“Thank you, milord.” Mr. MacBride appeared pleased Rufus had remembered the small treat.
They shook hands, and then the baker straightened his jacket. “What ah wished to speak to ye about is Mr. Darby.”
Rufus’s interest kindled. “The late blacksmith?”
“Yes, milord. He, too, wuz a friend of yer mother’s. A good friend.” Mr. MacBride stepped into an alcove of plants and gestured for Rufus to follow. “Mr. Darby wuz killed. Same time as yer father. In London Town.”
“Yes, so I heard.” Rufus, his excitement rising, followed the man behind the potted plants.
“I also heard that ye be seeking information about yer father’s last days before he left Terrance. After word came of what ye did fer the Parkers, me wife insisted ah speak with ye, milord. About the matter of Mr. Darby, that is.”
“What about him?” When the man looked reluctant to continue, Rufus said, “Please speak freely, Mr. MacBride.”
“Mr. Darby came to see old Lord Terrance the day before his lordship returned to London.”
“Do you know what they spoke about?”
“Mr. Darby, though a good friend, kept mostly to hisself. He did not confide in people. The day he wuz to see the late earl, though, he did tell me wife that he had come across some troubling bit of news.”
Rufus’s pulse shot up. This was the clue he had been searching for. Now, when he had done nothing to seek it out, it fell right onto his lap. “What news?”
The audience boisterously clapped as the play ended.
“What news did Mr. Darby share?” Rufus asked again.
He cursed inwardly when a man tripped over the potted plant and against Mr. MacBride and said, “Oh, pardon me.”
“Good evening, Mr. Langley,” the baker said. “Milord, may ah introduce ye to our new blacksmith, Mr. Langley.”
“We have met.” Rufus nodded to the lean man. The fellow had terrible timing. He wanted to shout at him to go away.
“Pardon me for interrupting,” Mr. Langley said. “But, Mr. MacBride, your wife sent me to find you.”
“Strange. She wanted me to speak with his lordship. Oh well, women change their minds faster than the wind changes directions. If ye will pardon me, ah will be right back, milord.”
In frustration, Rufus watched him skitter back to his wife’s side. What rotten luck.
“This is a lovely ball you have thrown for us, my lord,” Mr. Langley said.
“Thank you, Mr. Langley. Are you enjoying yourself?”
“How could one not?” the man asked. “You have excellent food, and your mother has kept us wonderfully entertained.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Langley,” Rufus said, knowing he was being rude, but anxious to find the baker and finish their conversation. “I had better see how the rest of my guests fare. Good evening.”
He made his way through the crush in the direction he had seen Mr. MacBride depart, but after circling the ballroom twice he could not locate the baker. Perhaps his wife was unwell, and he had taken her to a side chamber to rest. It would be impossible to guess which one.
Tomorrow, he would seek out the baker and learn more, he decided. Tonight, he had a dance to claim with a lovely young lady.
The crush in the grand ballroom was as bad as in the green ballroom. People milled about in small groups or reposed on double rows of chairs by the walls. Several couples danced in the center to the music played by an orchestra in the balcony. He spotted Belle as she traipsed around the floor in the arms of none other than his tall, blond, rakish friend, Lord Fitzgerald.
Rufus’s head was ready to explode. The man had disgraced Belle and himself on Rufus’s London doorstep, and now he had the temerity to dance with her in public? Did he ogle her as he had that night? Rufus did not care that Fitzgerald had offered for Belle’s hand or that it was she who had refused him. He wanted to call his friend out. How could her grandfather have given the bounder permission to dance with her? And who invited him here in the first place?
“Rufus, stop frowning.” Susie tapped his arm. “Belle might believe that you dislike her if you glower at her.”
He smoothed out his facial expression and said, “Who invited Fitzgerald?”
“Mother did,” Susie said. “She invited all your friends.”
Rufus felt his temper flare hotter, and he clenched his fists when he saw the bounder had his palm flat against Belle’s back. And must her smile be so charming? “How could Mama know my friends?”
“Aunt Henrietta told us.”
Stunned by the comment, Rufus turned his attention to his sister. “And how would Aunt Henrietta know who is intimate with me?”
“She knows all your friends,” Phillip said.
Rufus had not noticed his cousin’s catlike approach. How did he move so softly, and what did he mean, his mother knew him that well?
“She knows every gentleman who routinely shuns her invitations to parties,” Phillip said cryptically.
“I beg your pardon?” Rufus said.
“Your friends support you by eschewing my mother’s company. They care for you, and since you have held a long standing grudge against your aunt, they show their support by not attending her functions.”
“I did not know that.” He had not realized his aunt had suffered so because of their enmity. The idea was disturbing on many levels, not least of all because he did not hate her. If anything, he desperately wanted her approval because she was the last direct connection to his father. In fact, her disapproval was a mirror of his father’s constant disappointment in him, and while it was too late to change his father’s mind, there was still hope he could bring his aunt around to perhaps at least tolerate him.
“I will speak with them,” he said in a firm voice. “It will not happen again.”
