The Wedding Challenge

by Candace Camp

  Callie found the Cavalier looking down at her, and her breath caught in her throat. His eyes were gray, the color of a stormy sky in this low light, and so steady upon her that she felt herself lost in his gaze. She was near enough to him that she could see the lashes that ringed his eyes, thick and black, shadowing his expression. Who could he be? He seemed completely unfamiliar; surely no costume could disguise someone she knew so well. Yet how could it be that she had not met him sometime in the past five years?

  Was he an interloper, someone who had seized the opportunity a masked ball offered to intrude upon a party to which he had not been invited? But Lady Odelia had apparently recognized him, so surely that was not the case. She supposed he could be a recluse, someone who disliked Society and usually shunned it. However, in that case, why was he here at an enormous party? Certainly his manner was scarcely that of one who was shy or solitary.

  Could it be that he had been abroad for the past few years? A soldier or naval officer, perhaps? Maybe a member of the foreign office. Or simply a dedicated traveler.

  She smiled a little to herself at her fanciful thoughts. No doubt the explanation was something perfectly ordinary. After all, she did not know everyone in the ton.

  “I like to see that,” her companion said.

  “What?” Callie asked, puzzled.

  “The smile upon your face. You have been frowning at me so steadily that I was afraid I must have fallen headlong into your bad graces without even knowing you.”

  “I am sor—” Callie began, then realized the man’s admission. “Then you agree that we are strangers.”

  “Yes. I admit it. I do not know you. I am certain that I would recognize a woman who looks as you do…even in a costume. You cannot hide your beauty.”

  Callie felt her cheeks go warm and was surprised at herself. She was not a schoolgirl to be so easily cast into confusion by a gallant compliment. “And you, sir, cannot hide that you are a terrible flirt.”

  “You wound me. I had thought I was rather skilled at it.”

  Callie chuckled in spite of herself and shook her head.

  “The fact that we are strangers is easily enough remedied,” he went on after a moment. “Simply tell me who you are, and I will tell you who I am.”

  Callie shook her head again. Curious as she was about this man, she found it enjoyable to dance and flirt with him, knowing that he did not know who she was. She did not need to worry about his motives or his intentions. She did not have to weigh each statement for the truth of it or wonder if he was flirting with her—or with an heiress. Even those men who did not need her fortune or pursue her for the sake of it were still aware of it. Her lineage and her fortune were as much a part of her to them as her laughter or her smile. She could never know how any of them might have felt about her if she had been merely a gentleman’s daughter rather than the sister of a duke. It was quite pleasant, she realized, to know that when this man flirted with her, he saw only her, was attracted only to her.

  “Oh, no,” she told him. “We cannot tell each other our names. That would end all the mystery. Did you not just tell me that that was the whole point of a masquerade—the mystery and excitement of not knowing?”

  He laughed. “Ah, fair lady, you have pierced me with my own words. Is it fair, do you think, for one of your beauty to possess so quick a wit, as well?”

  “You, I take it, are accustomed to winning your arguments,” Callie countered.

  “There are times when I do not mind losing. But this is not one of them. I should regret it very much if I lost you.”

  “Lost me, sir? How can you lose what you do not have?”

  “I will lose the chance to see you again,” he replied. “How shall I find you again, not knowing your name?”

  Callie cast him a teasing glance. “Have you so little faith in yourself? I suspect that you would find a way.”

  He grinned back at her. “My lady, your faith in me is most gratifying. But, surely, you will give me a hint, will you not?”

  “Not the slightest,” Callie retorted cheerfully. There was, she was finding, a wonderful freedom in not being herself, in not having to consider whether what she said would reflect badly on her brother or her family name. It was quite nice, actually, for a few moments to be simply a young woman flirting with a handsome gentleman.

  “I can see I must abandon hope in that regard,” he said. “Will you at least tell me who you are dressed to be?”

  “Can you not tell?” Callie asked with mock indignation. “Indeed, sir, you crush me. I had thought my costume obvious.”

