Her mother seemed prepared to argue her point, but just then Mrs. Baker appeared, carrying a silk ball gown in her arms, trailed by her assistant, who held a half dozen fabric bolts stacked in her arms.
Her mother exclaimed over the beautiful gown, and Diana welcomed the distraction it provided. She had no wish to quarrel with her mother. It was still some years before she would be free to make her way in the world. Ample time for her mother to resign herself to the knowledge that her eldest daughter was too unconventional to accept the restrictions of a society marriage. In the meantime, if it made her mother happy to lavish a few gowns upon her, then it would be churlish of Diana to refuse her that pleasure.
Eight
Light spilled forth from the windows of the Grosvenor Square mansion, illuminating the soft June night. A small crowd of onlookers watched as a procession of private carriages and hackney coaches drew up in front of the steps, and liveried footmen helped the elegantly dressed passengers alight.
Inside, the great house shone as it had not done in years, as guests circulated among the festively decorated public rooms. The dowager Lady Endicott had outdone herself. In the ballroom, a fashionable orchestra played as guests danced underneath fairy lights and hanging silk ribbons. Gentlemen played cards in the library, while in the Chinese parlor ladies fatigued from the dancing could rest on couches and gossip decorously. And in the dining room, where a full forty guests had sat down for dinner, extra servants hired for this evening now arranged a lavish buffet to be served at midnight.
This ball would be the talk of the season, and Stephen knew he owed Caroline his thanks. Indeed, he had much to be grateful for, he reflected, as he accepted the congratulations of yet another well-wisher.
He entered the ballroom, moving around the edges of the crowd until he spotted Diana’s black hair among the myriad of couples dancing. Her height made her easy to find; in fact, she towered over her unfortunate partner. But she did not seem to mind.
Stephen stood, taking pleasure in watching her enjoyment. It was a shame that the rules of propriety were so strict. They had opened the dance together, as was fitting. But he would not be allowed to claim his second dance until much later in the evening.
He wondered what gossips would say if he dared to claim a third dance. No doubt it would be taken as a sign of his infatuation. From the remarks he had overheard this evening, the whole of London believed this to be a love match and thought him to be hopelessly besotted with his betrothed. Speculation about Miss Somerville’s feelings was less clear. Some thought her equally in love, while others credited her with cool calculation and taking advantage of the viscount’s infatuation.
It should have cheered him to know that their deception had worked so well. It was what they had hoped for when entering into this engagement. But, instead, such thoughts were oddly depressing. The more folk congratulated him on his good fortune, the lower his mood became.
It was not real, he reminded himself, as he gazed at Diana. This was not real. She was not his. This was only a play, and at the end, they would go their separate ways.
But did they really have to part? He had grown fond of Diana in these past weeks, and he thought she was fond of him as well. As a friend and companion, at least. Perhaps by the time they reached the autumn, they would realize that they no longer wished to part. Perhaps she would agree to become his wife in truth.
Or perhaps she would cheerfully bid him farewell and think no more of him as she made her plans to venture off to India or South America or whatever uncharted wilderness attracted her fantasy. In a few years he might hear of her exploits, recounted in some newspaper.
“You look uncommonly grim for a gentleman celebrating his engagement.”
Stephen turned and saw Tony Dunne had come up to stand beside him. He forced himself to smile.
“Just woolgathering,” he said. “I think this is going very well, do you not?”
Tony Dunne looked around at the packed ballroom, filled with the cream of London society come to celebrate his friend’s engagement. “Certainly the ball is a success. But are you having regrets about the other?”
There was no need for him to elaborate. As the weeks had passed, and Stephen had spent more and more time in Miss Somerville’s company, Tony Dunne had become increasingly concerned for his friend. He had warned Stephen more than once that it was foolish to become so attached to a woman who planned to walk away from this engagement wholehearted.
“Not regrets. Not precisely,” Stephen said softly, so that no one could overhear him. “Rather I am thinking about opportunities.”
Tony Dunne raised one eyebrow. “Considering how well Miss Somerville would fit the role of Lady Endicott?”
He knew Diana would do very well as Lady Endicott. Once he convinced her to give over her foolish notions of exploring the uncharted corners of the world But even then, would she agree to have him? Or would she want a gentleman who shared her taste for the unconventional?
“I am thinking it is past time I followed your example and found a wife to settle down with,” Stephen said.
“Stephen,” Tony began.
“Do not say it,” Stephen interrupted him. He did not want to hear another lecture on caution or on how fundamentally unsuited he and Miss Somerville were. Tonight was theirs, and he planned to enjoy himself. There would be time enough for caution and regrets on the morrow.
“Trust me, I know what I am doing,” he said.
As the country dance drew to a close, Diana Somerville gave a sigh of relief. Mr. Hopkins was pleasant enough, but not only was he so short that she looked down upon his balding pate, but the unfortunate gentleman lacked all sense of direction or rhythm. Time and time again, she and the other dancers in their set had had to gently steer him in the right direction. Once, when changing partners, he had blundered into another set entirely. It had taken several measures for him to realize his mistake.
“A very great pleasure, Miss Somerville,” Mr. Hopkins said, withdrawing a handkerchief and mopping his brow.
