'
`Mr Devonshire
is quite right, Juliette,' her mother said. 'We must do things properly.'
`Then I shall
sit the supper dance out, Mama. I would hate to put Mr Devonshire to the
trouble of having to dance with me simply to prevent gossip.'
`Juliette!'
Lady Martindale exclaimed. 'How can you be so rag-mannered?' She turned to
Philip. 'I must apologise for my daughter, Mr Devonshire. She is very young and
unused to Society...'
`There is not
the slightest need for apology,' he said, smiling, as the supper dance was
announced and the music began. 'I understand perfectly.' Then turning to
Juliette, he swept an elegant bow before her and offered her his hand. 'Will you
do me the inestimable honour of joining this country dance with me?'
He was laughing
at her and it infuriated her, but short of cutting him dead and creating a
scene she could do nothing but take his hand and allow herself to be led onto
the floor.
`Do you always
take your duties so seriously?' she asked as they stepped between the line of
dancers.
`Naturally, I
do.'
`And my papa
outlined your duties for tonight most specifically, I do not doubt.'
He chuckled.
'He did no more than ask me to escort two beautiful ladies to a ball. That is
not a duty, it is a pleasure.'