“Perhaps you should ask her for the next dance.”
He tore his gaze away from the dancers. “Couldn’t do that. Can’t dance like Salcombe.”
“Oh, that does not matter. I am certain she will be delighted to stand up with you.”
“Do you?” He stared at Emily for a moment longer, his expression bemused. “Somehow don’t think she’ll like me stepping on her feet.”
“But you did very well when we were practising with the others.”
“There was just a few of us then.”
She could not persuade him. When the music finally ended, two of Tom’s friends were already at Emily’s side. Before she could make her way over with Sir Preston, Brandt appeared. He had a slight smile at his mouth, but the expression in his eyes was anything but amused. “Good evening, Kentworth. I trust you do not mind if I steal my fiancée away for the next dance.”
“Of course.” He still looked rather preoccupied, which Chloe hoped was a good sign. “Believe I will take myself off to the card room.”
Chloe stared after him and then slowly looked back at Brandt. He still appeared rather grim. “Did you wish to dance?” she asked him brightly.
“Yes.” He took her arm, a trifle roughly and marched her into the set. He released her, but from his tensed jaw she suspected he was reining in his temper. He looked no less riled as the dance began.
Really! Whatever had put him up in arms? Her speaking with Sir Preston? Just because they were betrothed did not mean he should act so…so possessive.
They came together. “You should at least make an attempt to appear pleased with my company,” he said.
“Only if you appear pleased with mine!”
“I am.”
“You look as if you are about to have a fit of apoplexy.”
He shot her a stormy look as they parted. At least she had the pleasure of seeing him on the edge of an explosion. Her pleasure was short-lived. The same sense of being trapped washed over her, just as it had with Lucien and her father and finally with Arthur. She was about to be scolded for doing nothing more than attempting to make things right. She had no doubt he intended to ring a peal over her.
Her trepidation increased as the dance drew to a close. And when he said, “I wish to speak to you,” it was all she could do to keep from shrinking back. She went with him across the floor, her head high and he found a niche behind a large sickly-looking potted plant.
She touched one of its stunted leaves. “I dare say this poor plant would be much happier if it was moved by a window.”
“I did not bring you here to discuss plants.”
She forced herself to look at him. “I imagine you wish to give me a dressing-down for speaking to Sir Preston. I would prefer you did it somewhere other than a public assembly, but if you must do it now please begin so I might have it over with.” Her voice shook, but at least no tears threatened to fall as they once had when someone towered over her in a rage. She had learned to keep them at bay.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
She started. “Like what?”
“Like you think I am about to rage at you. Or strike you.”
“Aren’t you? I mean, are you not about to rage at me?”
“No. Never that.” His mouth twisted as if something pained him and he looked away. Then back at her. “You do not need to explain why you were with Sir Preston. Or why you did not wish to dance with me,” he said flatly.
She tightened her hands around her fan, not certain why his mood had so abruptly altered. “I only wished to point out to Sir Preston how pretty Emily looked. I thought if he saw her dancing with you it might make him notice her a little and perhaps he would ask her to dance. But Tom’s friends came and then you, and Sir Preston left for the card room. He probably has not even spoken to poor Emily.”
“I am not certain I quite follow this. You thought Sir Preston would ask her to dance after he saw me dancing with Miss Coltrane. Does Miss Coltrane want to dance with him?”
“She is in love with him.”
“Is Sir Preston in love with Miss Coltrane?”
“He could be. In fact, I am certain he will fall in love with her if only he can be persuaded to spend time in her company. I had so hoped he might ask her to dance but he said he did not dance as well as you and did not think she would like it.”
“That is why you were with Sir Preston? Because you wish to play matchmaker?”
“Yes, that is why. I…I was not flirting with him, if that is what you thought.”
“You don’t need to tell me that,” he said shortly.
“I don’t want you to think that I would be so callous as to do such a thing when I am engaged to you.”
“I know that.” He held her eyes.
She felt breathless and then he pulled his gaze away just as Marguerite appeared around the side of the pot. “There you two are! Really, Brandt, from the way you dragged poor Chloe away I fully expected to find you quarrelling. Do you wish everyone to speculate that your betrothal is over before it is hardly begun?”
“I doubt that will happen.” Brandt glanced at Chloe. “We were merely having a conversation.”
“I can see that.” Her fine brow arched. “I suggest you have these sorts of conversations in private rather than at a public affair. It is not at all the thing to cast such intimate looks at each other in public.”
Chloe’s cheeks heated. She didn’t dare look at Brandt. “We were not.”
Marguerite grinned. “There is no need to look so flustered. I am only teasing you. I came to warn you that Gilbert Rushton and the Squire are demanding you two play cards against each other. They are already taking bets on the winner.”
Brandt looked over at Chloe, a little smile at his mouth. “Well? Do you wish to play against me?”
She shook her head. “No. I am certain it was nothing but luck last time.” She did not quite meet his eyes.
“Oh, Chloe! No one thinks it was completely luck!” Marguerite said. “Just one hand, that is all. It will be fun. Besides, I have already wagered in your favour.” She smiled sheepishly.
