A Lady's Choice

by Donna Lea Simpson

Speechless, he stood and stared. Damn. Just when he thought he had defeated his powerful longing for her, she arrived, looking adorably springlike in pale green and yellow. And she spoke to him in such a manner that his heart thrummed heavily. “I . . . I—”

  “Do say you will,” she urged prettily.

  Her pale eyes, the color of the Yorkshire sky scrubbed clean after a storm, were wide, fringed delectably with brown lashes. He had seen enough of London ladies to know that not a one compared to her in looks, nor in spirit.

  “I don’t think—”

  “Colin,” Andromeda said, standing suddenly and laying aside the invitation she had been reading. “May I speak to you? Privately? If you would forgive this out of our old friendship, Miss Neville?”

  “Of course, Miss Varens,” Rachel said, looking disconcerted and blushing an even deeper shade of rose.

  She was so beautiful in her discomfiture that he was hard put to follow his sister and shut the door on her loveliness.

  “What is it, Andy?” he asked, glancing back over his shoulder at the door.

  Andromeda was wringing her hands together and studying him intently, and he soon focused his attention on her. “Whatever is wrong?” he asked, moving toward her.

  “Nothing. Nothing is wrong. Miss Neville had some news to divulge this afternoon. Some important news.”

  She looked so worried that he immediately thought of the safety of all their friends. “Is her grandmother all right? Her mother? And Haven?”

  “Yes, yes,” she said impatiently, flapping her bony hands around. “All are well. This was about herself. Colin, she has broken off her engagement to Lord Yarnell and he has eloped with another girl.”

  She spoke on, but Colin did not hear another word. He sat abruptly, lucky only that a chair was right there since he did not plan it that way. She was not engaged anymore. Rachel was free. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, his head spinning.

  “How did it happen?” He looked up at his sister and could tell he had interrupted her.

  “I was just telling you. She told us that she found out he had a prior attachment, though there had been some split between him and the young lady, and so she broke off the engagement, freeing him to be with the one he loved. She told him to go to her!” She clasped her hands to her heart. “It is so romantic!”

  “And is she all right?”

  “She seems perfectly fine, In fact . . .” Andromeda paused and pursed her lips.

  “What is it?”

  “She seems . . . better. You know we have not been close these last several years. I have long thought her haughty and unpleasant. But I begin to think I have misjudged her.”

  Colin felt his breathing return to normal, and with it, skepticism returned. He had been blind to her faults for so long, he would not be oblivious again. “We shall see. It is perhaps just the shock of her broken engagement. And you must see that we are only hearing her side of the story. Inevitably it has been colored by her own perceptions. We will be guided by her behavior in the coming days.”

  “Well, I truly think she is different.” Andromeda gave a sharp nod. “Since her apology she has been steady in her amity, and that is new with Miss Neville, who has been capricious in her friendship since she was thirteen. So, will you come to the ball tonight? Belinda is going to spend the evening up in the nursery entertaining the hostess’s children, since their nursemaid is ill at the moment.”

  He thought about it. “I will come.” It would give him a chance to observe this “new” Rachel. He did not want Andromeda hurt in any way, or publicly snubbed. He would see for himself this miraculous transformation.

  They returned together to the parlor and Rachel greeted the news with calm friendliness. “I’m glad. I feel I have been remiss since you arrived. You will like the Lauriers. They are without pretension, truly lovely people.”

  Colin watched her for a few minutes as she returned to the pattern book with Belinda. She was edgy and nervous. When she stood to go, he followed her to the front hall.

  “I will not pretend Andy did anything when we left the room but tell me of your new status, that you have released Lord Yarnell.”

  “And that he has eloped with Miss Danvers,” Rachel said, with no rancor in her voice.

  He put out one hand and touched her shoulder, but withdrew it after only the most fleeting of touches. “Are you all right? Was it truly your decision?” He gazed steadily into her eyes, trying to read her and failing, as usual. Her pale blue eyes were clear, though, so no night spent weeping, or the whites would be red and her eyes would be puffy.

