He cut her off abruptly, “While physical beauty is a pleasing thing, it is also true, Lady Mary, that ‘beauty is as beauty does’, so I’ll have none of that nonsense. I see your worth. You wish to marry. I wish to be your friend. I find I wish it very greatly. Friendship is not dependent on outer beauty, as I can well tell you.” For a moment his voice had grown embittered, but then he seemed to mentally shake himself, and went on, “Friends help friends, and if I happen to introduce you to the lucky man who finally wins you, then he will be perhaps a little less likely to forbid my presence in your home. You see, once again I am only serving myself.”
He turned a little away from her, idly kicking at wet pieces of grass that had been missed by the scythe and left too long. He continued, “I have pledged to ‘get thee wed’ and yet I have no notion of what manner of fellow you are looking for.”
Mary came to a halt, causing him to stop as well. She dragged a hand across her cheek, wet in the misty rain, and gave a large sigh, her face reflecting the turmoil of the unnamed and impossible emotions she felt within. “I find such a conversation awkward at best, but since I believe what you say, and I find I desire your matrimonial assistance--since my own efforts have proved most pathetic--I do not doubt it is worth our time to hold such a conversation.”
His head twisted inquiringly on his graceful neck. “Do you not know by now that all our conversations are meant to be awkward?”
The abused expression fell from her face, replaced by a smile she hoped he did not see was rather bittersweet, while the rain ran from the top of her bonnet to splash off her shoulders.
“My dear girl, may I offer you my coat?” he inquired at once, for she wore none.
“No, no, I am only wet, not cold,” she assured him. She sighed again, and resumed walking. This time he kept pace with her as she led them toward the tool room in the stables. So, he had asked to assist her out of friendship, and the proof thereof was to have her describe her ‘desired mate.’ Well then, he should have what he asked for; she plunged in at once, before her mixed up feelings could choke back her ability to speak.
“What sort of fellow, you ask? Hmmm. Well, I’m sure I couldn’t say exactly, but I do rather picture a quiet fellow, with a propensity toward reading, but he must be able to dance, at least a little.” She smiled more widely up at him, giving in to the humor that must go with this outlandish discourse. “He need not be taller than I, but I would prefer he not be too round. I should like him to have his own teeth, but hair is not essential.”
“Ah, you describe a paragon.”
“He must not be a gambler, and must not smoke a pipe. Nasty things, pipes. Oh, and Mrs. Pennett and I decided he should not be too old, as the main point is…is…” Her humor had led her too far, so now words failed her, and she blushed scarlet.
“Is what, Lady Mary, my love?” purred John.
“Well, I think you must know a lady of my advanced years is hopeful of offspring, and soon,” she answered, hiding within primness, choosing just that moment to fling open the tool room door and disappear inside.
He waited patiently without, his hands clasped behind his back, his well-shaped legs spread in a casual pose until finally she returned to his side.
“Would you come into the house and take coffee?”
“Nasty thing, coffee,” he echoed her earlier tone, shuddering eloquently. “Ah, Mary, do not look away from me. I have told you before that I do not wish to see you turn missish on me. That you want children makes all the sense in the world to me, your confidante and friend. Again, I tell you I far more appreciate your honesty than I ever would your blushes.”
“I cannot help myself. Ladies and gentlemen do not speak of such things,” she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze.
“Then let us, between the two of us, not be gentle-persons. Let us be a scamp and a rogue. It would be far easier, I assure you.”
She nodded at once, her delicate frame straightening in subconscious acknowledgement. “You have the right of it. Indeed, I recall I already agreed to terms of this nature. You are right to not let me renege. Carry on, then, dear Rothayne, for I shall not allow myself to blush ever again in your presence.”
“A pity, that. I tell you, were I to strip naked before you, I should be most annoyed if you did not blush.”
Her mouth quirked, but no reprimand came from her lips.
