The duchess had given her a ball gown that she would have no opportunity to wear again and a prayer book…
And it wasn’t even a new prayer book.
“I don’t know how to thank you, ma’am,” Kate managed to say.
The duchess smiled. “It’s nothing, my dear. Run along—and enjoy the ball this evening.”
***
Though the duchess had warned that a ball gown made in such a hurry must of necessity be a simple one, in fact Olivia thought her dress the loveliest thing she had ever owned. Each time she moved, the silver tissue skirt drifted lazily around her, as light and airy as clouds in the summer sky. She felt quite elegant even before she went up to the nursery and watched her daughter’s eyes widen.
“You look like Cinderella,” Charlotte whispered.
Complete with borrowed finery, Olivia thought. Her lacy shawl and fan and shoes were on loan from Lady Townsend, who had flung open her trunks this afternoon for Kate and Olivia to choose from. And though the silver nosegay holder full of baby roses had arrived with the duke’s card attached, Olivia knew that was nothing special, for Kate had told her every lady at Halstead was meant to receive a similar one tonight.
Charlotte settled back into her cot. “The duchess will bring me a sweet from the ball.”
Olivia’s heart sank. Obviously Simon had not passed along her strictures on visiting to his mother. “Did she say she would?”
Charlotte nodded firmly.
“Then I’m sure she meant it. But she will be busy with all her guests until long after you’re asleep.”
“But she promised!”
Olivia thought, And when she realizes you’re not going to be a part of the family after all… “You must not count on her. She will be fully occupied tomorrow with the wedding, Charlotte.”
“I want to see the bride!”
“I think there can be no objection to you and Nurse watching Lady Daphne get into the carriage that will take her to the church.” Olivia looked down at her daughter. “Everyone at Halstead is making you feel very special right now, Charlotte. But in a day or two we’ll be going home to the cottage, and then things will be as they always have been before.”
Charlotte considered. “My pony?” she asked hopefully.
“The pony is not yours, dear. He belongs to the duke, who only loaned him to you for a ride today. In any case, we have no place to keep a pony.”
The child stuck out her lower lip. “But the duke said—”
“The duke said a good many things.” Olivia knew her voice was sharp, and she almost wished Simon was here right now so he could see firsthand the results of his spoiling. “Your pout is most unattractive, Charlotte. It’s time for your prayers.”
Charlotte’s list of people to bless had grown immensely in just one day. She rattled off names from the duke and duchess to the nursery maids and the tweeny who had brought her supper upstairs. But perhaps, Olivia thought hopefully, Charlotte was merely groping for people to bless, to keep her mother beside her for another minute and delay sleep. Perhaps her enthusiastic prayer didn’t mean she would miss those people or even remember them when they vanished from her life.
Finally, however, the amens were said. Olivia scooped up Charlotte for a good-night hug and then went down to dinner.
Most of the ladies hadn’t yet appeared—Olivia thought they were doubtless still primping for the ball, which would begin shortly after dinner was over—but the duke was already in the drawing room, and the instant she came in, she could feel his gaze on her.
She hadn’t seen him all afternoon, not since the archery contest had ended and the winner had laughingly claimed his arm to walk back to the house.
She had to admit she had missed him, and her heart lifted when she caught sight of him. When his gaze ran slowly over her, from the cluster of roses she had woven into her glossy curls all the way to the toes of her borrowed slippers, heat followed, pooling in her belly and making her feet clumsy. He knew it too, for he smiled and let the very tip of his tongue graze his lip, reminding her of the delight he had given her and would no doubt give her again tonight, if this ball was ever behind them…
Not only Charlotte needed to be reminded that none of this was real, that nothing would last. The transformation would not happen precisely at midnight, and Olivia’s dress would not change into rags—but when her time was up, all the special treats would wilt just as quickly as the roses in her nosegay, and she would be back in the cottage among the cinders…
But that would come later. For now, she would enjoy the remaining time. She smiled at the duke and was pleased to see she could have something of the same effect on him that he so effortlessly created in her.
