by Joan Smith
“Shall we go?” Faith asked curtly. “We don’t want to be late for dinner, especially as we mean to leave early.”
“Don’t mention to the Hagills where we are going, Faith, in case no one else there has been invited. The Struthers would not have invited the likes of the Hagills and Clarkes to their party.”
“It is Guy’s party, and I’m sure he would invite whomever he likes. You sound as though he were a pawn.”
“You’re right, of course,” Lady Lynne admitted.
The Hagills’ party was not a great success, perhaps because the ladies could hardly wait to leave it. As soon as Miss Hagill began to drift near the shattered ivories of the keyboard, they made their excuses. Faith was considered brave to enter society at all after jilting Lord Thomas Vane, so no offense was taken at her early departure.
They were silent in the carriage as it delivered them to Piccadilly. A few guests were still arriving at ten-thirty. The mansion was lit from top to bottom, and it made an impressive display towering over the street. An arrow of regret pierced Lady Lynne’s heart; she had failed in bringing about this match for Faith. Too late now to nab anyone for her. Her first failure ever. She must do something truly stunning for Hope next Season to atone for it.
The first surprise that greeted the ladies when they entered was the elegance of the house. Guy had spoken of Marie’s “redoing” it, which was utter nonsense. The second surprise was that there was no sign of the Struthers in the welcoming party. It was that bon enfant, Princess Esterhazy, the wife of the Austrian ambassador, who performed the chore of hostess. The princess was known to them from their visits to Almack’s, where she was one of the hostesses. Beside her, Guy looked suitably impressive in his black evening suit. It took a real gentleman to look at home in a monkey suit, Lady Lynne always thought. Princess Esterhazy smiled a welcome.
“Lady Lynne, I see you staring to see me hostessing Guy’s party. I exacted a stiff price for it. He has promised he will come and make his bows at Almack’s. We have need of eligible bachelors there.”
“Eligible bachelor” struck the chaperone as an odd way to describe a gentleman halfway to the altar, but it was hardly less surprising than to learn that Mr. Delamar had been urged to attend Almack’s, the very pinnacle of London society. The only place higher was the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral.
Lady Lynne passed along the line to Guy. She noticed his lack of ease and put it down to nervousness at his first big do till she chanced to see his eyes sliding off to Faith, who was having a word with Princess Esterhazy. There was an eager brilliance in those eyes, which, coupled with the words “eligible bachelor” and the absence of the Struthers, gave rise to a wild hope. Had she misunderstood the article in the Harbinger? Surely his every utterance on the subject had confirmed her suspicions. Yet there was he, smiling like an Ascot winner and hardly able to restrain himself from pulling Faith away from Princess Esterhazy.
She moved along and stood listening while he welcomed Faith. “I was afraid you’d changed your mind,” he said nervously. Guy Delamar nervous! She didn’t believe it. If that wasn’t a man in love, she was a mackerel. “Everyone has been here for an age. You missed the opening dance. I had hoped you would stand up with me.”
“We dined out, you remember,” Faith said. “We came as soon as decently possible. Your house is magnificent, Guy.”
“Better than my loft above the paper at least,” he joked, looking around at the expanse of finery. “I’m glad you’re not Mr. Delamaring me tonight. Does that mean you’ve forgiven me?”
“I’m sure if there is any forgiving to be done, it is you who must do it. I only regret I did not thank you properly for. . .” She stopped and lowered her voice. “You know, about Thomas. It was horrid for Auntie and me to shab off and leave you to finish up the mess.”
“You did the right thing. That chapter is closed,” he said firmly.
Faith noticed the warmth of his regard and fell into a little confusion. “Where is Lady Marie?” she asked, looking around.
“Dancing with her new fiancé, I expect. She and her mama dropped in yesterday and arranged to have the announcement made here tonight, as there were no openings in the social calendar to allow them a party of their own. I am to be Charles Dempster’s best man at the wedding, so I am heavily involved in the whole affair.”
