by Farr, Diane
Gil moved impatiently. "No use trying to tell Tish something ain’t funny; she’ll laugh all the more. But, Clo, how could this have happened? Why would anyone—even your father!—announce our engagement without so much as a by-your-leave? I had nary a notion that this was in anyone’s mind, let alone yours or mine! No one said a word to me."
"Nor to me! That is—well, Father went on about it until I was ready to scream, and Lady Gilliland did, too—but she only used the vaguest terms, I promise you! I never dreamed they were serious. And I never, never agreed to anything they said. On the contrary, I always insisted it was a completely harebrained idea, and that I would have none of it."
Gil slapped a hand to his forehead. "If that isn’t just like you, Chloe, to hear something told you over and over, and never listen to it simply because you don’t care to!" he exclaimed. "Why the devil didn’t you send for me? I’d have scotched this precious engagement plan before it got started!"
"Yes, but then Chloe would not have come to visit me," said Tish comfortably. "On the whole, I think this a very good thing."
Chloe and Gil stared at her, revulsion writ large across their faces.
Tish’s irrepressible laughter bubbled forth at their horrified expressions. "Well, I do! I am in favor of anything that produces such an excellent result. I believed nothing would suffice to pry Chloe off that stupid farm and bring her to town, and here she is!" She tossed her head, setting her earrings dancing. "To my mind, you are both making a great piece of work about nothing. You are both of age; no one can force you to marry. Why not be engaged for a time? I daresay it would be quite amusing."
"Amusing!"
"You’re mad!"
"No such thing. I enjoyed my own betrothal very much." A shadow passed across Tish’s sunny face. "It’s far more fun than marriage."
Gil, preoccupied with his own troubles, failed to observe his sister’s brief stumble. "Oh, excellent!" he said, with withering sarcasm. "Hoax the ton! And then, I suppose, cry off at the end of the Season! What a popular pair we would be."
"You need not cry off at any particular time. You need not cry off at all. You could simply be engaged indefinitely."
"What, and never marry?" Gil looked as if he would like to strangle Tish. "And good luck to us, trying to fix our interest with anyone else while engaged to each other! Of all the corkbrained schemes—"
"Chloe doesn’t wish to fix her interest with anyone. And I daresay she would agree to jilt you, at whatever point you met a lady who caught your eye."
Chloe sat up indignantly. "No! I will not jilt Gil. How can you ask it of me? It would make him look such a fool."
"Yes, by Jove, so it would!"
Tish gave a little crow of laughter. "What difference does it make if you jilt him today, or a year from today? He will look nohow regardless."
Chloe turned anxiously to Gil. "That had not occurred to me. Must I jilt you? Why?"
He glanced uneasily into Chloe’s troubled eyes. "I cannot jilt you, that’s certain."
Tish nodded vehemently. "It isn’t done. Now, don’t argue, Chloe! A gentleman cannot cry off."
"But this is intolerable! Cannot you and I make some mutual announcement?"
Gil looked doubtful. "I suppose we could," he said at last. "We can put it about that we’ve decided we don’t suit. Everyone will still assume it’s my fault, but that don’t signify."
Chloe’s eyes were round with astonishment. "Why should anyone suppose it to be your fault? Good heavens! This is no one’s fault but Father’s! Why not simply tell the truth? I think we should publish a notice that my father announced our engagement without our knowledge or consent."
Gil’s expression did not lighten. "That won’t fadge, Clo."
Tish patted her friend’s hand sympathetically. "Poor Chloe! She’s lived so removed from the world, this all seems utterly gothic to her. Gil is right, dearest. You cannot tell part of the truth without the whole truth becoming known. If you announce that your father published your engagement against your will, everyone will wonder at it, and whisper, and before you have time to turn round it will be common knowledge that the two of you spent a night alone in a cottage."
"But that’s nonsensical! How could anyone find out?"
Gil shook his head glumly. "It’s a mystery how these things become known, but they always do. And if the tabbies don’t find out the truth, they’ll invent something even worse. No smoke without a fire, they’ll say." His voice took on a high-pitched whisper as he imitated the gossips. "There must be some reason why Horace Littlefield was anxious to marry his daughter to that ramshackle Mr. Gilliland! Some very good reason. Sss-sss-sss!"