“I thank you,” Diana said, with a practiced smile. It could have been worse, she reflected. She and Mr. Hopkins could have been dancing a waltz.
But there were only two waltzes planned, and Lord Endicott had boldly claimed them for himself. Not that Diana was in any mood to disagree. Indeed, it was pleasant to have such a companionable partner.
Mr. Hopkins led her back to the sidelines, where her mother sat chatting with her friends. Their hostess, the dowager Lady Endicott, had disappeared some time before. No doubt she was supervising the servants, ensuring that the guests in the other rooms were comfortable and that all was in readiness for the midnight supper.
As Diana waited for her next partner to claim her, she caught sight of Lord Endicott, who stood across the room, in conversation with his friend Mr. Dunne. Sensing himself under observation, Lord Endicott looked up and then smiled as she caught his eye.
Diana smiled and inclined her head in recognition. She wished suddenly that he was her next partner. She wanted to tell him how much she was enjoying herself. Tonight was absolutely perfect; between them, he and his stepmother had outdone themselves. Their engagement ball was already being called the event of the season. It was what every young woman dreamed of.
But it was only a pretense, she reminded herself. She and the viscount were but characters in a play, performing for their audience. And yet it was harder and harder to remember that they were only playing their roles and that they were not in truth two people in love, who intended to be married and to spend the rest of their lives together.
Diana frowned and turned slightly, gazing at her mother. Mrs. Somerville had been the first to fall into the trap, she realized. For weeks now her mother had been referring to Diana’s marriage as if it were an accepted fact. “When you are married,” she would say, and Diana, mindful of the listening servants, hesitated to correct her.
She, too, was to blame, for Diana had indulged in her own share of foolish
daydreams. It was simply that she was not an actress. She was not used to pretending, and certainly not for carrying out a deception for more than a month. With all those around her constantly referring to the fact of her impending marriage, and treating Lord Endicott as her fiancé, it was no wonder that Diana, herself, occasionally lost sight of the truth.
When Lord Endicott had first proposed his plan, it had all seemed so simple. They would announce their engagement and then appear in society a handful of times to prove that they were, indeed, a couple. Then they would go their separate ways, until the autumn when they would announce that she had chosen to break off the engagement.
But rather than seeing Lord Endicott a mere handful of times, she saw him almost every day. She had come to rely upon his steady and undemanding presence. When a day or two passed where she did not see him, she found herself oddly at loose ends, as if she were somehow not complete without him.
She realized she had become dangerously dependent upon the viscount’s friendship. And such was folly, for it would only make it harder for them to part when the time came. Diana realized that she must be more cautious in the future. After tonight, there would be no question in society’s mind of the truth of their engagement. There would be no need for her and Lord Endicott to be constantly in each other’s company, and a cooling off period would give them both time to reflect and to regain their equilibrium. And then, at the end of June, she could return to the country and take up the threads of her old life. No doubt Lord Endicott was equally anxious to resume his own well-ordered existence, without the demands of catering to a fiancée.
Her musings were interrupted by the appearance of a young gentleman, who bowed before her. “I apologize for being late, but I believe this is my dance,” he said.
She recalled him only vaguely. His name was Fawkes or Ffolkes or some such, but she did, indeed, remember promising him a dance. So Diana allowed him to take her hand and lead her out to join a set of latecomers that was just forming.
The musicians were playing a quadrille, a slow, stately dance that allowed the partners much time for leisured conversation.
Her partner was a slightly built gentleman, close to herself in age. There was something about him that seemed vaguely familiar.
“I am sorry, I do not recall your name,” Diana said.
“Fox. Mr. Arthur Fox,” her partner said.
“Of course,” Diana said. And, indeed, the name rang a bell in her mind. But she could not place it.
“May I offer my felicitations upon your engagement?”
“Thank you,” Diana replied, as she had a score or more times already this evening.
Mr. Fox fell silent, allowing Diana to concentrate on the figures of the dance, while around them the three other couples were busy flirting, engaged in lively conversation. In the set opposite hers, Diana caught sight of Lord Endicott, partnered with Elizabeth Dunne.
Mr. Fox followed the direction of her gaze. “I was surprised to hear of your engagement,” he said.
Diana raised one eyebrow haughtily. “Indeed?”
“You may not recall, but we had met before. In April. George introduced us.”
For a brief moment her steps faltered as she recalled that Mr. Fox was one of the set of young wastrels who had surrounded George that spring. Then she regained her footing, and her mental equilibrium. There was no point in letting Mr. Fox know that he had discomfited her.
“I have been so busy of late, I can scarcely recall those days. They seem like ancient history,” she said, striving for lightness. She hoped Mr. Fox would heed the warning in her words.
Mr. Fox licked his lips, then glanced around nervously. “I do not mean to bring back unpleasant memories,” he said. “I just wanted to say that I wish you well. Truly. I think Lord Endicott is a fine gentleman,” he said.
His eyes beseeched her, and Diana realized that he had not meant to embarrass her. Rather, this young cub was asking for her forgiveness, though he could scarcely have chosen a worse time or place. Had he no sense of discretion?