Perhaps one game would not hurt, but she would not win. Not only had she scarcely beat Brandt last time, but this time she would play as poorly as she had when Sir Preston had taught her. That would surely discourage anyone else from asking her again. “Very well. But only one hand.”
“Splendid!” Marguerite grinned at her. “I am counting on you to increase my pin-money!”
Chloe assuaged her conscience but telling herself that it was unlikely she would beat Brandt a second time anyway. Brandt said little as they made their way to the card room, but once or twice she felt his gaze on her face. She felt no less apprehensive as they sat down at one of the tables and a small crowd gathered around.
“Whist again? Or something else? Piquet?” He asked.
“Whist will do.” She could not imagine playing piquet with him.
She could almost feel the disappointment when she lost the first round. During the second round, his face held puzzlement and when he finally played the winning hand, there was no triumph in his face.
She hardly heard the good-natured teasing as she rose. She had proved to herself that she did not have to win—she was not Lucien. “I…I am sorry.” She forced herself to meet Marguerite’s eyes.
“Oh, Chloe, it hardly matters so I pray you will not look so stricken,” Marguerite said. “I certainly will not miss a thing of my wager.”
“Certain you will do better next time,” Mr Rushton said. “Undoubtedly offputting to play against one’s betrothed.”
Other such remarks followed until everyone drifted off. Only Brandt remained silent. She finally excused herself and left the card room. Brandt followed.
Outside, he caught her hand and pulled her around to face him. “Why did you play so poorly?” he asked quietly. “And do not tell me it was only luck the last time.”
“It is unlikely I would have beaten you again, a
nyway.”
“That is hardly an answer.”
“Very well, if you must know, this evening is exactly why. I do not want anyone making a fuss over me or placing wagers on the outcome of games I play.”
“Then why did you agree?”
“I hoped if I played poorly then everyone would see last time was mere luck and not ask me again.”
“But why would you wish that? There is nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, most everyone finds it quite admirable.”
“But I don’t! I hate it!” she burst out.
He stared at her. “Chloe?”
“I pray you will say no more about it!” Ashamed at her show of emotion, she backed away from him, and promptly stepped on someone’s foot.
“I beg your pardon.” She turned and found herself face to face with Lady Kentworth.
The woman’s mouth curved in a patently false smile. “Quarrelling again? Every time I have seen you together tonight you seemed to be out of sorts with one another. I would not consider that a promising beginning for a marriage but perhaps, Lady Chloe, that does not matter to you. How pleased you must feel to have captured such a grand prize as a viscount rather than a mere baronet. I am surprised, however, you did not hold out for a much grander title such as an earl or a marquis, but perhaps you had no choice after trying to compromise my son.” She looked at Brandt. “I do have one piece of advice for you, Lord Salcombe. I would keep a very close eye on your little bride-to-be. She has the unfortunate habit of wandering off and not always alone.”
Brandt stepped towards the woman. “And I have a piece of advice for you. If you even think of maligning Lady Chloe’s character, you will be more than sorry.”
This time her smile faltered. “Are you threatening me, Lord Salcombe?”
“Precisely.”
The look in her eye was that of pure hatred. “You shall be quite sorry.” She moved off, a thin, cold figure.
Chloe was sickened by the encounter. Brandt looked down at her face. “There is nothing she can do. Put her from your mind.”
“She is so very angry.”
He shrugged. “Only because she wanted you for her son.”
“But I gave her reason to think it might be possible.”
“She would have been disappointed at any rate. I do not think your cousin would have approved the match.” Brandt’s voice was impersonal as he took her arm and began to walk towards the assembly room.
“No.” She felt even more wretched. He was right, of course. But she had some sort of naïve idea that once Justin and Belle saw how happy she was they would have used their influence to persuade Arthur.
How ridiculous her plotting seemed in retrospect. It was a wonder Brandt did not completely despise her.
As they approached the corner where Belle stood with Marguerite, he dropped her arm. “I am going to take my leave of you now. Tomorrow I depart for London. I have some business to attend to there, but I should return in a few days.”
“Oh.” A stab of disappointment pierced her. She managed a smile. “I will wish you a good journey, then.” She held out her hand.
“Yes.” He took it and looked down at her face. “Goodbye, Chloe.” He dropped her hand and after speaking a few words to Marguerite and Belle, left the room.
She watched him go and felt almost bereft as though he had taken something she wanted with him. And she had no idea what it was.
Chapter Eight
Brandt left the offices of Blakely, Blakely and Dedham with the solicitor’s words still ringing in his ears, “You are now an extremely wealthy man, my lord. Your investments have paid off nicely.” Edmund Blakely had looked up and said with his dry smile. “Congratulations.”
He paused in the cool, misty air of a London morning. For the first time in years, he wished he had someone to share such news with immediately. Justin.
Or Chloe.
The desire to see her hit him with such force he was shaken. He wanted to tell her of his good fortune. That he could now do what he wanted.
