by Amanda Scott
He laughed. “Of course I do. You mean it should have been Teddy who said, ‘Now, look here, Dambroke….’”
“Well, perhaps, ‘Please, my lord—’”
“Very well. I’m willing to accommodate. ‘Please, my lord, I promise I shall never do it again, but if I do you must send me to the country.’ Like that?”
“It does sound ridiculous put like that,” she agreed, “but it was so harsh and unfeeling the other way. Females would never be so rigid.”
He was still amused. “My dear Catheryn, does it occur to you that you have just reached the crux of the matter?” She looked up at him. “You have involved yourself in business between two males and are trying to understand it with a female mind. It can’t be done any more than I could presume to understand business concocted between two females.”
Her eyes widened into a gaze of such disarming innocence that the earl quite failed to note the spark of anger. “Tell me something, my lord.” She spoke sweetly, and he smiled, clearly thinking he had made his point.
“What is it, my dear?”
“You have seemed until now to be a sensible man. Do you always talk such ridiculous fustian?”
“I beg your pardon!”
“Granted.”
“Catheryn.” The note of warning was there but overridden by amusement.
“Well, you should beg my pardon! Of all the conceited, despicable statements to make, to presume that a female’s understanding is any less acute than a man’s!”
“Don’t take my head off, little one. I cry pardon.” He sighed. “We weren’t even going to discuss this issue.”
“You began it.”
“Must we descend to nursery recriminations?” he moaned.
She chuckled. “No, sir. That did sound childish.” They were silent, each thinking private thoughts while the moonlight danced on leaves made to quiver by a slight spring breeze. Music drifted from the ballroom punctuated occasionally by a note of laughter nearer to hand. Once or twice they passed another couple enjoying the fresh air, but neither noticed the appraising looks cast in their own direction. The music stopped.
“We must go back, sir. The last dance did not matter, but I am promised for this one.”
“One moment.” He turned her to face him, his hands lightly on her shoulders. They were completely alone for that moment. “I have wanted to do this since the day you first arrived.” He bent down swiftly and kissed her.
It was the merest touch of his lips against her own, but it sent a tingling shock wave clear to Catheryn’s toes. She was astounded, taken completely by surprise. Sense and nonsense collided with one another as her mind struggled to cope with a sudden flurry of thought and emotion. How dared he do such a thing! Could he possibly take her for a woman of easy virtue? Perhaps she was one at that, else why had she not evaded him? Of course, she reassured herself, it had happened so quickly that she had had no time to realize his intent before he had taken his liberty; but now, surely now, instead of staring up at him wide-eyed, she ought to react. Why was she standing like a stock, even granting him opportunity to repeat his action? A proper lady would never behave so stupidly. Indeed, a proper lady would smack his face for him. But she had no desire at all to do that. In fact, she realized with a shock nearly as great as that caused by the kiss itself that she rather wished he would do it again. When, instead, he gently took her arm and turned her back toward the balcony, she did not know whether to be glad or sorry.
“May I still take you down to supper?” He seemed anxious, and his voice was oddly gruff.
“Yes, sir.” Her own wasn’t any too steady. She took a deep breath and glanced at him through her lashes. He certainly didn’t look as though he were taking her lightly. On the contrary, his relief when she consented to his supper invitation was patently obvious. Reassured by this attitude, her sensibilities began returning to normal. “It is kind of you to ask me this time,” she said demurely, even smiling when, momentarily puzzled, he raised an eyebrow. “Well, you didn’t ask before, you know. You just took my card and scribbled ‘Dambroke’ across the two dances.”
“I do not scribble.” His voice was steady now.
“No, my lord. My error. You have an elegant hand.”
“Baggage.”
“Just so, my lord.” She had recovered her poise. Her partner stepped up to claim her, and she was quickly swept into the next dance. For the following hour she enjoyed herself hugely, though she wondered what it was about the tall and dashing redhead or the buxom brunette that had attracted his lordship’s attention to the point of his having asked first the one and then the other to dance. The plump girl with the dreadful complexion and overfrilled dress was clearly a duty dance, but those others! Especially the redhead—so tall, so elegant—just the way one would wish to look oneself. Miss Westering sighed.