  “It was wholly my decision. Yarnell wished to go on with the marriage. He claimed Miss Danvers was not suitable, as she had her roots in trade.”

  “Stiff-rumped old parsnip! What changed his mind so suddenly?”

  “I was not privy to the development, but I rather hope I did. I told him he would be a fool to turn his back on a love he so freely confessed and that he believed would last a lifetime.”

  He bit back his first impulse, which was to say that was strange advice, coming from a girl who had turned her back on love from him any number of times. He reminded himself that the love between Yarnell and Miss Danvers was mutual, while his had always been unrequited. And he had resolved that his was just habit, more out of routine than anything. And he would keep telling himself that until he could make his body and his heart believe it.

  Rachel had turned away, and she said in a low voice, “I may have need of all the friends I can find in the coming days. I shall be known as a jilt and as the girl who turned down a marquess, if people are even so kind as to leave it at that. I may be ridiculed, or even censured. I will most certainly be the object of gossip.”

  Perhaps this was why she was being so kind to them now, but if that was so he could not find it in his heart to be angry. It touched him that she turned to them as to old friends. He placed his hand on her shoulder again, this time leaving it there and squeezing gently, and said, “You know you can count on us, Rachel.”

  She turned and her eyes were shining. “I know. That is my solace. I think I have learned what true friendship is, Colin. That lesson may be hammered home in the next days.”

  He longed to pull her close and knew in that moment that far from being a chimera, his love for her was more real than ever, and perhaps not surmountable. Always he had been drawn to the vulnerable core he sensed under her sometimes brittle and haughty surface, and now, seeing her nervous and hearing her confession of reliance on them, he was more attracted than ever. But he would never be so foolish as to mistake her friendship for anything more, ever again. She would never be embarrassed by his unwanted attentions. He bid her good-bye as coolly as he was able, and she departed.

  • • •

  That night Colin escorted Andromeda and Belinda into the anteroom of the Lauriers’ Chelsea residence and helped his sister off with her wrap. A servant was dispatched to find out where Belinda was to go, but in the meantime the girl was peeking out from behind the curtained doorway at the ballroom. She was wholly engrossed.

  Rachel joined them, pale and lovely in ice blue silk, a coronet of pearls in her dark hair. “I’m so glad you have come,” she said, her voice trembling as she reached out to Andromeda for a brief hug.

  Colin, surprised by her friendly greeting of his sister, said, “Is everything as it should be, Rach . . . uh, Miss Neville?”

  Blinking quickly, she said, “Oh, there have just been some rather unkind remarks already about Yarnell and Miss Danvers.”

  “You have done the right thing, and never forget it,” Andromeda said with her bracing tone. She had left behind her habitual headwear, a turban, and wore a simple headdress of pearls and feathers.

  “Thank you,” Rachel said with a watery smile. “Did you invite Sir Parnell, as you said you would?” she said, looking over at Colin.

  “Sir Parnell?” Andromeda asked sharply. “Why would you invite Sir Parnell?”

  Colin
looked guilty. “Yes. He should be here any time. He doesn’t have a very wide acquaintance in London, Andy, and I thought he might like to come and enjoy the party.”

  “And I did say gentlemen were in short supply,” Rachel added. “Colin’s note of inquiry about inviting Sir Parnell was quite welcome, and I know the Lauriers will be happy to see him. Many families are already starting to return to the country, you know, and good company is thinning out. The Season is almost over.”

  Lady Laurier entered and was introduced around. She was a pleasant, rotund woman just a few years older than Rachel, and Belinda took to her motherly charm immediately and bobbed off after her like a tiny skiff in a larger clipper’s wake.

  Colin offered his arms to both Rachel and Andromeda, and they entered the ballroom.