“Shall I tell you, then, that I have not been idle this past week? I have actually forced myself into a chair and given thought to the matter. I believe I have composed a very fine list, consisting of a dozen upstanding fellows who ought to have the good fortune to meet you. Shall we start tomorrow? Are you invited to Madam Frelorn’s cotillion?”
“We are,” she nodded, meaning her family as well as herself.
“Then I shall meet you there, and see you are placed in the arms of a dozen eligibles.”
She crossed her arms, not unlike a shield before her, and implored, “Please do not make it too obvious that I am on the hunt.”
“I shall not. I know full well that nothing would attract a fellow less,” he said somewhat indignantly.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“I hope to arrange that you may make the acquaintance of Lord Bretwyn.”
“Whatever you think best,” she said, indicating the direction of the house. They began to stroll again, heading toward the rear entrance.
“Good. You will like him. I like him myself, and that is a rare thing.”
“Then no doubt I shall, too.”
“You trust my judgment so far, then?” he asked, sidestepping a puddle, coming close to her side so that they were near enough to touch. She moved a little away, as though to give him room.
“Silly of me, I suppose, but yes, I do. I cannot think that you would bother to walk out in the rain just to place me in the middle of some complicated hoax. You tell me you are wicked, but you must not be entirely so, because I do trust you.”
“Even the devil keeps his bargains,” he said in a low voice, his eyes suddenly turned away to the horizon, his expression instantly remote.
“But he does not care, not about some silly little unwed woman. Not enough to help her find a measure of contentment in this world,” she said, laying her hand upon his arm.
“You should not have done that,” he said, turning his head to gaze down at her hand. His eyes then rose to hers. “Now you have touched my arm, I shall feel free to touch yours.”
“Terrible,” she said with a smile.
“I am. Trust me in that also.”
She laughed. He could change the course of a conversation so quickly, it baffled the mind. “I try, but sometimes you make it difficult to believe you are as awful as you claim.”
He smiled then, and her stomach flipped, and she drew her hand away. Yes, perhaps she ought not to have done that.
He tucked in his chin for a moment, revealing he had noted her withdrawal, but his voice was all that is cheerful as he said, “You know, it seems very strange we should be such bosom beaux and yet I must refer to you so formally as ‘Lady Mary’. Can you not be Mary to me, in private moments? You have my complete consent to call me John, or if you prefer you may call me ‘my love.’”
She shook her head even as she gave a quick, slightly wavering smile. His choice of words--perhaps because of her advanced state of ‘maiden-aunt-dom’--had the effect of making her feel just a little tipsy. “Now we are become such fast friends, you have my permission.”
“Ah. Mary, then. Maria. Marian. All namesakes of the Holy Virgin. Well, we will see you do not follow that lady’s suit, shan’t we, for I swear the bridal bed has not long to await your visit, not with such a clever and resourceful fellow as myself on your side. I shall meet you tomorrow then? At the Frelorns’s?”
“I shall try to find a different dress to wear,” she said with an equally cheery tone. If she did not sound completely carefree, she hoped he took no note of it.
“Please do,” he answered dro
lly.
“And what of you, my lord? Do you desire I should search among my acquaintances to find you a spouse as well?”
“No,” he said calmly. “If it ever comes to that, I should much rather you place me in a vat of boiling oil. I would be content with such, but not with that other heinous fate.”
She laughed. “And this is the man who means to see me wed?”
“I do. I have the advantage of clarity of vision, you see, for I keep myself well clear of the traps and tricks of the matrimonial waters. I am a gifted pilot who can guide you past the shoals of fortune hunters and callow brutes, into the safe harbor of domestic bliss.”
She laughed again, for he had meant to make her laugh. She did not voice the thought that came to her that this man would indeed make a very fine pilot, or more likely a pirate.
They stopped short of the back entrance, and he took his leave of her. She watched him walk away, the rain falling upon them both, he so graceful and collected it seemed only the wetted surfaces of his beaver hat reflected nature’s dewy caress, while her bonnet dripped onto her shoulders, striping the bodice of the inelegant frock even more, as she stood silent and still, soaked and strangely forlorn, and unable to do anything but stand and wish the whole world was different than it really was.
