A Lady's Point of View

by Diamond, Jacqueline

  “A cautious reply,” he said.

  “It would be dishonest of me to pretend I’ve spent much time away from town.” Cynthia dimpled coyly. “I can only judge from a house party or two, and on that basis, I must say that it is one’s company which determines everything.”

  “You don’t like to ride?”

  The countess despised horses. “One must ride, for how else can one show off one’s riding costume?” She laughed, pleased at how well she’d avoided an outright lie.

  A short time later, after her visitors departed, the widow reviewed her conversation, concluded that she had conducted herself well, and began planning her next step. She’d surmised that the two men would attend the Linleys’ ball. Well, so would she, and in her exceedingly low-necked new gown, she would set Lord Bryn’s head spinning as she whirled in his arms.

  Whoever had invented the waltz must have had Cynthia Darnet in mind.

  Chapter Nineteen

  When Edward Cockerell informed his sister at the breakfast table that Lord Bryn would accompany them that night, she immediately saw two possibilities. The first was complete disaster. Between her brother and the marquis, Angela and Meg Linley would both be reduced to tears and humiliated in front of society. The second possibility was a triumph of the first order. Love would somehow find a way, and everyone would live happily ever after.

  Helen advised Edward that if he created any trouble, she would personally tie him to the tail of a runaway horse.

  “I have no intention of creating a disturbance,” he snapped, offended. “May I point out that I am not the member of the family who has a talent for getting us into scrapes?”

  Helen was on the point of retorting when cousin Rachel trounced in, her wispy hair stuck atop her head in a disordered imitation of her elders’ coiffures.

  “Go right back upstairs and have Agnes brush out your hair,” Helen commanded.

  “I’m tired of being treated as a child! I’m almost thirteen.”

  “Don’t pout, Rachel.” Edward glared over the rim of his coffee cup. “Do as your cousin says.”

  “I’m going to ask Mama!” The child stomped back through the house.

  “You see what an example you set for her?” Edward took advantage of the situation to point out. “Always insisting upon having your way. A woman should allow herself to be guided by her guardian.”

  “Oh, indeed?” returned Helen. “I’m to bat my eyes and flirt like Lady Darnet, am I? A splendid example of the fair sex she is, that hypocritical schemer.”

  “Your language!” Her brother seemed shocked.

  “Never mind.” She realised she’d strayed onto the wrong path. “I want your guarantee that neither you nor Lord Bryn will embarrass Angela or Meg.”

  “One can hardly make such a vow on behalf of someone else, can one?” Edward snorted. “Particularly a marquis. You’d do better to try to engage his affections for yourself, my dear. Two seasons, and you haven’t yet made a match.”

  “I have my share of admirers,” said Helen, which was true. She’d refused two offers of marriage that same month, as her brother well knew. She preferred to enjoy her freedom as long as possible. “Well, you can tell Lord Bryn for me that if he harms either of my friends, I’ll tie him to the tail of a horse and smack it hard enough to bolt.”

  “I shall do no such thing.” Her brother rose from the table and departed, just as Aunt Emily entered with a much-abashed Rachel and her gleeful younger brother, Teddy, in tow.

  Helen spent the afternoon closeted in her private rooms with the émigré hairdresser Pierre Lebeau. She was doubly grateful for his services, since they gave her an excuse to avoid seeing Cynthia Darnet when she paid an unexpected visit.

  The two women had never felt anything for each other beyond a mild dislike, but the countess refused to let that hinder her in any way. She had called upon Helen in the hopes of encountering Lord Bryn again, and perhaps drawing from him in advance the request for a dance that evening. He hadn’t yet seen the current crop of unmarried girls, and Cynthia intended to do everything in her power to secure him for herself.

  Standing in the hallway awaiting word as to whether Miss Cockerell was at home, Lady Darnet espied a young girl peeping at her from around a corner. She had no fondness for children, but the creature’s open admiration stayed a sharp rebuff.

  “I’m Rachel,” said the girl. “You’re Lady Darnet, aren’t you?”