“I am sure she would not care if they attended or not,” Phillip said, “as long as you did.”
Rufus laughed. “Then you know your mother less well than she appears to know me. She would care for my presence as much as she would Napoleon’s. You are all she needs by her side.”
“Then it is you who does not know my mother,” Phillip said calmly. “The only reason I attend all her affairs is to give her moral support. It hurts her deeply that her only nephew abhors her company and publicly avoids her parties.”
“I do not . . . I never . . .” He stopped, unable to finish as the truth sank in. His absence had indicated to his aunt, and apparently also his friends, that he did not care for her. They were all wrong.
And so was he. Until now, he had thought it was his aunt who did not care for him and voiced her disapproval to all and sundry. Instead, it seemed he was the main culprit in their quarrel.
Susie drew his attention with a touch on his arm. “You have not danced with me yet.”
The compassionate look in her eyes suggested she understood how much their cousin had upset him.
“Would you do me the honor of this dance, Susie?” he asked, and offered her his elbow.
“I would love to.” They joined the flow of dancers.
She moved gracefully, and he found it hard to reconcile the young girl who preferred to keep her plants company with this beautiful young woman who skillfully followed the dance’s rhythm.
“You make me proud, Susie,” he said.
“How so, Rufus?”
“By being the sister I always knew you to be. Father would be happy to see you tonight.”
Her bright smile dimmed. “I make myself happy tonight,” she said. “Belle says we cannot count on others for our happiness. Father, too, must look within himself, not outside, for his peace.”
He frowned, not quite taking her meaning. What their father might have sought during his lifetime was immaterial. She did have a point though. It was time he stopped wanting to p
lease his father and settled for behaving in a manner in which Rufus Marlesbury approved.
His glance was immediately drawn to his aunt where she was busy whispering behind her fan to one of her cronies. The music stopped. He left Susie with Phillip and made his way toward Henrietta Jones. Was it his imagination, or did the level of noise in her vicinity suddenly drop?
She turned to greet him. “Terrance.”
“Aunt,” he said and bowed.
Her eyebrow rose in inquiry. “Is Susie in trouble? She seemed happy a moment ago.” She gazed anxiously around the ballroom in search of her niece.
“She is with Phillip,” he said. “I came to beg a favor.”
“Of me?” She blinked several times as if to control some discomforting emotion.
“Yes.” He kept his gaze firmly on her and hoped his friends watched him. “I wondered if you would do me the honor of dancing with me.”
The closest old biddy gasped. Rufus ignored her and everyone else and held out his hand, palm down.
After the briefest hesitation, she placed her hand on the back of his, and they walked to the room’s center. A country tune began, and they joined in.
The second time they came closer, his aunt’s gaze, which had followed his movements throughout, faltered and flickered away. Then she looked at him again and asked, “Do you have something you wish to say to me?”
They took a turn round before the four dancers met and then stepped apart. When next they drew close, he said, “Merely to comment on how well you dance, Aunt.” He gave her the first genuine smile he had since he was a child. “I hope you will invite me to one of your London events this coming Season. I am sorry I missed so many in the past.”
The dance had almost finished before Henrietta spoke again. When they drew close, she whispered, “Thank you, Rufus. You will get the first invite.”
At the tune’s end, he returned her to the midst of her astonished friends and bowed deeply before departing.
Next, he went in search of Belle. Several of his friends surrounded her and her grandfather, and he mock-berated his friends to step aside. Then he bowed to the marquess.
“Good evening, my lord. Lady Belle.” Finally, Rufus faced her companion. “Fitz.”
“Terrance,” Viscount Fitzgerald said genially. “So you gained enough sense to invite Lady Belle into your house.”
The allusion to Fitz’s and Belle’s previous misconduct was not lost on those who crowded close, most especially the marquess. Rufus could not quite meet the old gentleman’s eyes. Nervous laughter broke out among his friends, and Belle blushed prettily.
“I will have you know that Lady Belle is welcome in my home anytime she wishes,” Rufus said. “She no longer needs your less than stalwart support to gain entrance.”
Fitzgerald’s laugh sounded delighted by the direct hit, and he bowed gallantly to show no ill feelings.
“My lord,” Rufus said to the marquess, “may I be permitted to lead Lady Belle in the next dance?”
“Well, steady on there, old fellow,” Mr. Bosworth said. Rufus’s chum from Eton, Bosworth stood a head shorter than Fitzgerald, but he made up for the shortcoming by his wider girth. “The cotillion is promised to me.”
“And I am sure you are quite happy to relinquish it to me.” Rufus glowered at him.
Bosworth held out his hands in supplication. “If the lady has no objection, you will find none here. I see your disposition has not changed much since we last met, though your taste in ladies has seen a marked improvement.”
His friend’s slight nod toward Rufus’s aunt spoke volumes. He inclined his head in silent communication that his feud with his aunt was indeed over.
“I believe the field is clear,” the marquess said with a congratulatory smile.
Rufus thanked him and held out his arm for Belle.