  “A Tudor lady, certainly,” he mused. “But not the time of our Lady Pencully’s queen. Her father’s reign, I would guess.”

  Callie inclined her head. “You are quite correct.”

  “And you could not be aught but a queen,” he continued.

  She gave him the same regal nod.

  “Surely, then, you must be the temptress Anne Boleyn.”

  Callie let out a little laugh. “Oh, no, I fear that you have picked the wrong queen. I am not one who would lose my head over any man.”

  “Catherine Parr. Of course. I should have guessed. Beautiful enough to win a king. Intelligent enough to keep him.”

  “And what of you? Are you a particular Cavalier, or simply one of the king’s men?”

  “Merely a Royalist.” He wrinkled his nose. “It was my sister’s idea—I have the uneasy feeling she may have been jesting when she suggested it.”

  “But you need the hair, as well,” Callie pointed out. “A long curling black wig, perhaps.”

  He laughed. “No. I balked at the wig. She tried to talk me into it, but on that I was firm.”

  “Is your sister here tonight?” Callie asked and glanced out across the ballroom. Perhaps she knew his sister.

  “No. I visited her on my way to London. She will not be here until the Season begins.” He studied her, his eyes alight with humor. “Are you trying to guess who I am?”

  Callie chuckled. “You have caught me, sir.”

  “I must tell you that you can easily extract the information from me. My name—”

  “Oh, no, ’twould not be fair. Besides, I will find it out once you have discovered who I am and come to call.”

  “Indeed?” His brows went up, and his eyes glowed suddenly with a light that was not laughter. “I have your permission to call on you?”

  Callie tilted her head to the side, making a show of considering. In truth, she was a little surprised at what she had said. She had not thought about it before the words had popped out of her mouth. It was rather audacious to give someone she had just met permission to call—especially before he even asked. It was, well, forward on her part. Her grandmother, a stickler for rules, would be horrified. She probably should tell him no.

  But Callie found she had not the slightest desire to take back her words. “Why, yes,” she replied with a smile. “I believe you do.”

  The dance ended soon after, and Callie was aware of a pang of regret as her companion led her off the floor. He left her with a bow, raising her hand to briefly brush his lips against it. And even though she could not feel his lips through the cloth of her glove, heat rushed up in her anyway. She watched him walk away, quite the most dashing figure in the room, and she wondered again who he was.

  Would he call on her? she wondered. Had he felt that same surge of attraction that she had? Would he go to the trouble of finding out who she was? Or was he merely a flirt, passing the time with flattering banter? Callie knew that it would take only a few judicious questions to the right people to discover his name, but, oddly enough, she found that she liked not knowing. It added to the anticipation, the little thrill of excitement, wondering if he would indeed come to call.

  She did not have long to think about the Cavalier, however, for her dances were soon all spoken for, and she spent most of the next hour on the dance floor. She was taking a much-needed rest, sipping a glass of punch and chatting with Frances
ca, when she saw her grandmother making her way toward her, gripping the arm of a solemn sandy-haired man.

  Callie groaned under her breath.

  Francesca glanced at her. “Is something the matter?”

  “Just my grandmother. She is bringing over another prospect, I warrant.”

  Lady Haughston spotted the dowager duchess. “Ah. I see.”

  “She has become obsessed with the idea that I must marry soon. I think she fears that if I do not become engaged this next Season, I will spend the rest of my life as a spinster.”

  Francesca glanced again at the pair walking toward them. “And she thinks Alfred Carberry would suit you?” she asked, frowning slightly.

  “She thinks Alfred Carberry would suit her,” Callie replied. “He is in line to inherit an earldom, though given the fact that his grandfather is still alive and hale, not to mention his father, I shouldn’t think it will be until he is in his sixties.”

  “But he is such a dreadfully dull sort,” Francesca pointed out. “All the Carberrys are. I do not suppose they can help it, living all together up there in Northumberland. But I should not think you would enjoy being married to him.”