His eyes widened just a little, and he came across the room to her. “Lady Reyne.” Even the soft syllables of her name were a caress that whispered along her skin and made her ache for his touch.
His gaze slid past her to the door. Olivia glanced over her shoulder to see a tall, thin gentleman all in black.
“Archbishop,” the duke said. “I am so pleased you could join us this evening.”
Olivia’s stomach lurched.
“As it turns out,” the duke said softly, “my mother discovered he was in the vicinity after all. And since she is daydreaming of special licenses and hurried ceremonies—”
“The sooner the duchess is disabused of her notion, the better.” Olivia’s voice sounded calmer than it was. “We have not discussed, as yet, how to end this. I suppose I could slap you and walk off the ballroom floor.”
“You needn’t sound gleeful about the possibility. And tomorrow is soon enough.”
Olivia considered. “Because you’re afraid all the bridesmaids might line up to console you overnight?”
“You saw what happened today when you quarreled with me. They were like a pack of flies again.”
“That was not a quarrel. That was a—” She stopped herself short; in a day or two, nothing she had said to him would matter anyway. She would never see him again unless perhaps she chanced to be in the garden some day when he rode through the village. But she would not think about it now. “When do you wish me to jilt you? In the church?”
“I have put the archbishop off until tomorrow so he may enjoy his evening. He and I have an appointment just before Daphne’s wedding.”
“I could throw coffee over you at breakfast.”
“Must you take pleasure in this? I am to meet with the archbishop at ten in the library. If you are there already when he arrives, perhaps even shedding a tear as you tell me that after long reflection you cannot bear to violate your period of mourning, and so you must for the moment decline my offer and postpone our marital happiness…”
“Postpone?” Olivia said. “You said you wanted me to jilt you. That’s an entirely different thing.”
“Yes, but I’ve reconsidered. Leaving my mother with a flutter of hope seems more practical.”
“Practical for you, perhaps, because as long as she thinks you besotted with me, she might not force other young women to your attention. But for me, it’s hardly a pleasant alternative.”
He smiled. “I wish we were alone, Olivia, so I could show you how wrong you are.” He raised his voice. “Archbishop, may I introduce a very special person? I’d like you to meet my… Lady Reyne.”
***
With a dozen bridesmaids keeping score of who he danced with, to say nothing of the other ladies of rank who were present and expecting notice from their host, fully half the ball had passed before Simon had a break from the dance floor.
Finally, however, he bowed before Olivia for the first waltz. “I should turn you down,” she said.
“Then I would be left standing alone, for I could never honor one of the bridesmaids with a waltz when the others have received only country dances. How dreadful for the host to be unable to find a partner.”
“They’re all staring. What if I stumble?”
“I shall hold you closely so you can’
t.”
She flicked a look up at him through her lashes. “And that’s supposed to comfort me?”
Simon noticed that his mother was watching them, her lips pursed thoughtfully. He swept Olivia onto the floor, which fortunately was so crowded that the dance was more intimate than usual. Her steps matched his perfectly; her height was exactly right for him to look into her eyes as they danced; and the brush of her skirt as they spun around the room reminded him of other touches during last night’s long and luxurious lovemaking. He was impatient for the ball to be ended, so he could have her once more under him in an entirely different sort of rhythm.
“You waltz as deliciously as you make love,” he whispered as the music ended, and delighted in the wash of color over her face.
She refused a cold drink, so he walked her over to a corner of the ballroom to join Kate Blakely and the bridesmaid who had fallen down in the abbey ruins. Though the bridesmaid had managed to hobble downstairs for the ball, she was looking interestingly pale, and Simon passed a few minutes in polite conversation lest she feel slighted in favor of the other bridesmaids.
Finally, with his obligations complete, he turned back to Olivia to ask for the next dance. “I have promised it to the colonel,” she said, and though Simon laughed at the idea, she went off with the elderly gentleman who, to Simon’s surprise, was quite good at the country dance.