“There we can agree,” Diana said. “Lord Endicott may appear reserved, but once you get to know him, you realize that he is worth a dozen of his brother. One could do worse than follow his example.”
“So I have learned,” Mr. Fox said.
Diana waited until a few measures had passed before asking, “Tell me, what do you hear from Mr. Wright these days?”
Mr. Fox shook his head. “I have heard nothing,” he said. “And I do not expect to, for I have broken off that connection.”
“That is for the best,” Diana said.
Such was her good humor this evening that she was inclined to forgive Mr. Fox for whatever part he had played in that disastrous affair. He was only a boy, really. There was still time for him to mend his ways, now that he was free from George’s influence.
“Tell me, what do you think of the news from the Continent? Will Napoleon turn tail? Or will Wellington finally be able to face him on the field of battle?” Diana asked.
Mr. Fox accepted the change of subject gratefully, and they ended the dance in charity with each other.
As befitted his duties as host, Stephen danced several dances with ladies of his acquaintance, but a part of his attention was always on Miss Somerville. She seemed to be enjoying herself immensely, as were their guests. Even he, who normally loathed such crowded events, had to admit that he was enjoying tonight’s festivities.
He had been concerned when he saw Diana partnered with George’s crony, Mr. Fox. A part of him wanted to tear them apart and to rip a strip off that young gentleman’s hide for having the impertinence to dare approach Diana. But his wiser self had prevailed, seeing that Diana did not appear in the least distressed. Still, he inwardly railed against the conventions that strictly limited the attentions that he could pay Miss Somerville, even at a ball held in their honor.
After making certain that Mr. Fox relinquished Miss Somerville to her next partner without incident, Stephen made his excuses and went to check on the gentlemen who had taken themselves off to the card room. He stayed there only briefly, resisting the urgings of one of his friends to take part in a friendly hand of cards, and then, as soon as politeness permitted, he made his return to the ballroom.
As midnight approached, he found himself growing more restless. He was relieved when the conductor finally announced that the next dance would be the supper dance. With quick steps he navigated the ballroom, to where Diana’s last partner stood talking to her. One brief look was enough to send Mr. Campbell on his way, and then he had her to himself.
“Have I told you how lovely you look this evening?” he asked.
“At least twice.” Diana laughed.
Just seeing her, standing here talking to her, was enough to lighten his spirits. Even to inspire him to levity, as if he were once again a green boy.
“Well, then, I have been terribly remiss. I meant to tell you at least thrice,” he said. “Miss Somerville, I vow that you are the prettiest lady in all of London this evening.”
“Only in London?”
“My mistake. In all of England,” he said, pressing his right hand over his heart to indicate his sincerity. “And I will even proclaim you to be far prettier than the ladies of Brazil and the Indian continent.”
Miss Somerville’s blue eyes twinkled. “Flatterer.”
“I speak only the truth,” he said. “For I have eyes for no one but you.”
As he said the words, he realized that they were, indeed, true. Tony Dunne had been right to be concerned. Stephen had long ago forgotten that he was only pretending. In these past weeks, he had played the part of doting fiancé so well that he was no longer certain where the role ended and he began. He realized that he no longer cared. It did not matter that he had entered into this engagement out of a sense of duty or that he and Miss Somerville were almost completely unsuited for each other in temperament and philosophy.
When he was with her he was happy. It was tha
t simple. Even knowing that Miss Somerville was undoubtedly playacting as well did not dampen his enthusiasm. She liked him. He was certain of that much. And, given time, he could convince her to make this a real engagement and to marry him in truth.
“Come now, they are waiting for us,” Miss Somerville prompted him.
“Of course,” he said, and he led her into the center of the ballroom as the orchestra struck up a waltz tune.
The daring waltz allowed him an intimacy that was nearly a public embrace, with one hand resting on Miss Somerville’s trim waist, while the other clasped her hand to his. And unlike most women, her height meant he could look her in the face and catch every nuance of her expression. They fit well together, he decided, and not just on the dance floor.
“You are enjoying yourself?” he asked.
“Immensely,” Miss Somerville replied. “I have never before had a ball held in my honor, and I recommend the experience highly. I wished to thank Lady Endicott for making this such a wonderful occasion, but I have not seen her in some time.”
Stephen glanced around, but his stepmother’s plumed headdress was nowhere to be seen. Strange. Caroline had been called away earlier by one of the servants, but whatever domestic crisis had prompted her to leave should have been solved by now. And it was not like her to miss any opportunity to reign over a ballroom.
“Perhaps she is overseeing the arrangements in the supper room,” he said.
Miss Somerville nodded. “Of course, I should have thought of that. It is just that I have seen so little of her this evening. I had hoped to have a chance to become acquainted with her.”
The less time Miss Somerville spent with Caroline, the better, in his opinion, but he knew better than to voice such a thought aloud. He and Miss Somerville had already quarreled once over his stepmother. He did not intend to repeat that quarrel tonight.
“The demands on a hostess are many,” he said placatingly. “No doubt there will be other occasions in the future where you both will be able to converse at leisure.”
The Wrong Mr. Wright Page 8