The bewildered expression on Chloe’s face momentarily turned indignant. "You are not ramshackle! But I do not care what anyone says, and I don’t see why you should."
Gil threw up his hands in despair, and his sister turned patiently to their countrified friend. "You have never been the victim of such gossip, so you can’t know how dreadful it can be. And, Chloe, pray bear in mind that it would injure my brother as well as you! He would figure in everyone’s minds as the villain who compromised an innocent girl and then washed his hands of her."
"I own, I would rather not make such a cake of myself," admitted Gil. "But if it’s the only way out, I will do it. For Chloe’s sake."
Chloe, with a bitter exclamation, rose and walked to the window. "We must do nothing that will blacken Gil’s name," she said at last. "He must live among these people, after all." She turned and bleakly regarded her friends. "But I cannot bear to let Father win, even temporarily. It was contemptible of him to place us in such a position. I thought if we denied the engagement, it would shame him."
"Yes," said Gil gently. Her distress was hard to watch. "But it will shame us as well."
Two large tears welled up in Chloe’s eyes. "Gil, what are we to do?"
Tish flew to her side and hugged her. "Nothing, at present," she advised. "Oh, Chloe, don’t cry! You’ll come about."
Gil crossed the room and thumped Chloe vigorously on the back. "Buck up, Clo! We’ll weather this," he promised her.
Chloe gave a rather watery chuckle. "Sorry!" she gulped. "I do hope, Gil, that the next lady who becomes engaged to you is less upset by the idea than I am."
He grinned. "Aye, it’s a lowering experience to find myself betrothed to a watering-pot."
Tish began pulling Chloe toward the door. "I do think, now that you’re here, you ought to enjoy your visit," she said gaily. "I mean to show you the best shops in Bond Street."
She shot her brother a meaningful glance over Chloe’s head and he nodded grimly. "The sooner the better!" he muttered, looking with distaste at Chloe’s dowdy raiment.
Chloe brightened a little. "Now?"
"Now," promised Tish. Her eyes danced with mischief. "After all, every bride needs a trousseau."
Chapter 4
Miss Littlefield, as the cherished guest of the dashing Mrs. Dalrymple, spent the next several days plunged into a whirlwind of pleasant activity. She was kept so busy, and so completely entertained, that it was almost impossible for her to remember the terrible trouble she was in.
Tish refused to allow Chloe to appear in public until she was suitably clothed and coiffed, and sent her on such an intense round of shopping and sightseeing that Chloe was exhausted at each day’s end. This was deliberate. Tish was anxious to ensure that Chloe was in no mood for parties until such time as Chloe could burst upon the scene with all the glory Tish was secretly planning for her beloved friend. But, as it turned out, Tish was fretting over nothing. It never occurred to innocent, reclusive Chloe that evenings spent quietly before a fire and going early to bed were an odd introduction to life in a fashionable London town house.
She saw little of Robert Dalrymple. Tish informed her, with an elaborate show of unconcern, that fashionable couples were careful not to sit in each other’s pockets. Chloe privately thought that this was one fashion Tish would have been glad t
o not follow. Tish had always been an open-hearted, affectionate girl, and Chloe saw no sign that her temperament had altered. She was very sure that Tish had loved Mr. Dalrymple when she married him, and it had certainly seemed that her affection was returned. Could matters have undergone so complete a change in the space of less than three years? Chloe wondered. She knew little of such things. Having been alerted by Gil, she was covertly watching her friend. But she was given no opportunity to glimpse Tish and Robert’s private life, nor for intimate conversation with Tish. All she could do was promise herself that she would address the question later, after she had "settled in." For surely they could not keep up this hectic pace forever!But Tish successfully thwarted her every attempt at re-establishing their former intimacy. Tish was sure she could hide nothing from Chloe if Chloe were allowed to look too closely, and she was anxiously protecting several secrets. For one thing, she was guiltily aware that her friend would be horrified if she knew that Tish planned for her to join the ranks of the Beau Monde. Chloe had no social ambitions at all. The pleasure Chloe took in her first spending sprees, and the delight in her eyes when she beheld herself clad in pretty clothes, were entirely guileless. Chloe was enjoying her transformation for its own sake, with no thought of how her appearance might affect others. But Tish knew something of the delights of popularity. She was determined that Chloe should experience all the pleasures in society that she herself enjoyed. To that end, she gently supervised the choice of Chloe’s every gown and bonnet and glove, and even presided over the labors of the artist engaged to cut and arrange Chloe’s hair. At last, Tish thought exultantly, Chloe’s outward trappings would do justice to her beauty!