At loose ends, Simon retreated to the refreshment room and sent one of the footmen after something more substantial than the ratafia and punch his mother had ordered for the ladies.
As he was waiting, Sir Jasper Folsom came in, and Simon—so recently reminded of the bridesmaid’s accident—recalled telling the duchess he would take up the matter of the abbey ruins at the next opportunity. He just hadn’t expected the baronet to be on the guest list for Daphne’s ball. “Sir Jasper, I would like to consult you in a matter that concerns us both.”
“I’ve been expecting you would, Your Grace. A matter of a lady, is it?”
Simon frowned. “My mother has expressed concern about the condition of the abbey ruins, after one of our guests had an accident there.”
“I hope no one’s trying to blame me for it. Anyone foolish enough to walk around on those slimy stones deserves a fall.”
“You know how females can be,” Simon said, and hoped his mother would never get wind of what he’d said. “She’d like to see the whole lot pulled down. Now you and I are men of the world…”
“Indeed we are,” Sir Jasper said. “And this is about far more than a set of ruins, isn’t it, Your Grace? I’d consider pulling the rest of the abbey down, if…”
Simon’s fingers itched with the desire to push Sir Jasper’s oily voice down his throat. “If…?”
“I should say, when we come to an arrangement. That’s a lovely lady you were just waltzing with. Of course, things aren’t always as they seem. What’s it worth to you, Your Grace, to find out why Lady Reyne is really here in Steadham, and what happened to her husband?”
***
The dancing was already well under way when Kate reached the ballroom, for Emily had insisted on walking in by herself rather than letting a footman carry her. Kate supposed the injured bridesmaid thought she made a more sympathetic picture than if she’d merely been carried through the crowd to the small sofa that had been reserved for her. But it took forever for Emily to hop the full length of one of Halstead’s main-floor wings with a walking stick, wincing as she tried to protect both her sprained ankle and her bruised shoulder.
By the time Kate had pulled the sofa around to give Emily the best view, propped her injured foot up on pillows, and arranged her ruffled skirt to the bridesmaid’s satisfaction, the first group of country dances was coming to an end.
“Here comes Mr. Carlisle,” Emily said in a voice loud enough to carry over the music. “I hope he’s not planning to prose on to me about Latin, for none of the other gentlemen will come around if he does.”
Kate set a chair next to the sofa in a position that would not require Emily to turn her head to an uncomfortable angle to chat. But Andrew only made a sketchy bow to the bridesmaid. “I have no Latin prepared for you, Miss Emily. Miss Blakely, may I sign your dance card for the set that is just coming up?”
“I am not planning to dance tonight, Mr. Carlisle.”
Andrew looked around. “Why not? The vicar seems not to be present.”
“I do not base my decisions on the vicar’s opinions,” Kate said, more sharply than she had intended, and she watched Andrew’s eyes narrow. “In any case, Miss Emily needs me.”
Lady Stone craned her neck around a nearby pillar. “Nonsense. The foolish girl is perfectly safe here, and I’ll keep an eye on her. Go and have fun.”
Emily looked horrified. She seemed to think that even listening to Latin would be better than being supervised by Lady Stone.
Andrew offered his arm. “The set is forming, Miss Blakely. I see the archbishop already in position with the duchess. Unless you’d prefer to stroll about the room so we can chat?”
Outnumbered, Kate surrendered.
“If the vicar’s opinion is no longer of interest to you,” Andrew said, “then you must have refused him after all.”
Valid though his conclusion was, the casual statement annoyed Kate in more ways than she could count.
“I thought you said you would not answer him until after the wedding. What did he do, Kate, to make you reject him now? And what do you plan to do instead, with the security of the vicarage no longer in your future?”
I wish I knew, Kate thought.
Andrew looked down at her. “My offer is still open.”