The time passed quickly enough before the supper dance. It was a quadrille, so they had to attend to the figures and could spare little time for conversation. Before they realized it, they were beyond la pastorale and into la finale. The whole was danced with spirit and energy, the final figure ending with laughter and heaving sides.
Captain Varling and Tiffany were also in their set, so it was natural to go down to supper together. They met Mr. Caston and Lady Prudence, and soon Varling was pushing tables together to accommodate a growing party. It was not until everyone was seated with high-piled plates and the footmen were pouring out the wine that Catheryn saw that Lady Chastity’s partner was none other than the ubiquitous Mr. Lawrence. Dambroke’s sudden frown gave her to realize that he had also noticed the pair. She could only be grateful that they sat at the opposite end of the tables.
“I have been meaning to ask you,” the earl said, his voice low, “what that puppy is doing here in this house.”
“Have you, my lord?”
“He has twice danced with my sister.”
“As have several other young men.”
“To be sure. But again you evade my primary question.”
“He is here because your mother invited him, of course.”
“I shall speak to my mother.”
“Oh, pray do not, sir! You would only upset her. She was not in favor of the notion, I promise you. I had to exert all my powers of persuasion to convince her.”
“You!” He looked at her suspiciously. “Are you certain you are not now trying to protect my sister just as you would have protected Teddy?”
Catheryn stared at him in amazement. “You think Tiffany wanted Mr. Lawrence here?”
“Of course she did. Really, Catheryn, I am more than seven, you know.”
“Dambroke, you are blind!”
He would have responded, but her agitated whispers had caught the ear of the gentleman on her right. “What’s toward here? You two ain’t branglin’ at my supper party!”
Dambroke answered across Catheryn. “Don’t be daft, Tony. As a matter of fact, I was telling Miss Westering that I appreciate the way you’ve been keeping Tiffany occupied and out of the clutches of that damned Lawrence fellow.”
“Have you now, Dickon?” The captain’s eyes twinkled merrily. “My pleasure, I assure you.”
Just then, they were interrupted by Tiffany, sitting between Varling and Lord Thomas. “Catheryn, you’ll never imagine! Lord Thomas’s mama is going to give a masquerade ball! The invitations went out today and we will each receive one!”
Dambroke frowned. “A masquerade?”
“Yes, Richard, a masqued ball!” Tiffany tried to keep her voice low, but it was difficult when she had to speak across two other people. The constant buzz of polite conversation made it difficult to speak to anyone except one’s immediate neighbor, which of course was all one was expected to do. But Tiffany seemed determined not to allow her brother to spoil the fun. She continued, “Surely, you will not object to a masquerade at Clairdon Court! It’s perfectly respectable. Why, the duke is a paragon of virtue, and the duchess is very strict!”
“I’m surp
rised they would allow such a party under their roof,” Dambroke observed.
“Overborne by sheer numbers, my dear boy. Sheer numbers. Six daughters, you know. Imagine having six daughters!” Varling threw up his hands in mock dismay.
“Put a sock in it, Tony,” Dambroke recommended.
“Yes, do,” Tiffany agreed. “Besides, it was Lord Thomas. You know it was, Tony. The girls can never persuade the duke to do anything exciting. It was Lord Thomas, and he got the idea from me,” she added with pride.
“From you!” Dambroke’s brows rose alarmingly. It was clear that he would have liked to continue but was deterred by the public nature of the moment. The set of his jaw and the way his lips thinned to a straight line indicated that he would have more to say to his sister in the not distant future. Tiffany wisely lapsed into silence, but the captain, with a glance at each of them, put the matter into its proper perspective.
“Relax, Dickon,” he said quietly. “It was my sister, not yours, who put the notion in Colby’s head.” Tiffany moved as though to speak, but he kept her silent simply by laying a light hand on her wrist. Catheryn watched in awe. “It was indirectly Tiffany’s doing,” Varling added, “but only in that she mentioned to Maggie how unfair she thought it that they are not allowed to attend the public masques. Maggie spoke of it to Colby, who mentioned it to the duchess, and bingo! A proper masquerade with proper chaperones.”