Tish herself was, as she laughingly confided to Chloe, an extremely sought-after personage. Blessed with vivacity and saucy good looks, married to a rich young man whom she adored, and with a healthy heir toddling about in her nursery, it was widely held that Leticia Dalrymple was the most fortunate of women. But Chloe thought she sometimes caught a hint of sadness in the back of Tish’s eyes. At times there was a reckless, brittle quality to Tish’s laughter that quite wrung Chloe’s heart. She was both surprised and alarmed when it became more evident every day that Tish was disinclined to talk about whatever was bothering her. Chloe waited in vain for Tish to broach the subject, and soon discovered that every hint she dropped would be carefully ignored.
She wished she could report all this to Gil. It confirmed the suspicions he had confided to her, and she would have been glad to receive his advice on the matter. But she never saw Gil. After her first disastrous morning in London, Tish kept Chloe on a very short leash. There was no time for anything but shopping, fittings, and more shopping. Enjoyable as all this was to a girl who had never experienced anything like it, Chloe began to chafe at being kept apart from her dearest friend. Just as she was about to insist that Tish at least invite her brother for dinner, Tish declared that Chloe was ready.
"Ready for what?" The two girls were closeted in Chloe’s room, the Dalrymples’ second-best bedchamber, crawling across the carpet on their hands and knees. This unladylike activity had been rendered necessary by the ingenious method the friends had recently devised for choosing dress-patterns. It had proved impossible to compare and select patterns while sitting decorously at a table, since no table in the Dalrymples’ house was large enough, so they now simply scattered them all across the floor. This answered very well. With the door shut against censorious eyes, the two girls spent many a contented hour crawling about, stacking and re-stacking the piles as if playing some elaborate game of Patience. Tish’s young son often joined them, since crawling on the floor was one of the few skills at which he was an acknowledged master. His contributions to their pattern choices were generally overruled, but their rejection of his sartorial taste in no way dampened Bobby’s enthusiasm for the project.
Bobby’s participation had become, at this particular point, more of a hindrance than an amusement. Tish scooped him up and bounced him on her lap. Chloe, concentrating on the business at hand, lifted a sheet of paper from the floor. "I think this is rather pretty," she said.
"That’s the one I had made up in orange sarcenet."
"Is it?" Chloe peered more closely at it. "I am picturing it in white gauze. Or perhaps pink."
"It would look entirely different. I don’t mind a bit, if you should care to have it made up for yourself. Orange would not suit you, of course."
"No," agreed Chloe absently. "Sea-green, perhaps, with satin piping—"
"Bah!" commented Bobby. Although his tone was forceful, this observation was not interpreted as an expression of criticism.
Tish chuckled. Her child was playing with her beads, and her friend was frowning at a dress-pattern. They seemed equally unaware of the momentous import of her declaration. "Chloe, you are not attending!"
Chloe looked up in surprise. Her ringlets, now clustered becomingly round her face by the Master who had cut her hair, emphasized her doll-like countenance and gave her wide-eyed expression an absurdly childlike appearance. Tish bit back a laugh. "I think it is high time you met a few of my friends. I am persuaded you will like them excessively. I have been invited to a drum this evening, and I really ought to attend. Would you care to accompany me?"
A troubled look crossed Chloe’s face. "I never attend parties. Not parties with strangers."
"Only because you do not wish to be pursued," Tish countered swiftly. "But think, Chloe—no one will pursue you now. Even if people find out about your tedious fortune, everyone believes you to be engaged to Gil."