SHE PLACED HER hand on his and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor. She had dreamed about dancing with him all night long. Whatever the future might hold for them, Belle meant to thoroughly enjoy this one dance, for it might be all she had to treasure of the two of them together for the rest of her life.
As the tune for the “Sir Roger de Coverley” began, Lord Terrance’s hand settled on Belle’s back, and he drew her close.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she immediately forgot the ball and every other man she had danced with tonight. They followed the couple ahead and, in turn, formed the arch. She followed his lead as if her feet were designed for that purpose.
The faces of the other dancers and the crowd’s shouts of laughter receded until only he existed in the swirling, whirling, world of music and light. They spoke not a word, simply dipped and turned, moving as one.
When the music ended, Rufus gestured toward Martin Winfield, who had just arrived with his mother. “You might soon find one more dance partner than you wish.”
“We could get some fresh air,” Belle suggested.
With an approving smile, he led her onto the balcony. Several couples were present, seeking a moment of quiet conversation from the ballroom’s noise and bustle. Despite the chill in the air, Belle did not protest as he guided her out into the moonlit garden. The area was well lit, and they stayed on the cool cobblestone pathway.
If only this night could go on forever, she thought as she gave Rufus a side-glance. He seemed relaxed but lost in thought, and she felt a slight sting that his attention had been so easily drawn away from her.
“If the crush is any indication, the ball seems a success,” she said, still warm from the heat generated from dancing. “Thank you for allowing your mother to host it.”
He looked at her and smiled. “It is I who should thank you for pursuing the matter.”
They stopped beside a large copper beech tree. “I saw your dance with your aunt,” she said. “That gesture meant more to her than you can imagine.”
“It was brought to my attention that I have played a part in our enmity.” He raised his hand, and the backs of his fingers skimmed her cheek as he brushed a tendril of her hair. “Tonight, I hold only good intentions toward those I love.”
She felt a lump form in her throat at his words. She so wanted to be one of those people. How difficult it would be to leave this man. To walk away knowing she might never see him again. And if she did meet him, he might belong to some other woman.
“Why so sad on such a wonderful night?” he asked, frowning down at her in concern. “Are you not enjoying yourself? Has someone upset you?”
She shook her head and gestured about them. “I was just thinking that I would miss all this when it comes time to leave.”
He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. “You do not ever have to leave.”
Her heart jumped like a startled hare. What did he mean?
“Belle, I am asking you to . . .” His words were cut off by a scream from the ballroom.
“What the devil?” he said, releasing her as his head jerked back toward the manor.
“We had best find out what has happened,” she suggested, lifting her skirts.
He nodded, and they ran inside. A crowd of people milled about the doorway to the ballroom.
“What is the matter?” he asked.
A gentleman on the outskirts shook his head. “I do not know, my lord. I have not been able to get close enough to see.”
“Excuse us,” Lord Terrance said firmly and pushed into the crowd until they came to a maid who cowered on the floor, crying hysterically.
Belle crouched and gently touched the woman’s arm. “What is wrong? What has happened to upset you so?”
The maid grabbed Belle’s shoulders, her eyes wide with terror. Before she spoke, Belle saw an image of what had frightened her.
“A ghost!” the maid said. “I seen a ghost, and it wants to kil
l me.”
Belle doubted the spirit planned to hurt the maid. From her glimpse into the woman’s thoughts, the ghost had swooped past and through her, as it had once done with Belle. But it was on the hunt for someone else. Still, that would have been a terrifying experience for the poor woman, and so Belle sympathized with her.
“This is some havey-cavey ball, Terrance,” Martin Winfield said, walking up, “with maids running about in hysterics.”
Belle studied the man who looked out of breath and pale, as if he had recently been running himself or been frightened. Had he seen the ghost, too, but did not wish to admit to so startlingly an encounter?
“My mother is most distressed,” Winfield continued. “I shall have to take her home. No doubt the rest of your guests will do likewise.”
“Do as you see fit,” Lord Terrance said. He ordered everyone away from the maid, saying she needed quiet, that she was obviously upset. Probably by a shadow. Nothing to worry about.
With Felton’s help, he assisted the maid into the library. Belle followed. All the way there, the frightened girl continued to babble on about her experience.
Lord Terrance settled the maid on a chair and said in a firm voice, “There is no such thing as ghosts.”
“There is, my lord, I have seen it. I swear.” She broke off to slump into the chair and cry.
“I will fetch the housekeeper.” Felton hurried from the room, shutting the door behind him to keep out onlookers.
Belle knelt beside the woman. The maid appeared trapped in a state of horror, poor thing.
“What is your name?” she asked in a tranquil voice aimed at calming the hysterical girl. “Can you tell me that? It is an easy question to answer, my dear. Your mother has surely called you by it many times.”
The girl took a deep shaky breath. “I am Melinda.”
“Such a pretty name,” Belle said. “Now, Melinda, I know you are frightened, but we need your help. Can you tell us what happened?”
“Yes, my lady.” The maid sat up and straightened her shoulders, her expression growing determined. “I do not want that thing to hurt any of you.”
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