  Rachel took a deep breath, relishing the comfort of Colin’s strong arm clutching her close. It had been a difficult day. Her mother was not speaking to her, though there was every sign that she was somewhat relieved not to have to deal with Lady Yarnell again. Grand had come down ill and taken to her bed. That was completely unheard of, and Rachel found herself unexpectedly worried. It was lovely to have Colin to lean on, and to have friends she knew she could depend upon to counter any nasty remarks that might come her way.

  She introduced the Varens to those of her friends she knew would not slight them. Sir Parnell Waterford arrived, exquisitely turned out for all that he was unfashionably brown, and he delighted all, charming several ladies completely with his tales of the exotic Caribbean. He then asked Andromeda for a dance. She had drawn herself up, and was about to say no, when Colin said yes for her and virtually pushed her into his arms. Rachel had watched with amusement, not sure whether Colin just wished them to be friends or whether he was hoping for some other end. It was clear to her that Sir Parnell was fascinated by Andromeda, but men were ever dim on that subject in her estimation, and she did not think Colin had any ulterior motive but a wish for his sister and friend to be on good terms.

  She and Colin were standing together when an acquaintance of hers approached. As politeness demanded, even though this same girl had been one of the ones snickering about her broken engagement earlier, Rachel introduced Colin to her.

  “Miss Edwina Staines-Frobisher, may I introduce to you Sir Colin Varens, an old neighbor and friend of mine.”

  Miss Staines-Frobisher demurely gave her hand and dropped a vague curtsey, then proceeded to flirt expertly, dropping her lashes whenever she looked directly at Colin and finding small opportunities to get close to him. Rachel watched in amazement, and when they were joined by two other young ladies who had not managed to find a beau who would commit his heart and earthly goods to them yet, this late in the Season, she realized he was being viewed as fresh marriage material.

  And when the feminine buzz around him was too overpowering and Rachel found she had been shouldered out of the way, Miss Connolly, a plain young woman with no airs or pretensions, sighed and gave up her place, joining Rachel to the side of the group.

  “I suppose I may as well give up,” she said. “He will never notice me with all of those girls around him.”

  “You want him to notice you?”

  “I would like the opportunity!” she said stoutly. “I must marry this year, for Father says I shan’t get a second London Season no matter how shameful it is to have an unmarried daughter. We will go to Bath and I will be paraded in front of all the sick old men,” she said with a grimace. “Ugh! At least Sir Colin is young and . . .” She turned bright red, not being one who could blush gracefully. “Well, handsome.”

  “Colin handsome?” Rachel blurted.

  “Perhaps he is not a beau, like Byron or Brummel, but he is . . .” She glanced around and whispered, “He is certainly well set up, as my granny says!”

  Rachel glanced over at the group of young ladies clustered around, Colin in the center, his broad shoulders and strong, plain face a masculine counterpoint to their feminine fragility. Even the stouter girls looked slender next to his muscular frame, and she realized that though he had used to be slender, he was considerably bulkier than he had been when younger.

  It occurred to her in that moment that he could very well find a young lady to suit his fancy, for he had always been the kind who would be better and happier for a wife, she thought. For all that he was doing well in London, and fitting in better even at a ball than she would have believed possible, he was still most at home on a horse, riding his Yorkshire acreage.

  Yes, Colin could find a wife, for there were certainly many ladies who seemed to find his unencumbered land and estate an attraction, and judging by Miss Connolly’s words, perhaps took a more personal interest in his strong young body and pleasant, courtly manner. As his friend she should be happy for him that he was such a success. She certainly should be happy for him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Andromeda Varens found herself on the dance floor and going through the steps of a familiar old country dance. Why the gentleman had asked her to dance was a mystery, and why Colin had pushed her into it another, but if it was to be so, she would utilize her time.

  “Sir,” she said as they promenaded the floor after another couple in the intricate figures, “I wished to speak to you without my brother present, and it seems this may be my only opportunity.”

  “I am yours to command, Miss Varens,” he said. He took her gloved hand in his and twirled her, turning them both perfectly, and they began their promenade in reverse direction.