Kate’s breath froze for an instant before she remembered what he was talking about. “Coming with you to the wilds to organize your travel? Do be serious, Mr. Carlisle.” Kate took her place among the dancers, ending up a couple of positions down the set from Olivia and Viscount Chadwick. Kate hoped the young man would prove more adept in the ballroom than he had on the archery range.
At least it was a country dance, not a waltz—and, she realized, as long as she stayed on the ballroom floor Andrew could not quiz her further. So Kate danced one set after another, barely noticing her steps.
The satisfaction of having said her piece to the vicar had died away as the hours slipped by, and though Kate knew she could never regret the decision she had made or the fact she had stood up for herself, reality had begun to settle in. Losing one more option from the pitifully few at her disposal stung. Her time at Halstead was coming to a close. Her hopes, so high when the duchess had first offered the opportunity, had sagged to nothing. There seemed no one except the colonel who wanted a secretary, and no one—at least no one she could bear—who might hire a companion.
Penny was settled; at least Kate was reasonably certain that since neither the Earl nor the Countess of Townsend had appeared for the ball, they were having their own private party upstairs. And as for Olivia… Perhaps she had a point in choosing to be the duke’s mistress, Kate thought as the first waltz started and Olivia whirled about the room in Simon’s arms. Tonight, at least, Olivia seemed contented. Kate alone was at loose ends.
Reluctantly, she returned to the corner where Emily sat. “You’ve been having a good time,” the bridesmaid said between clenched teeth. “You were supposed to stay beside me.”
Lady Stone intervened. “The secret to a satisfying relationship with a companion, Miss Emily, is to make the expectations clear. For instance, I expect my companions to be saucy, pert, and opinionated—so not just anyone will satisfy.”
The duke and Olivia came up to them, and Emily dimpled prettily as she chatted to the duke. He stayed a moment and then excused himself and moved off. Kate saw Olivia watching him wistfully.
Lady Stone’s beady gaze rested expectantly on Kate. “I’ve been watching you this week. You would do for the post, if you’re interested. I’d hate to see you wasted on the colonel.”
Saucy. Pert. Opinionated. Yes, Kate
thought, I can do that. “I’m very interested.”
“Good. We shall consider it settled and discuss the details tomorrow.”
Emily shifted fretfully on her couch. “I want a cold drink.”
Kate didn’t realize Andrew had returned until he said, “Miss Blakely and I will fetch it.”
Still overcome by the sudden shift in her circumstances, and feeling dazed at the idea of working for Lady Stone, Kate obediently took Andrew’s arm to go down the hall to where refreshments were laid out.
They were barely outside the ballroom when Andrew said, “You’re to be Lady Stone’s companion?” His voice dripped disbelief.
“I gather you’ve been eavesdropping again.”
“It seems to be the only way to discover anything where you’re concerned!”
“Kindly do not lecture me, Mr. Carlisle. I had my fill of that this afternoon.”
“So you did turn the vicar down. Or was he ungallant enough to withdraw his offer?”
“The question is insulting.” Even though it cuts uncomfortably close to the truth.
Caught up in her own feelings, Kate almost missed the low-voiced conversation going on in the corner of the refreshment room until she heard Olivia’s name. Only then did she realize that the man who was face to face with the duke—the man who was talking about Olivia’s late husband—was Sir Jasper Folsom.
Now Kate knew where the vicar had heard the gossip about Olivia. And she had a fairly good idea of what Sir Jasper had told him, and what he was now telling the duke.
She turned to Andrew, eyes wide. “Do something to stop him! I’m going to warn Olivia.”
***
Penelope’s ball gown and petticoats had slid off the bed and lay rumpled on the carpet. Candles glowed around the bed, and she felt a delicious lassitude as she lay curled against her husband. Her left hand lay against his chest, the gold of her wedding ring gleaming in the candlelight as she savored the strong beat of his heart against her palm. “Where were you planning to go,” she asked lazily, “when you said you weren’t coming back to London?”
The Wedding Affair Page 27