Dambroke’s expression relaxed, but when Tiffany encountered his direct gaze she dropped her eyes. “I shall have to consider the matter,” he said at last, “I cannot approve of masqued balls.”
Catheryn spoke up innocently. “I think a masque where we knew everyone would be great fun. I should adore to dress as a shepherdess or a moonbeam or some such odd thing.”
“Tonight, you are a sea nymph,” laughed Varling.
“Well, I have never been to a masque before,” she confided, “but I think the best fun would be guessing who everyone is before the unmasking.”
“I suppose there can be no great harm in a private masquerade, if Clairdon approves it,” mused the earl.
XIII
AFTER SO MUCH BUSTLE, the peace and quiet of the weekend was almost unnerving. Teddy’s departure Saturday morning went without a hitch. The boy was a trifle subdued and even allowed Catheryn to give him a hug. Interrupting to give final instructions, Dambroke spoke in such stern tones that she turned away to spare Teddy further embarrassment. To her astonishment, she saw Peter Ashley coming out the front door with a leather satchel under his arm.
“Good morning, Mr. Ashley. You are leaving us?”
He allowed the youngest footman to relieve him of his satchel “Thank you, Michael,” he nodded. “Only for a short time, Miss Westering.” He nodded toward Dambroke and the solemn Teddy. “His lordship has kindly given me leave until Tuesday. I shall visit my father and see if I can prevail upon my cousin Mark to bearlead that cub for the summer.”
Catheryn knew Ashley was the younger son of a clergyman whose living was within the earl’s jurisdiction. “What a good idea!” she exclaimed. “I’m certain a cousin of yours will be unexceptionable. Teddy will be so pleased!”
“Well, he will, because he will like Mark. He’s a second-year man at Oxford, but he became ill shortly after Easter term began and had to go home. He is well now but won’t go back till Michaelmas. If he accepts the post, he will probably stay with Father, since his family lives near Baldock.”
“Could he not stay at the Park?”
Ashley laughed, his blue eyes dancing. “Too independent by half is Mark. I think he will agree to tutor the boy, but I’m not such a gudgeon as to think he will want to be responsible for him twenty-four hours a day!”
“Then, who will look after Teddy?”
“Her ladyship’s cousin, Miss Lucy Felmersham, and two dozen or so servants, I expect.” He smiled. “I know what you mean, Miss Westering, but it will be better for him there. It’s his home, after all, much more so than London, and he has friends in the neighborhood; though, I admit, they are not all approved by the family. Truly,” he added seriously, “you needn’t worry. Straley, the chief groundsman, and Mrs. Trent, the housekeeper, are particularly fond of him.” He saw Teddy climb into the carriage and hastily bade her farewell. A few moments later, the carriage lumbered off, and Dambroke offered her his arm.
“You are unnaturally quiet, Cousin,” he said when they reached the front hall.
She opened her mouth to answer him but thought better of it. She was tired and knew he must be as well. She had no wish to quarrel with him.
“Still angry, Catheryn? Last night you seemed to be in charity with me again.” His voice was gentle, but she remembered how stern he had been with Teddy. She thought, also, that it was no time to think about last night in the garden. The silence lengthened, deepened, became nearly tactile. Finally, Dambroke laid a firm hand upon her shoulder and directed her into the library. The expression in his eyes was tender, but his jaw was set as though he intended to see the matter through once and for all. He shut the door with a snap and leaned against it. “Now, you may say whatever you like without fear of interruption.”
Catheryn pushed an errant curl into place and took a deep breath. This was getting out of hand. She glanced into his eyes and away again. “My lord, you make too much of this.”
“Do I?” It was his lazy drawl, the tone he used when he meant to exert the firmest control over himself. It was odd to hear it now. She hadn’t thought him angry. Not yet.
