Wedding of the Year

by VICTORIA MALVEY

Nodding once, he conceded the point. “Very well, Richard,” he said slowly. “I shall trust you to handle the matter in the best way you see fit. Just try not to hurt her again.”

  “I shall,” he agreed immediately. Lifting his eyes, he gave John a rueful look. “Though I don't think it will be a problem, as the lady will avoid me like the plague in the future.”

  John rubbed at his forehead. “Lord, I wish Catherine would follow suit.”

  “Really?” Richard shook his head in confusion. “I thought things were going well between the two of you.”

  “Not at all,” John said with a laugh. “I vow the lady is determined to drive me mad. For instance, Catherine's now taken it into her head that she wants to become an investigator of sorts.”

  “How's that?”

  Swiftly giving Richard the background of what had happened yesterday, John settled his hip against the chair. “. . . so that's why she's determined to find the identity of the blonde lady.”

  Richard rolled his eyes. “All this romantic rot is enough to make you wonder at a woman's sanity.”

  “True enough.” Straightening, John tapped his fingers against the chair. “I wonder if that was the reason Lady Elizabeth wanted to speak with me. Perhaps Catherine ignored my warning and has gone off on this foolishness.”

  “It's a possibility,” conceded Richard. “Why don't you find Elizabeth and make certain she's all right, and I'll see if I can't locate Lady Catherine in this crush.”

  “Excellent plan,” John declared as he moved forward to clap Richard on the back. “After I'm finished speaking with Lady Elizabeth, we should confer.”

  Nodding in agreement, Richard suggested, “Why don't we meet back here?”

  “Perfect.”

  In unison, the two brothers stepped from the library and headed off to complete their mission.

  11

  Why was she so different?

  Elizabeth sighed softly as she stared at her reflection. Why couldn't she be more like all of the other ladies, like Catherine, and sail successfully through social events? Instead, they were becoming increasingly more painful.

  But in her heart, she knew why she felt so awful. Richard's cut. He'd made it perfectly clear that he had no wish to be around her anymore; what she didn't understand was why. When had things gone so dreadfully wrong between them? At Mr. Dunfee's shop, they'd connected in a manner she'd never experienced, but then he'd withdrawn. Still, when he'd kissed her so passionately at the theater, she'd hoped he had gotten over his strange withdrawal, then he'd pulled back yet again. Yet she'd never expected him to insult her publicly. It was obvious she would never understand him.

  Weary, Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly, wishing this night were over. Perhaps she could sneak out and no one would notice, but even as she thought it, she knew she didn't have a chance of leaving undetected. Even now, the gossips were waiting for her to emerge from the ladies’ salon.

  Anger surged within her as she straightened in her chair. Was she really going to let those old biddies make her hide? Elizabeth glared at herself in the mirror. “You're made of tougher stuff than that,” she muttered to her reflection.

  No, she could only be defeated if she played their game.

  And she wasn't about to allow a bit of gossip to dictate her actions. So Richard gave her the direct cut? So what? She was still standing, still breathing, still able to show everyone that it would take more than an insult to destroy her. Inhaling deeply, Elizabeth calmed herself as she lightly powdered the tear tracks staining her cheeks. It wouldn't do to have anyone notice how upset Richard had made her.

  Instead, she was going to march out of this room and onto that dance floor with her head held high, pretending that his insult hadn't cut her to the quick.

  Satisfied with the repairs to her person, Elizabeth stood slowly, looked at herself in the mirror, and repeated the mantra her mother had taught her. “You're as good as anyone and better than most.”

  Saying Mama's silly statement out loud brought a smile to her face. Elizabeth felt a peace settle over her as she imagined Mama standing right behind her, a hand on her shoulder, urging her forward. Drawing strength from that image, Elizabeth strode from the safety of the parlor.

  The door had no sooner shut behind her when she heard the first snide comment. Elizabeth faltered, but then she imagined her mother next to her, holding her up, guiding her through the treacherous waters. Taking a steadying breath, Elizabeth continued down the hallway without further pause. With her head held high and her stride firm and sure, she felt confident that no one would ever suspect her nerves were raw inside.