  “How do you happen to be so proficient at the dance, sir?” she asked, distracted by his elegant mastery. She had been afraid she would be out of practice and step on his toes, but it appeared that he was in easy control. “I thought you had been mired in the islands all these years?”

  His lean, dark face softened with a smile, the glint in his pale eyes humorous. “I like your choice of word, ‘mired.’ Do you not think English society survives wherever there are English men and women?”

  “Oh.” She reflected on how little she knew about the islands. “I suppose I had not thought of it.”

  “You supposed me laboring in the fields with my workers, no doubt.” He twirled her.

  “You are very brown, sir,” she said breathlessly, gazing up at him.

  “The Caribbean sun is relentless, scorching. It seeks you out, even with a hat on, even in the shade of a tree. Do you disapprove?”

  She gazed up at his brown face, thinking his complexion was unfashionable, but at least he had done things in his life, worked and made something of himself. That was to be admired, in her estimation. “It is not to me to approve or disapprove your complexion, Sir Parnell,” she said, sidestepping the issue. “And it is not what I wish to speak of.”

  “I follow your lead, ma’am.”

  He was holding her in the curve of his arm, and she lost what she was about to say in the novel sensation. The truth was, it had been many years since she had so much as danced with a gentleman . . . a real gentleman. Local assemblies in their Yorkshire village were more democratic than most, in the sense that all were welcome, from illustrious personages like Lord Haven and Sir Colin, right down to the chandler and draper, and any local farmer inclined to the lighthearted frivolity of dancing to a violin and piano. As much as she had heartily taken part in dancing with the people of her village, it was not quite the same as dancing with an eligible gentleman, perhaps because she knew that the draper and chandler were just looking for a jolly time, and their pleasure in the dance, as her own, must consist of how high they leaped or how speedy the steps.

  Dancing with a gentleman was different, as she remembered from the last time she had waltzed with Lord Haven, their friend and neighbor. He was such a handsome man that her heart had beat faster, and her mind had imagined all kinds of fantastical conclusions to the dance, even down to a proposal on the dance floor.

  But Haven had avoided her these many years, to her shame, because she had rather relentlessly pressured him to make her an
offer. She had imagined herself in love with him because he was the man most suitable for her to wed in their limited social circle. She had wanted to marry, to be mistress of her own house instead of keeping house for her brother, to have children—

  “Miss Varens, the dance is ended.”

  Sir Parnell’s gentle tone told her she had been woolgathering again, and she could feel the color rise above her modest neckline. “Ah. Yes.”

  “We have not yet had the conversation you wished to have. Would you walk with me on the terrace? We can talk more easily there than in the confines of a ballroom anyway.”

  She accepted his invitation and soon found herself enjoying the cooler breeze on the abbreviated terrace. Summer had blossomed with bountiful profusion, and the tiny terrace was crowded with potted plants and topiaries. Sir Parnell led her to a quiet corner between two topiary trees carved in an intricate spiral shape.

  “Here . . . we can be private,” he murmured.

  A little too private for her taste. With a muttered observation on the darkness, she moved them toward a beam of light from the window. He did not comment, merely moving as she did and staying close to her, close enough that she could still smell his spicy scent, something that made her think of the islands that were his home for so many years. “Tall” and “angular” had always been the words that were used by those trying to be kind in describing her, but Sir Parnell was even taller and more angular, standing a full head above her. He tucked her arm firmly under his and held it there as they stood on the stone parapet. Andromeda gazed at the moon, finding it hard to think of all the things she had wanted to upbraid him about.

  “Miss Varens,” he said, his voice hushed, “do you know why I came back to England?”

  “No.” Her voice was unaccountably breathy.

  “I missed this, this soft breeze, this view, civilization.” He swept his free hand in an arc over the view, of courtyards and walled gardens lit with a hundred fairy lights. “This city. I have always loved London, for all of its quirks and follies.”