  “Yes, but, you see, he is so respectable.”

  “Mmm, that is one of the things that makes him so dull.”

  “But that suits my grandmother.”

  “And he’s nearly forty.”

  “Ah, but men my age are apt to be flighty. They might go haring off and do something that isn’t respectable. No, Grandmother prefers them stodgy and dull—and from a good family, of course. Wealth would be nice, but she is not utterly wedded to that.”

  Francesca chuckled. “I fear your grandmother is doomed to disappointment.”

  “Yes, but I am doomed to her lecturing me. She has been doing so all winter.”

  “Oh dear,” Francesca said sympathetically. “Perhaps you should come visit me. My butler has instructions to turn away all dull and stodgy men—or women, for that matter.”

  Callie laughed, opening her fan to hide her mouth as she murmured, “Do not let Grandmother hear that, or she will forbid me to call on you.”

  “Calandra, dear, there you are. Not dancing? And Lady Haughston. How lovely you look, as always.”

  “Thank you, Duchess,” Francesca replied, curtseying. “I must return the compliment, for you are in excellent looks tonight.”

  It was true, of course, for Callie’s grandmother, with her upsweep of snow-white hair and slim, ramrod-straight body, was still an arresting-looking woman. She had been, Callie knew, quite a beauty in her day, and Callie counted herself fortunate that at least the duchess had excellent taste in clothes and had never quibbled about Callie’s choice of wardrobe—aside from a time or two in Callie’s first Season when her grandmother had put her foot down firmly against a ball gown that was other than white.

  “Thank you, my dear.” The duchess smiled in a regal way, taking the compliment as her due. “You know the Honorable Alfred Carberry, do you not?” She turned toward the man at her side, unobtrusively maneuvering things so that the duchess stood facing Francesca and Mr. Carberry was closer to Callie.

  The duchess went on, introducing the women to Carberry. “Lady Haughston. My granddaughter, Lady Calandra. Tell me, Lady Haughston, how is your mother? We must have a nice coze together, for I dare swear I have not seen you since Lord Leighton’s wedding.”

  She laid a hand on Francesca’s arm and glanced over at Callie and Mr. Carberry, effectively separating the two couples. Smiling indulgently, she said, “No doubt you young people would rather not listen to us gossip. Why don’t you ask Lady Calandra to dance, Mr. Carberry, while Lady Haughston and I catch up with each other?”

  Francesca’s brows lifted slightly at being put in a group with the duchess while the honorable Alfred, at least seven or eight years older than she, was termed a young person. However, she knew when she had been outmaneuvered, and she could not help but admire the duchess’s expertise, so, casting a single sparkling glance at Callie, she let the duchess steer her aside.

  Callie, smiling somewhat stiffly, said, “Pray do not feel you must dance with me, sir, just because my grandmother—”

  “Nonsense, my girl,” Mr. Carberry said in the hearty jocular voice that he commonly adopted with his younger relatives. “’Twould be my honor to take a twirl about the floor with you. Enjoying yourself, eh?”

  Callie resigned herself to a dance with the man, reasoning that it would be easier to avoid conversation with him while they were dancing. She was pleased to find, when they took to the floor, that it was a sprightly country dance, which allowed little breath or time for talking, though it was unfortunately a good deal longer than a waltz. She found herself glancing around the floor as they went through the steps, looking for the curving plume of a Cavalier hat.

  Then she had time to do no more than smile and listen to his thanks for the dance before her hand was claimed by her next partner, Mr. Waters. She knew Mr. Waters only slightly, having met him once before, and she had the faint suspicion that the man was probably angling for a wealthy wife, but at least he was a witty conversationalist and a smooth dancer.

  When their dance ended, Mr. Waters suggested a stroll around the room, and Callie agreed. It was almost ten o’clock, which meant that the dancing would shortly cease and soon the guests would start making their way to the supper that would be laid out in the smaller ballroom across the hall. Callie feared that her grandmother would approach her with some “appropriate” escort to lead her in to supper, so she would just as soon stay out of the duchess’s sight for the next few moments.