“Charles Dempster,” she repeated, staring, while realization dawned and a slow smile was born in her eyes. Then he wasn’t marrying Lady Marie!
“I see you approve of the match,” he remarked. “But enough about Charles and Marie. The guests have arrived for the most part. I can leave the door now. I want to secure a dance before you have the excuse of a full card.”
She felt a joyful fluster and forgot her resolution to be gay and charming. She sounded very like a Mordain when she spoke. “Are you using cards for a simple rout? I thought they were only used at balls.”
“I was speaking metaphorically.”
“Oh, dear, a waltz,” she said when the music began. “You know how badly I waltz, Guy. Let us wait for another dance.”
“We’ll have a glass of wine instead,” he suggested, and led her off to the refreshment parlor. It was busy with guests coming and going, each having a word with their host.
“Why don’t we find a quiet corner somewhere?” he asked. “We haven’t had a chance to talk. I was wishing Lady Lynne would leave us alone yesterday afternoon.”
Before she could answer, he took her arm and hastened her along a corridor into a handsome drawing room, a little apart from the ballroom and the other guests. His manner, though determined, was nervous—nearly as nervous as Faith’s.
“What a lovely room,” she said, looking around at the work of Mr. Adams. On the far wall, a marble fireplace gave off a warm glow.
He led her to a sofa, and they sat down. Guy took her glass of wine and placed it on the table beside his own. He said nothing, only lifted his hand and pulled aside the lace shawl that was around her shoulders. His fingers touched her neck. “Ah, I left a bruise,” he said softly. “Can you ever forgive me? Beating a woman! You must think me a savage.” His savage eyes glowed, but his voice was gentle with regret.
Faith felt incapable of speech. A suffocating swelling seemed to be occurring within her. “It wasn’t a beating!” she objected. Her fingers went automatically to her neck, where they encountered his, and soon the two were intertwined.
“I want to explain—if I can. When you came into that room in Bournemouth, I didn’t know how you could be there unless you had arranged it with Thomas. I thought the two of you planned to run off together. Coming on top of my wild-goose chase after the nonexistent Everett Stokely, I was sure you were still in love with Thomas. Then you made a grab for my gun, to convince me. A soldier instinctively protects his weapon. I had struck before I realized . . .”
“I thought you were Thomas,” she said simply. “I was in the closet outside the door, and when he came along, disguised as an old man, I thought it was you.”
“Was it really me you were trying to protect then?” he asked doubtfully. “Millie told me it was so. I’m afraid I’ve become cynical. I thought you had cozzened her.”
“Belle told me Thomas had two pistols, and was drinking. He was an excellent shot, even when he wasn’t sober.”
He smiled, but sadly. “So am I. I was in the room waiting for him. I knew his reputation as a marksman and took the precaution of having a jacket and trousers stuffed to resemble a man, sitting in the shadows, to distract him. He shot without blinking, Faith. It could have been anyone, though I suppose he thought it was Elwood. Actually, Elwood was scrambling around town finding out from Maggie where Thomas was.”
“Thank God it was only a dummy that was shot.”
“I really don’t understand how Lady Lynne could have countenanced such a match,” he said, his brow clouding angrily. “I daresay you brought your own subtle pressures to bear on her?”
“I thought I loved him,”
she admitted. “But not the Thomas Vane you knew, Guy. He had charm and style, wit—oh, I thought him God’s gift to womankind, and I wasn’t alone in my estimation, either. All the time he was planning this treachery. I am a poor judge, it seems.”
“Folks do say love is blind,” he said forgivingly. His own eyes were alert enough to observe her ringless fingers. “It seems it makes a lady forgetful as well. We had a wager . . . Do you remember?”
“Yes, the ring,” she said, and fumbled in her reticule for it. She placed the circle of diamonds on his palm.
He looked at it for a minute, then rose and walked to the fireplace. Without a word, he threw it into the flames. When he didn’t return to the sofa. Faith walked over to join him.
“Why did you do that?”