He could rebuild Waverly from the ground up if he desired. Restore its overgrown gardens, buy back the lands around it.
He could afford a wife, if he so desired.
He could marry Chloe.
Brandt hardly noticed the passers-by as he walked down the street. He must be mad, thinking of Chloe and marriage, when he had hardly considered marriage at all. Although he could not now imagine living at Waverly without her. The house belonged to her as much as it had always belonged to him. He doubted the house would even accept any other mistress.
But would she accept him?
He would have to persuade her. Court her gently so she wouldn’t run from him. Convince her that he would make the sensible, comfortable husband she desired. He wanted children, but he would not force her to his bed no matter how much his blood heated at the thought. He would prove to her that her fears were unfounded; not all husbands were overbearing or considered their wives a mere convenience.
He would prove to himself he was not his father’s son after all.
—
Chloe smiled at Will. “Shall we return to the house? Miss Withers probably thinks I have taken you prisoner.”
A hopeful look appeared on his face. “Could you? And take me to the secret passage to Waverly? We could hide there for an age.”
She laughed. “No, I think I should return you to your geography lesson. At any rate, the passage is blocked from the cliffs.”
“There is still an opening. Behind some bushes.” He gave her a sly look. “I could show you, if you would like.”
“No, thank you. I doubt Lord Salcombe would like it if we invaded his house while he is not home.”
“He would not mind. Now that you are going to marry him.”
“Even then,” she said lightly. With Brandt gone, her betrothal seemed completely unreal. He was to be back late today or tomorrow.
They started up the path and Will took her hand in his. “I’ll help you,” he said. “It is harder for girls to climb hills because of their skirts.”
“Thank you.” She hid her smile at this piece of male observation. She supposed she should point out that skirts had never hindered her, but she did not want to crush his obvious desire to play the role of protector. He reminded her of Brandt. They were not related, but she could see the same desire to shield her from harm. So why did Will’s efforts fill her with tender amusement while Brandt’s made her shy away?
Perhaps it was because Will was so young, or that she knew it was really Will who needed her protection and she was merely indulging him. Or that the role of protector meant having all the power. She could never imagine Brandt in need of protection, or in need of anything, or anyone. Certainly he did not appear to need her.
They continued up the slope and to the top towards the house. Miss Withers, the pleasant-faced, middle-aged governess, waited for them near the garden gate. Chloe bent down and gave Will a hug. He smiled at her. “When you live at Waverly we can do this every day.”
“Perhaps.”
Chloe watched Miss Withers lead him away and then started back towards Falconcliff, feeling heavy-hearted. Will’s words only reinforced how much more of a mistake this betrothal really was. He would be terribly disappointed when she and Brandt parted, as would a good many others.
“Chloe!”
She looked up and saw Emily riding towards her on her grey mare. Chloe waited for Emily to halt beside her.
“I had hoped to see you today,” Emily said. “Are you on your way back to Falconcliff?”
“Yes.”
“May I join you?” Without waiting for an answer, she slid gracefully from her mare and caught up the reins. “I have not had the chance to thank you for the assembly. I had the most lovely time!”
“I am so glad, but I really did nothing. You were the one who danced and smiled and completely enthralled everyone.”
“I could not have done so if you had not helped me with my gown and hair and tol
d me I must smile. And, of course, allowed Lord Salcombe to stand up with me for the first dance. I have no doubt that was what made the others take notice and decide I would be worth their while.”
“That sounds so callous! That is not the whole of it, at all.”
Emily merely smiled. “Perhaps, but is that not how it works in Society? When someone of consequence notices one, others follow suit?”
“Sometimes, but not this time. I think it was because before you looked as if you did not want anyone to notice you. This time you looked much more friendly. As if you would not growl if someone dared to approach you.”
“Is that how I looked before? I suppose that is how I felt. But not any more.”
They walked towards Falconcliff, the mare trailing behind them. Chloe glanced at Emily. “Did Sir Preston stand up with you?”
Emily gave a little laugh. “No, but I decided that it did not matter. I am rather tired of waiting for him to notice me.” Nothing in her expression indicated this was not perfectly true.
“He did notice you. When you were dancing with Lord Salcombe, he said he thought you were very pretty and that he did not know you could dance like that. He worried that you would not want to stand up with him since he did not dance very well himself.”
She shrugged. “If he really felt some sort of attraction to me, then he would have spoken to me. I have no intention of throwing myself his way any more.” She looked straight ahead and then turned to Chloe. “I would rather hear about your betrothal to Lord Salcombe.”
They had just entered the part of the path on Falconcliff property. Chloe kept her voice light. “It is not very exciting. An ordinary betrothal, I suppose.”
“Is it? Then why are you not very happy about it?”
“Of course I am. But it is merely a practical arrangement, not a love match.” Her voice came out as matter of fact as Emily’s.
“On whose side?”
She glanced at Emily, surprised. “On both sides, of course. We are both in agreement that marriage should be a practical union of two sensible persons who wish to be comfortable together.”
“That sounds exceedingly dull.”
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