  “As you just heard me inform the butler.” In fairness, she had to admit the chit possessed excellent features and clear, youthful skin. In a few years she’d be the centre of attention, and Cynthia begrudged her every whit of it.

  “I want to look like you.” Unexpectedly, a sullen expression crossed the young face. “My cousins Edward and Helen are always telling me I’m too young. Why, this very morning—”

  “Did Lord Bryn breakfast with you?” Lady Darnet dared to ask.

  “No, but they were talking about him.” Rachel scraped one toe along the parquet floor. “They don’t know that I read the letter.”

  “What letter?” This conversation was proving more interesting than Cynthia had expected, and she glanced worriedly up the staircase for fear the butler would return too soon.

  “The one Miss Linley wrote.” Rachel could contain herself no longer. “What a lark that was! She pretended to be a governess and went to live with Lord Bryn, and when he found out, what a great fuss he made! Isn’t that splendid? They’d simply die if they knew I’d read it.”

  “Then we shan’t tell anyone, shall we?” said Lady Darnet, and as soon as the butler conveyed Miss Cockerell’s apologies, she went away more than satisfied with the results of her visit.

  What a worthwhile call this had been! Precisely what use she would make of this information, Cynthia didn’t yet know, but she had no doubt it would serve her well.

  Helen set out that evening with considerable misgivings. As for the two gentleman accompanying her, she could cheerfully have strangled them both.

  Lord Bryn appeared as devilish and dour as she had feared, and Edward wore the peevish expression of a young boy forced to attend the funeral of an elderly relative. How two of the most beautiful and sweet-tempered women in the world could have fallen in love with this pair of coal-hearts was more than Helen could fathom.

  Angela was, at that moment, thinking much the same thing as she applied a light dusting of powder to remove the shine from her unblemished skin. She had felt both hope and distress upon learning the previous day that Edward would be attending. Surely he was only yielding to his sibling’s insistence. The possibility of a reconciliation was, she knew, extremely small.

  Angela had concentrated that week on the increasingly difficult task of exhibiting pleasantness toward Sir Manfred, who visited daily and showered her with damp kisses. Carefully she sidestepped his requests to set a date for the wedding, with the excuse that they must wait until after the ball.

  As for Meg, she walked through the days like a person asleep. Obediently she ran errands to the florist’s shop and the milliner’s, supervised the placement of potted ferns and the arranging of candles, and purchased violet ribbons and Irish lace to retrim a lavender gown of Helen’s.

  All the while, she tried to grasp the enormity of the catastrophe that had descended upon them. Her own unhappiness was bearable; had she not previously resigned herself to the unmarried state? But she could scarcely bear to see her dear sister assume an air of passive acceptance whenever Sir Manfred came to call.

  Briefly Meg wondered if she hadn’t best set fire to his coat, or otherwise offend him so grievously that he would stalk out of their lives. And so she might have done, in a fit of sisterly love, had it not been for the strain so apparent on Lady Mary’s countenance.

  The emeralds had been a family heirloom, passed down from her mother and grandmother. To sell them had been to tear out a piece of her soul. Mary had prided herself since childhood on her ability to manage well, regardless of the circumstance
s. This talent had stood her in good stead after the death of her husband. Then had come the biggest decision of her life. Should she remain peacefully and solvently in Derby, or gamble her life’s savings on her daughters’ futures?

  She’d taken the risk, and had never regretted it until now. Despite her apparent indifference to Angela’s feelings, Lady Mary was well aware that her daughter was making a woman’s supreme sacrifice.

  So she smiled upon Sir Manfred, who daily grew more odious in his patting and pawing of Angela, and ordered up an elegant midnight supper for the ball. Their guests, all unknowing, would be, in effect, consuming the Linleys’ dreams.

  The ballroom in their rented house was scarcely large enough for the purpose, but fortunately a mad crush was considered a sign of success, so Lady Mary didn’t worry overmuch on that score. It was unfashionably located on the ground floor, but there was nothing to be done about that, either. Aired, dusted, and decked with flowers, it would have to do.