Chapter 4
“Mary, this is Lady Hammand and this her brother, Lord Bretwyn, acquaintances of long standing. Lettice, Charles, this is my very good friend, Lady Mary Wagnall,” Rothayne said in the deep purr that was his voice, a benign smile on his face as he made the introductions.
Mary offered a curtsy to both. She noted Lord Bretwyn was the possessor of an attractive face--not beautiful like Rothayne’s, but quite pleasant--and his gaze was steady, with an attentive expression that implied intellect. He appeared to be somewhere around thirty. It wasn’t difficult for Mary to pull a smile to her lips in greeting. “Lord Bretwyn, how do you do?”
“Well, I thank you. I know your father, Lord Edgcombe, although I confess not well. We shared a box at the races once.”
She inclined her head, acknowledging the connection.
John--she was starting to get used to thinking of Lord Rothayne by his given name within her own thoughts--turned to her. “Lady Mary, may I solicit the first dance with you?”
“It is already promised to Captain Rodgers, but the next is free.”
“Wonderful.”
Rothayne took a small step backward. If Lord Bretwyn was meant to come forward and solicit Mary’s third dance, he missed or ignored the hint.
Mary continued to lightly smile, but the flash in her eyes just for John told him he could have been more subtle. She knew she must not be above coercing the gentlemen into dancing with her, but that this was a friend of John’s gave the forced act a bit of a sting.
John inquired if Lady Hammand would grant him a dance as well.
“I thank you for the honor, my lord, but I do not dance,” she replied. She added in a tone that spoke of mild disapproval, “Indeed, seldom does Charles.”
“In truth?” Rothayne asked as though in regret, even as he turned his body just a little to glance down at Mary, to silently acknowledged this mark against the gentleman. “And why is that?”
Lady Hammand did not take offense at the direct question. In fact, she seemed just as aware of the Blade’s reputation for directness as any lady present, and just as willing to overlook it. It was true the Marquess of Rothayne’s pockets were plump, but Mary suspected it was actually his charm--however wicked it sometimes was--that drew the ladies to him.
“Because I have a limb that often disapproves of the sport, and Charles, because he does not care to.”
Lord Bretwyn nodded at his sister’s side. “It’s not that I can’t. It’s that I don’t enjoy it much, and neither do the ladies when I step on their toes.”
Mary felt a finger jab into her back as John moved slowly behind her, looking about as though he were observing the crowd. She lifted her chin, hoping her slight jerk had not been noted, and cried at once, “Why, Lord Bretwyn, I would not mind at all if you should happen to step on my toes.”
Lady Hammand raised both eyebrows, leading Mary to add hastily, “For I should be stepping on yours as well.”
The lady’s doubting stare turned into an approving smile, and Lady Hammand turned to her brother. “Only see? Here is one who is not daunted by a little inexperience.”
“Your Captain Rodgers has yet to claim you, and time runs short,” Rothayne pointed out to Mary. “Bretwyn, you must play the gallant and take the lady onto the floor in his place.”
“Oh, but surely--”
Lady Hammand looked pleased and supplemented John’s suggestion. “The set is all but formed, indeed! Go on, you two. Should this Captain Rodgers come for you, Lady Mary, the third dance shall have to be his instead. I will inform him.”
“My thanks,” Mary murmured, for what else could she say? She wrinkled her nose, not quite a reprimand, at John as she was led to where the others assembled for a country dance.
True to his word, Lord Bretwyn managed to step on her toes, and so she made a point of stepping on his in turn, and was rewarded for her efforts with a gentle laugh or two and a bright smile.
To her utter amazement, after having her dances with John and Captain Rodgers, she went on to be partnered at every new tune. Though it was true only a few of the names belonged to the youngest and most eligible men in want of a wife, it was also true several gentlemen of means--and none of whom were positive ancients--were among those who sought a dance with her.