  As soon as she entered the ballroom, Lord Wykham appeared at her side. “Lady Elizabeth,” he murmured politely, bowing over her hand in a gentlemanly fashion. “It is so good to see you this evening.” As he straightened, he ran his gaze over her face, as if searching for signs of upset.

  The fact that he apparently had heard of Richard's cut didn't surprise Elizabeth. She was well acquainted with how swiftly hurtful gossip could spread. Still, Lord Wykham's concern was a balm. “As you can see, your brother didn't manage to do me in just yet.”

  “As one who has long suffered Richard's insults, I assure you I bear my own scars from those encounters.” He smiled gently at her. “Still, I hated to hear that such a kind lady as yourself must bear one as well.”

  Elizabeth warmed at his comment. It was little wonder that Catherine was so attracted to Lord Wykham . . . despite her protests to the contrary. Again, Elizabeth wondered what was wrong with her that she'd been more interested in the wild, outrageous Richard than the kind, gentlemanly John. It was, Elizabeth realized, a most dreadful character flaw.

  “Please be assured, my lord, that while your brother's antic stung, it has done no permanent damage and will not leave a scar.” Suddenly, Elizabeth remembered the reason she'd needed to speak with Lord Wykham in the first place. “Though I appreciate your concern, my lord, there is a more pressing matter to which we both must turn our attention.” Glancing around to be certain no one could overhear them, Elizabeth leaned in closer. “Earlier this evening, my sister told me of your dreadful encounter with those ruffians last night. I do hope you are unharmed.”

  Lord Wykham nodded with a chagrined smile. “The fellow wouldn't have been able to land a blow if your sister had remained where I'd told her,” he admitted, his voice tinged with embarrassment.

  “Catherine never was very good at doing as she was told,” Elizabeth said with a laugh. Her amusement quickly died as worry over her sister's latest act of defiance filled her. “I fear she is once again disregarding your advice, my lord.”

  John's fierce gaze rooted her to the spot. “She's going to make inquiries after that blonde woman.”

  It was a statement, not a question. “I believe she means to begin this very evening.”

  “Blast that foolish twi . . .” John broke off as if he had just realized he was speaking with Catherine's sister. “Forgive me, Lady Elizabeth. I meant no disrespect.”

  “None taken,” Elizabeth assured him. “After all, if she's going to act like a foolish twit, then she deserves to be called one.”

  Elizabeth could tell from Lord Wykham's broad grin that he was in complete agreement. “Shall we go look for Catherine?”

  Lord Wykham shook his head. “Richard is searching for her and, once he finds her, he will let me know where she is and what she's been doing. We're to meet back in the library at half past the hour.”

  Elizabeth had no desire to see Richard again . . . ever. “I highly doubt if Catherine will have made more than a few inquiries tonight, so why don't you call upon us tomorrow and we can speak to Catherine together? Perhaps she will listen to the two of us.”

  “Do you really think so?” he asked dryly.

  His doubt made her smile. “No, I don't,” she admitted, “but it is worth a try, don't you think?”

  “We must try something.” His eyes darkened with concern. “Your sister has a
most romantic nature.”

  Elizabeth smiled over the statement. “How long did it take you to notice?”

  “A moment,” he countered with a laugh. “Still, I worry that her tendency to romanticize everything will get her into trouble. In all good conscience, I can't allow her to be wandering about town, getting involved in something that might prove harmful to her.”

  “I feel the same.” With their plans made, Elizabeth fell silent, uncertain of what to say. She'd never excelled at making small talk. Remembering Lord Wykham had to return to the library by half past, she glanced at the clock. It was only ten past. Well, she certainly couldn't stand here mute for the next twenty minutes. Struggling to think of something to fill the awkward pause, Elizabeth grasped at a conversational gambit she'd heard Catherine use before. “Would you care to get some refreshments?”

  “No, I believe we should use this time to try and undo some of the damage done to you this evening, my lady. However, if you're thirsty, I shall be glad to accompany you.”

  She shook her head.