  They started around the periphery of the room, with her escort making polite conversation about the grandness of the ball, the liveliness of the music and the warmth of the room after the dancing. He paused at one of the doors, open to the terrace to let in some of the refreshingly cold evening air.

  “Ah, that is much better, is it not?” he said. “One can grow quite heated dancing.”

  Callie nodded absently, thinking that perhaps Mr. Waters was not so interesting a conversationalist as she had thought. She glanced around the room and finally spotted her grandmother. The old lady was engaged in conversation with Lord Pomerance, and Callie stifled a groan. Surely her grandmother would not inflict that insufferable windbag upon her! He was younger than Mr. Carberry and less stodgy, but his sense of self-importance was overreaching, and he was certain that everyone around him was deeply interested in all the minute details of his existence.

  “Those two have the right idea,” Mr. Waters continued.

  “What?” Callie’s gaze was fixed on her grandmother.

  Her companion nodded toward the terrace beyond them. “Stepping outside for a bit of fresh air.”

  “Yes, I suppose.”

  The duchess turned her head, searching the room, and Callie knew that she was looking for her.

  Callie whipped around so that her back was to her grandmother. “Yes,” she said quickly. “You are right—a breath of fresh air.”

  She slipped out the door. Her surprised escort hesitated for a fraction of a second, then grinned and hurried out after her.

  Callie walked swiftly away from the ballroom toward the darker reaches of the terrace. The winter air was chilly against her bare arms and neck, but, warmed as she was from dancing in the stuffy room, it was at the moment quite welcome. She stopped when they reached the railing that marked the end of the upper terrace, well beyond where her grandmother might see if she looked out the door from the ballroom.

  “I am sorry,” she told her companion with a quick smile. “You must think me quite mad, rushing out here this way.”

  “Not mad. Impetuous, perhaps,” Waters replied with a smile and reached out to take her hand in both his. “I can only assume that you were as eager as I to be alone.”

  As Callie watched in stunned amazement, he raised her gloved hand to his lips and kissed it, then said, “I had not realized—I had hoped, but I di
d not dream that you might return my affection.”

  “What?” Callie tried to tug her hand from his, but Waters was holding on to it too tightly.

  She saw now the mistake she had made in her impulsive rush to escape her grandmother’s manipulations. With some other gentleman, one whom she knew better, it would have been all right. He would have laughed about her predicament with the duchess and promised to come to her aid. Mr. Waters, obviously, had jumped to the wrong conclusion…or perhaps he had simply seen a golden opportunity to advance his suit with her. Callie could not forget her suspicions that the man was an opportunist.

  She took a step back, but he followed her, still holding her hand and gazing down fervently into her face as he said, “You must know the depth of my feeling for you, the love that burns in my heart….”

  “No! Mr. Waters, I fear that you have misunderstood,” Callie replied firmly. “Pray, let go of my hand.”

  “Not until you have answered me. Lady Calandra, I beseech you, make my dreams come—”

  “Mr. Waters, stop!” With a heave, Callie tore her hand from his grasp. “I am sorry that I inadvertently gave you the wrong impression, but, please, let us put an end to this conversation.”

  She started to walk past him, but Waters grabbed her arms, holding her in place.

  “No, hear me out,” he said. “I love you, Calandra. My heart, my soul, burns for you. I beg you, say that you care for me, too, that there is in your heart a spark that—”

  “Stop this at once,” Callie commanded. “Let us go back inside, and we shall forget that this ever happened.”

  “I do not want to forget,” he told her. “Every moment with you is precious to me.”

  Callie gritted her teeth. His flowery words grated on her, and with each passing moment she was more convinced of his insincerity. This man did not care for her, only for her large dowry, and she no longer had any concern over hurting his feelings.