  As was her custom, Lady Mary dressed in black. The twilled sarcenet had served her for two seasons and, despite the snagged edges of the sleeves and hem, would have to suffice again tonight.

  She glowed with pride at the sight of her two girls descending the staircase, Angela blonde and pale in light green crepe, Meg stunning in lavender silk. Although it still seemed odd to see her wearing spectacles, it did come as a great relief that she no longer stumbled and squinted.

  “How well your clothes suit you both,” Lady Mary remarked. “Do try to appear a bit more cheerful. The season isn’t over, Meg, and you still have a chance.”

  Her elder daughter nodded obediently, and slipped an arm about Angela’s waist. They had each other. The comfort of a sister was unlike any other, Mary reflected, and hoped they might continue to comfort each other after Angela’s marriage.

  When their mother turned away, Meg whispered, “It’s not too late. You needn’t marry him.”

  “I must!” Angela had resolved to accept her fate with good grace. “Else we’ll all land in debtors’ prison before the year is out. And I told you how Lady Darnet found us. She could ruin me.”

  Meg sniffed. “I never did like her. I find something havey-cavey about all this.”

  The sisters joined their mother in the entrance hall as the creak of carriage wheels and the jingle of harnesses sounded in the street outside. “Hold my hand when Edward comes in,” Angela told Meg. “I mustn’t show my feelings.”

  “Indeed not.” Lady Mary’s crisp emphasis proved remarkably steadying.

  The arrivals began. These included Lord and Lady Sefton, the Drummond Burrells, Lady Jersey, the Cowpers, Lady Darnet in a shockingly low-cut gown, and, of course, Sir Manfred, who favoured his intended with a knowing wink.

  Angela shifted uncomfortably, hot beneath her gown. Perhaps Edward wouldn’t come after all, she reflected, and felt both relief and a sharp pang of dismay. For the first time, she truly entertained thoughts of what her future would be like.

  How could she marry Sir Manfred? The touch of those clammy hands aroused only disgust, and the memory of his stolen kisses shuddered through her. Angela had only the vaguest notion of what transpired between husband and wife. But she couldn’t help being aware that it involved even more physical intimacy than she had yet experienced, and the notion filled her with revulsion.

  She took her cue from her sister. Chin up, Angela told herself, and did her best to comport herself like a duchess.

  Meg kept her head high, pretending not to notice the smirks and behind-the-hand remarks of some of the guests. Did they recognize the made-over gowns? Had they learned somehow of her escapade as a governess? Or was this merely the stale scandal left from Almack’s?

  Most of the whispering ended when Beau Brummell joined the throng, evidence that he harboured no ill will. Meg, determined not to repeat her former mistakes, had prevailed upon her mother, and won permission to wear the spectacles. Now she adjusted them upon her nose, peered at the Beau, and curtseyed prettily.

  When she looked up, he had raised his own quizzing glass in response, and they shared a smile. That was one enemy won back, at least, she thought with a sigh.

  As the crush grew even more pronounced, Meg excused herself to see to the servants. She hurried into the ballroom, relieved to be free of the onerous duty of exchanging compliments with people she scarcely knew. The wine and ratafia were flowing freely, and in the kitchen Meg found preparations well under way for the midnight supper. Their cook might lack the elegance of the French chefs employed by dukes and princes, but she was a dependable, down-to-earth sort who never panicked.

  Everything was under control, Meg concluded, and left the kitchen.

  She paused, hearing the clatter of pans behind her and the tinkle of voices ahead. If only she dared make her escape. What a strain this evening was, a celebration of a tragic union. How gleefully the visitors were sure to drink and dance and laugh, visitors who had only weeks before snubbed Lady Mary’s family.

  I have become too cynical for life in town, Meg reflected. One can only dine upon swans’ tongues and French fruits for a year or so. Then the palate becomes weary, and one longs for boiled chicken and fresh strawberries.

  Against her will, her thoughts returned to Brynwood. How happy she had been there. How idyllic those few weeks had seemed, playing with the children and going on picnics...