As the evening progressed, it became quite clear to her that John’s occasional absences from her side were spent in tracking down some of these fellows in their various dens. Some gentlemen had no doubt been persuaded to leave a card table, still others their cheroots, and yet others their glasses of port. He had gone where she could not, bringing the more mature, less silly men of three or four decades from the males-only places they had thought safe and quiet, no doubt. And, more amazing yet, he, that clever Blade, had presented all these models of matrimonial material smoothly, not too overtly, not too embarrassingly, and he had made it quite clear he himself had no designs on the lady. This was accomplished by virtue of the very fact he had presented her with over a dozen other partners. She could only marvel at his adroitness; he could be forthright, but now she knew he could also be subtle.
She gave a rueful smile at realizing he was a far better matchmaker than dear, unconnected Mrs. Pennett could ever be.
So Mary gave herself up to the pure and simple pleasure of being entertained by a throng of, if not exactly admirers, at least respectful participants in the age-old game of consideration. She did not even mind when Mr. Everson twice claimed her for a dance, and when he fumbled a glass of wine he’d fetched her way and which then spattered the hem of her gown, she merely shrugged and passed on into the arms of the next man who requested a dance.
Mary was aware that although the marquess did all he could to see she was well-partnered, he was not himself without a dance or two. He smiled at her occasionally as they passed one another on the floor, and made her laugh once with a broad leer that meant the décolletage of the lady in his arms had not gone unnoticed. As the evening advanced, Mary was not unaware Rothayne spent a rather long bit of time in the corner with that particular lady. Their laughter was mostly quiet, their actions largely circumspect, but nonetheless Mary felt a sense of relief when the two at last parted. She told herself this was because she did not wish John to be so shocking in his behavior as to cause him to have to remove his presence from the beau monde yet again. How could he help her if he was banished by polite society once more? She saw him move on to another group of acquaintances, only really turning her attention back to her dance partner when she saw the group did not include any temptresses.
Near the end of the evening, it was Rothayne who claimed her for a second dance. “Are you having a pleasant evening?”
“A most pleasant
evening,” she sighed happily.
The dance divided them, but when they came back together, he said, “Your cheeks are flushed. You are positively aglow.”
Despite her earlier promise to him to the contrary, she blushed, and felt a thrill of happiness run up through her middle, manifesting itself in the form of a bright smile. “I feel as though the evening has been arranged just for me,” she said breathlessly.
“It has, by myself. You have made some admirers tonight, I hope you realize.”
“Have I? Then your efforts have not been in vain.”
“Lord Bretwyn has suggested an outing, the four of us, including his sister. I have accepted on your behalf.”
“My lord, it is then indeed an evening of triumph, for Lord Revenshaven and Lieutenant Hargood have also solicited outings. But which day did Lord Bretwyn have in mind? I should hate for my attempts at social success to fall to nothing because they were all arranged for the same day.”
He looked down into her flushed and radiant face. “I leave it to you to arrange the days. But, let me say, you make me glad. I confess I am used to pleasing only myself. I mean, outside the bedchamber, I am not used to making the effort to otherwise please a lady. I like making you happy.”
It was amusing that he could say such a shocking thing, yet the only part she cared about was that she’d pleased him. Too, she smiled to herself, the Blade had never once stepped on her toes, and in fact made her feel graceful and light and worthy of being made happy.
It was with a significant tug of resistance that she left his side and took the arm of a Mr. Peter Willows for the next dance.
***
Her eyes were still glowing when her mother saw her over the breakfast table.
“Whatever time did you arrive home last night?” Lady Edgcombe asked as she added jam to her toast. “I fear I thought the clock was striking five in the morning when you were all making such a to-do coming in.”
Since neither Randolph nor Lydia had yet made it to the table, it was left to Mary to explain it had indeed been as late as that. “Mama, you must not scold, for I vow I had the loveliest evening. I danced every dance. And I had two escorts over meals--one who took me in to the supper, and yet another who took me in to the midnight repast.”
The Marriage Mart Page 4