  “Very well then.” Shifting in front of her, Lord Wykham proffered his arm toward her. “Might I have the honor of this dance?”

  Elizabeth hesitated. “I assure you it is quite unnecessary to dance with me simply to squelch the gossip.”

  “On the contrary, my lady, I consider it not only necessary, but enjoyable as well. Since it was a Vernon who hurt you, it should be a Vernon to help set things right.” He tilted his head to the side. “Are you truly going to allow me to stand here with my arm offered to you and not accepting it?”

  Feeling the weight of stares upon them, Elizabeth took his arm and accompanied him onto the dance floor. “You are a true gentleman.”

  John exaggerated a grimace. “Please don't say things like that too loudly,” he returned with a laugh. “Your sister is already convinced I'm a staid, old bore. I should hate to make things worse by having her overhear you.”

  “Very well, kind sir,” Elizabeth countered brightly. “I shall only repeat tales of your wild antics.”

  His mouth twisted into a rueful smile. “If you're only going to speak of my wildness, I fear you'll never speak of me.”

  Laughing at Lord Wykham's jest, Elizabeth found it easy to ignore the rustle of whispers behind fans and the unwavering stares. With a fond smile at the marquess, Elizabeth couldn't help but think that if Catherine allowed this fine gentleman to slip away, then her sister was completely, utterly, no, certifiably crazy.

  “You've got cheek to approach me after what you did to my sister!”

  Staring down at the mutinous expression upon Lady Catherine's face, Richard shook his head. Lord, what was he thinking, to approach yet another Everley female? As both he and John could attest, both girls had their share of maddening qualities. “I didn't mean to get this close, actually,” Richard admitted without compunction.

  “Oh, really,” drawled Lady Catherine. Glaring at him, she stabbed her finger into his chest. “Were you spying on me, then? For that overbearing brother of yours, no doubt.” She scoffed with disgust as she crossed her arms. “Is there no depths to which you two won't sink?”

  Rubbing at his chest, Richard couldn't help but laugh. “Ouch,” he said mildly. “You've got quite a sharp fingertip there.”

  “Do you find this amusing?” Lady Catherine demanded. “I suppose you had a hearty laugh over the way you completely humiliated my sister, didn't you?”

  Richard sobered immediately. “I didn't mean to humiliate her.”

  “Then why did you cut her?”

  “Because it is best if she stay away from me,” he ground out.

  “I'm quite certain that won't be a problem in the future.”

  Richard's eyes blazed with frustration. “Excellent. Then it makes the cut worthwhile.”

  Suddenly, Catherine stilled, her gaze fixed upon his face. “Are you saying you cut her for her own good?”

  “Yes.”

  “How could your insult possibly help her?” she asked, her voice dark with bewilderment.

  “It keeps her away from me.” Richard thrust a hand through his hair. “I can't explain everything to you, Lady Catherine. You'll just have to trust me when I say your sister is better off far away from me.”

  “Why?”

  “You're just going to have to trust me on this, my lady.”

  She lifted her brows. “I find it trying to believe someone who just embarrassed my sister.”

  “I understand,” he said, flinching from the lash of guilt. It was for the best, he reminded himself.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Dear Heavens, you're in love with her, aren't you?”

  Richard's head snapped up. “Of all the preposterous . . .”

  “There's nothing preposterous about it at all,” Catherine-returned swiftly. “You say that she's better off without you, so you cut her in order to save her from you.”

  Her words were on the mark. Richard stiffened, but remained silent. Dear God, were his feelings so bloody transparent?

  Slowly, Catherine nodded as if she were considering this new development. “If you'll excuse me, Lord Vernon, I need to see to my sister.”

  Bowing, he watched her walk away, praying she didn't disclose his feelings to Elizabeth. Not that she'd believe Catherine anyway, Richard thought bitterly. No, he'd seen to it that Elizabeth despised him.

  Lord, he'd never realized how regret soured a man's thoughts. Though he wanted nothing more than to be left alone, Lady Atherton moved to his side.