  The memory of a pair of strong arms and gently insistent lips nearly overset her. She quickened her step toward the entrance hall.

  Scarcely had Meg gone off than the Cockerell party made its appearance. Angela saw Helen first, and gave her a tremulous smile. Then came a tall gentleman whom she did not know, followed by Edward. Their gazes met momentarily, and then both looked away. Edward’s expression was impatient, as if he longed to be done with the evening.

  And so he must, Angela thought, drawing herself up straighter and recalling the announcement to be made later that night. It would make no difference to Mr. Cockerell whom she married, but at least her family would be safe.

  “Good evening.” Helen swooped forward to kiss the cheeks of mother and daughter. “I hope you don’t mind, but Edward invited an old friend.”

  Lady Mary was staring at the tall man with a curious expression, Angela noted. Who could he be?

  “Meg isn’t ill, is she?” Helen continued, leaving her two escorts waiting to proffer their greetings.

  “No, just gone to check on the preparations,” said Angela, since her mother remained speechless. Whatever had got into Lady Mary?

  Thankfully, Angela saw her sister approaching down the hallway, extending her hands to Helen. “How good to see you!” Meg said.

  “And you as well.” Helen glanced at the gown meaningfully and winked.

  Catching sight of the men, Meg turned as white as a come-out gown. Minutes seemed to tick by before she said, scarce above a whisper, “Lord Bryn.”

  At once Angela understood her mother’s reaction. She wished they had cancelled the ball, and to the devil with what society would say! Oh, Lord, how were they—and their reputations--to survive this night?

  Chapter Twenty

  Lady Mary recovered well enough to extend her hand to the marquis. “How delightful to see you,” she said. “We’re honoured to have you as our guest.”

  “Charmed, madam,” he replied, bowing politely over her hand.

  Meg’s initial numb reaction sharpened into disbelief touched with fear. Was it his intention to embarrass her at her own sister’s engagement party? Surely he would not stoop so low, but what could account for his unexpected presence in London?

  Her anxiety was in no way relieved when the marquis requested the first dance. She knew that stormy glint in his eyes too well to imagine that he had forgiven her transgressions.

  “Why have you come?” she asked bluntly as he escorted her into the ballroom. Although his touch contained no hint of tenderness, her body swayed toward him of its own accord. Whatever bonds tied them had not yet fully unra
velled.

  Taking her question at its face, he said, “As you may recall, I have need of a governess. I resolved to hire one in person this time, and one usually finds the best governesses in London.”

  “But why come to our ball?” Meg avoided his eyes. She could not bear the coldness there.

  Before replying, the marquis placed one hand upon her waist, as required by the waltz, and pressed his palm to hers. As the music began, they set off together with a natural rhythm, each sensitive to the other’s slightest motion. “Edward invited me, and I thought it might be amusing.”

  “Amusing?” Would he never cease this sneering demeanour? Was this truly anger, or a side of him she had merely failed to observe through blind infatuation?

  Lord Bryn gave no sign of noticing her distress. “I was interested to learn that you spread word of your prank among your friends.”

  Meg gasped. “So that’s why everyone was gossiping about me! But I told no one outside my family. Except my dearest bosom bow, of course.”

  “Indeed.”

  He could have given deportment lessons to a block of ice. Justifiably, perhaps, she must concede. Being on such intimate terms with Helen, she had felt it only natural to confide in her, but she could understand how different such an act must appear to his lordship. Still, Helen would never gossip.

  “It must have been Edward who tattled.” The man dropped even lower in Meg’s esteem. “He read the letter I wrote to his sister, who is my closest friend. The information was meant for no eyes but hers.”

  “ Ah.” Lord Bryn’s countenance shed a trace of its superciliousness. “Perhaps I misunderstood. It was Edward who spoke to me of the matter, and I assumed you had intended it to be general knowledge.”

  “I certainly did not!” exclaimed Meg. “You came here to punish me, then?”

  “That entered my mind.” The marquis looked almost, but not quite, ashamed of himself. “I care little for what others may say, but it is not in my nature to sit idly by while I am made a laughingstock.”