"That’s true." Chloe sat back on her heels and regarded Tish thoughtfully. Tish immediately busied herself with smoothing Bobby’s curls and straightening the collar of his dress. It would be fatal for Chloe to guess the size and nature of this party; she would surely refuse to go.
Chloe dimpled. "You are sure I won’t disgrace you?"
"Well, not sure—but reasonably certain!" Tish kept her voice carefully casual, and was rewarded by the sight of interest lighting Chloe’s eyes.
"I would enjoy it, I think. What should I wear?"
"I will come to you at half-past seven and help you choose, if you like."
Tish was so successful at downplaying the importance of the event that Chloe felt nothing but pleasurable anticipation. She donned a delicious silk gown that evening, its flattering hue the palest of pinks, and expressed unalloyed delight in her own unaccustomed modishness. She laughed at Tish’s earnestness regarding the arrangement of her curls, and clasped a string of chaste pearls round her neck with no more thought than if she were simply going downstairs to dinner. She was a little shocked by Tish’s costume, a lightweight and low-cut confection that left little to the imagination. But Tish only laughed when she saw the condemnation in her friend’s eyes, and assured Chloe that her gown was all the crack.
"It would not do for you, of course," Tish added airily. "But married women are allowed a great deal of license."
Chloe supposed that Tish was right—well, from what she had already seen of London, she knew Tish was right—but the faint blush that had crept up Tish’s neck did not escape her. She thought Tish shared her view that her gown was immodest, but for some undisclosed reason Tish had chosen to wear it anyway. Chloe wondered at this oddity, but was silent.
They arrived downstairs and learned that Robert Dalrymple had gone, as he frequently did, to his club for dinner. The news was delivered in colorless tones by the Dalrymples’ very correct butler. Chloe glanced at her friend, concerned that Tish would feel hurt by this mark of her husband’s neglect, but although an angry flush mounted Tish’s cheek she shrugged it off. It even seemed that she felt oddly relieved. Stranger and stranger, thought Chloe, puzzled.
They departed in the Dalrymples’ carriage in grand style, with two liveried and powdered footmen up behind. Chloe was thus reminded that Mr. Dalrymple was the younger son of an earl. She had never before seen his lineage trumpeted in this way, and remarked, laughing, that she
felt like Cinderella on her way to the ball. Tish offered only a nervous smile in response to this sally. Chloe soon discovered why. When the carriage halted behind a long line of similar coaches, she lifted the curtain, peered out, and discovered that her silly comparison to Cinderella’s ball was, in fact, distressingly near the mark.
"Merciful heavens!" she gasped.
They had joined a queue of elegant equipages approaching the entrance of the grandest house Chloe had ever seen. Light blazed forth from every window of its imposing edifice, and flambeaux flickered on either side of its enormous door. As each carriage reached the head of the line, footmen sprang smartly forward to open the doors and hand out the passengers. A parade of gorgeously-arrayed persons was processing slowly up the marble steps to the entrance.
Chloe turned accusing eyes upon her friend, and Tish burst out laughing. "Now, Chloe, don’t eat me," she begged.
"You told me it was a party of your particular friends!"
"Well, so it is. Do not allow yourself to be overset! Beneath all the silk and linen they are only people, after all. And pray remember that your own silk and linen is as elegant as anything you will see at Lady Paversham’s drum! There is no cause for anxiety."
But by the time the Dalrymple carriage had reached the head of line, Chloe’s eyes had dilated into twin pools of terror. Seeing this, Tish rapped her with her fan. "Remember that you do not care a button for what any of them may think. You have no desire to make a splash among the fashionables. You have told me so any number of times."
Some color returned to Chloe’s cheeks. She gave a shaky laugh. "Thank you! I will bear it in mind."
It was true, Chloe reminded herself. And reminded herself. Still, she found it necessary to silently repeat these people cannot harm me, these people cannot harm me, like a litany as she stepped from the carriage and entered the portals of her first London appearance. The thought stiffened her spine and enabled her to achieve a certain amount of poise. Still, since she was unexpectedly facing the very sort of gathering she had scrupulously avoided since her eighteenth birthday, she could not help feeling a trifle tense.