  “Good evening, Lord Vernon,” she said to him, even though her gaze was still trained upon Lady Catherine's retreating back. “I couldn't help but notice what a . . . spirited discussion you were having with Lady Catherine.”

  Lord save him from all the busybodies of the ton! Plastering a smile onto his face, Richard nodded politely. “Lady Catherine has a wit that lends itself to spirited conversations,” he said politely.

  “So true.” Lady Atherton tapped her fan against her gloved hand. “I don't mean to be intrusive, my lord, but one thing piqued my curiosity. Does Lady Catherine have an ailment that affects her voice?”

  Frowning over the odd question, Richard shook his head. “No.”

  “Oh.” Lady Atherton's brows drew downward. “Then why were you standing so close to one another during your conversation?” Adopting an air of remorse, she pressed her hand to her chest. “Please pardon my bluntness, Lord Vernon. I mean no offense; it's just I couldn't help but wonder at the reason.”

  Because I didn't want gossips like you overhearing our conversation, Richard thought even as he kept his polite expression firmly fixed on his face. To Lady Atherton, he merely lifted a shoulder negligently. “With the large crush, I found it difficult to hear her replies, so I simply moved closer.”

  “Hmmm, yes, that makes sense, but . . .”

  “Excuse me, my lady,” Richard said, interrupting her, for it was clear she was like a dog with a bone and had no intention of letting go. And if she thought for one moment that he would reveal the intimate comments he'd exchanged with Lady Catherine, then she'd been enjoying a few too many glasses of claret. “I'm afraid I must take my leave now, as I have an appointment.”

  “Now?” she exclaimed. “In the middle of my ball?”

  “Yes. I'm sorry, but it was something I arranged before I received your invitation. Naturally I wouldn't want to miss your affair, a premier event of the Season,” he interjected, lying without a qualm, “so I arranged for a very late meeting.” With a quick bow, he was gone.

  Lady Atherton was watching him leave when Lady Jersey moved to her side. “I must say, Ellie, with all the intrigue between Lord Wykham, Lord Vernon, Lady Elizabeth, and Lady Catherine, your party has become the finest of the Season.”

  “Thank you, Florence. I agree that the romances between the Wykham sons and the Shipham daughters has become first tier.” She nodded knowingly. “And just when you think you know which brother is interested in which sister, they switc
h on you again.”

  Lady Jersey remained silent for a moment, savoring the delightful observation. “Isn't that fascinatingly scandalous? Last night, Lord Wykham was seen with Lady Catherine in the Shipham box and Lord Vernon was with Lady Elizabeth in the Wykham box, but this evening, Lord Wykham danced with Lady Elizabeth while Lord Vernon gave her the direct cut and then spent time with Lady Catherine engaged in a most . . . passionate exchange,” she finished, completely out of breath by the end. “It is all so confusing . . . and more than a bit scandalous.”

  “Delightfully so,” agreed Lady Atherton. “I can't wait to see what happens tomorrow night!”

  His ears still rang from the alarmed predictions of close friends and casual acquaintances alike. Weary to the bone, Douglas shut the door to his room, leaning back against it. Try as he might, he couldn't sort through all the gossip to reach an understanding as to why society was so aghast with his daughters, the marquess, and his brother. As far as he was concerned, they hadn't done anything more scandalous than speak to each other.

  Pushing away from the door, Douglas struggled to find the harm in their discussions. To his way of thinking, the number of females and males were equal, so what did it matter who wound up with whom? Rubbing at his temple, Douglas looked toward the fireplace for his wife. Margaret had always been far more adept at understanding the follies of the ton. Certainly she would know if he should intervene or if he should merely allow fate to play its course.

  “Margaret?” Looking around, he didn't see her ethereal form anywhere. “Are you here, my love?” But no vision appeared.

  Panic clawed at him as Douglas called for his wife's ghostly presence once again. “Margaret? Please come to me,” he pleaded, his voice breaking on the last word. Dear God, how could he survive if he couldn't see her every night? He needed her still. He drew strength from her spirit to face the next day, found soothing peace from the demands of his life while in her presence, and garnered the courage from her nightly visits to awake, alone and cold, every morning.