She eyed him doubtfully. “I believe so,” she said slowly. “I have no right to take you to task, sir. Certainly not the right to say what I like to you.”
“Rubbish.” It was merely a comment, but his eyes began to twinkle, and Catheryn relaxed.
“Did you say ‘rubbish,’ sir?”
“Yes, certainly. You did not hesitate to speak your mind yesterday, little one.”
She felt the telltale color creeping into her cheeks at the endearment and looked down. “I was angry yesterday. Today I am not. Today I am only sad to see Teddy leave.” She looked up and saw one mobile brow arch quizzically. “It’s true, Dambroke. Do not look at me so!”
He shook his head in amusement. “Oh, Catheryn, I am a fool to bait you. I know you still disapprove of my sending Teddy away, but I hope it won’t cause further constraint between us. It is done now.”
“I hold no grudge, sir. I just wish you had not found it necessary to be so stern with him this morning.”
“Did I seem harsh? I assure you it was not my intention to be.” She stole another look at him from under her lashes. He seemed sincere. She sighed.
“I believe you mean that, my lord. It’s a pity you were unable to see or hear yourself. I don’t understand why that boy idolizes you so.”
“He should not.” The words were crisp. “I am a poor subject for hero worship.”
Catheryn chuckled. “I know that, but it’s good to hear that you do, too. You must excuse me now, my lord.” She moved straight toward him, wondering if he would allow her to leave. “I’ve a hundred things to do,” she added firmly. His gaze rested upon her long enough that she had to pause, but when she cocked her head inquiringly, he stepped aside and opened the door.
The rest of the weekend was quite dull. Dambroke, Colby, and the captain went to a town twenty miles away to watch a boxing match, a fine pastime, Catheryn thought, for a man who disapproved of boyish fisticuffs! Instead of the hundred things she had told him she had to do, she was hard-pressed to think of one, and she missed the activity that preceded the ball. More than that, she missed Teddy. Not knowing from one minute to the next what mischief he would create had, she realized, added a certain piquance to life.
The invitations to the duchess’s masque arrived by first post Monday morning, and Tiffany was promptly thrown into a frenzy. How would she contrive? The ball was to be held Friday, May twenty-second, only a fortnight hence. Only a few short days to work a miracle! She was determined not to
be recognized and scorned Catheryn’s intention of wearing a domino and not, as she had previously indicated, some ingenious costume.
“Catheryn, this may be my only opportunity to attend a masque before I am married! We must do the thing properly.”
“Are you marrying so soon, then?”
“Of course not!” But her ladyship was surely blushing. She recovered herself. “Perhaps, I shall be a shepherdess.”
“If you are, you will probably melt right into the crowd,” responded Catheryn, tiring of the subject. “I daresay the place will abound with shepherdesses. Marie Antoinette made the pose quite respectable, you know.”
“A polite way of informing you that you are in a fair way to losing your head over this affair, my dear,” commented a familiar voice from the doorway. Catheryn nearly choked on her toast, and Dambroke stepped forward to offer her a glass of water. Tiffany laughed but kept a wary eye on her brother, believing him unpredictable on the subject of masqued balls.
“You are very late this morning, Richard.”
“The devil I am!” He grinned. “Tony and I ate hours ago and have been twice round the park. I only stopped in to tell you that I shall be out most of the day.”
“White’s, most likely,” Tiffany laughed. “Where is Captain Varling?”
“Gone home. And I shall not be at any of my clubs. Tony tells me he is thinking of selling out.”
“Is he, indeed?” asked his sister at her most nonchalant.
“Yes. Tired of military life already, I expect. Some of our business pertains to that, and later I’ve other appointments of my own. I miss Peter.”
“Poor Mr. Ashley,” mocked Catheryn. “I wonder he has not contrived by now to be in two places at once. Surely, he understands that the Earl of Dambroke requires his secretary to possess such talents.”
Dambroke grinned but refused the gambit and soon departed, leaving Catheryn to be drawn into further discussion of Tiffany’s costume. The countess joined them later in the morning room and finished off any lingering desire her daughter may have had to become a shepherdess.