“Because I love you. I’m a jealous, possessive lover, Faith. It will be many a long day before I can remember your loving Thomas without rancor. I don’t want any physical reminders of him. For me, there’s never been anyone else, you see.”
“What about the Spanish lady?” she reminded him. A puzzled frown creased his brow. “The one you loved in vain.”
“She was no Spaniard,” he said, gazing at her softly. “I think you know now who I meant. I hoped to get his ring off your finger the day we made the wager. But you were still in thrall to him.’’
“No, I just hoped to clear up his thievery quietly.”
“What a vile mess I made of that whole trip. I must have been mad. I can’t think why else I’ve behaved so irrationally—dragging out all my prejudices and ill humor, and finally resorting to physical violence. No, I’m being unfair to myself—perhaps to love. It wasn’t loving you that made me so farouche; it was knowing you despised me, for all the wrong reasons.”
“I never despised you!” she exclaimed.
“I beg to disagree. You’ve treated me as an inferior from the day we met, only because I happen to have red blood in my veins and work for my daily bread.”
“I was only afraid for Thomas. I have learned to admire many things about you.”
“Admire!” he scoffed. “One admires statues and statesmen, not a lover. I loved you from the minute you walked into my office, looking daggers and speaking them, too. Why else did I put this in my pocket that same night?” he asked, and drew out the ivory miniature she had given Thomas.
“You took it!” She looked aghast. “Oh, if only I had known. It was knowing—thinking Thomas took it that convinced me he still loved me. I might have been cured ages ago.”
He shook his head in regret. “That will teach me to loot.”
She took it from his fingers and threw it into the grate with the ring. “There, let that foolish girl burn up, as she deserves to,” she said with satisfaction.
Guy was startled at first, then an approving smile glowed. “That foolish girl has spent a few nights in my bedchamber. Can you recommend someone to replace her?”
She gave him a flustered smile. It caused a leap of hope to enter his feline eyes and a new ardor to enter his speech. “Faith, I love you to distraction. I know I’ve behaved idiotically. I know you’re worlds too good for me. Your family will despise me. Everyone will think I’m only trying to scramble up the social ladder, making a hypocrisy of my egalitarianism, and I don’t give a damn. I have to know. Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” she breathed, and was pulled into his arms for a very tigerish mauling. His lips assaulted hers ferociously, and like any proper lady in love, she returned every assault.
He only stopped kissing her lips to kiss the bruise on her neck, sending a shudder through her body, and to utter recriminations on his boorish behavior.
She didn’t answer. His ardent words and hot lips overrode mere rational thought. She only knew she had managed, despite her own folly, to capture the love of a man who was far too good for her. Nothing else mattered. Not Thomas Vane, not a bruise on the neck. Only this rapturous joy.
“I must learn to control my temper. And I shall,” he said firmly. “You have a softening effect on me. I never suppressed a good story before, Faith.”
“I like your stern ways, Guy. Don’t let the Harbinger sink into being just another news sheet. And speaking of the Harbinger, shouldn’t Mam’selle Ondit be on hand for the Struthers’ announcement?”
“The big story in Mam’selle’s next column, my sweet, is that Lord Westmore regretfully announces the betrothal of his daughter to Mr. D. If he still acknowledges you as his daughter at all. Will he cut up terribly stiff?”
She was giddy with happiness. “Oh, no, he’ll be vastly relieved to be rid of me. Hope is coming on the market next season, you must know, and the law of supply and demand decrees that two Mordains would lower the value.”
“There still wouldn’t be a parti in town good enough for you,” he said ardently.
Lady Lynne, curious to discover where her charge had disappeared to, came along the hall peering into rooms for her. When she discovered Faith behaving with such marvelous impropriety, she softly closed the door and went loping after Mr. Fletcher. Or failing to receive any interest on his part, the chantilly creams looked divine.
Copyright ©1987 by Joan Smith
Originally published by Fawcett Crest in July, 1987
Electronically published in 2004 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
www.RegencyReads.com
Electronic sales: [email protected]
This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.