Passion and Pretense

by Susan Gee Heino

  “It’s what she’s said.”

  “Which was…?”

  Maria twisted her fingers until Penelope feared they would break. Finally, with a sigh, her friend went on.

  “She told me I was hopeless.”

  “What? That’s ridiculous. What on earth could she have meant?”

  “She meant that I really am hopeless. That she has spent a good deal of money over the years, securing a fashionable home, keeping us in gowns, entertaining people of the highest quality so we will be welcome in fine drawing rooms, yet here I am, a spinster.”

  Penelope literally gasped. “Dear gracious! Do not ever use that word around me!”

  “But it is true. You must see that, Penelope.”

  “I see nothing of the sort. You and I are the same age, if you recall. I certainly do not consider myself even close to spinsterhood.”

  “You are engaged to be married.”

  “You know that’s only in pretense.”

  “But my aunt does not. She’s quite disappointed in me, I’m afraid. Here you are, already on your fifth fiancé—”

  “Fourth. You know that mess with Fitzgelder does not count.”

  “Very well, fourth fiancé, yet I’ve not even secured half a one.”

  Penelope frowned. “What would you do with half a fiancé?”

  “That’s hardly the point, is it? The fact is my aunt feels it’s been her duty to get me well married, and she sees my unmarried state as failure. For both of us.”

  “For her, perhaps, but certainly not you. You can hardly consider it failure if you’ve never done much to actually try. And I’ve always gotten the idea you were not interested in trying, that’s all.”

  “To my aunt, that’s the same thing as failing. She’s decided we will leave London at the end of next week and not come back again.”

  “Until next Season?”

  “No, I mean we will not come back again. Ever.”

  “What?! You cannot be serious!”

  It was very nearly too much for Penelope to grasp. Maria would be leaving London? Yes, of course they would all be leaving once the Season was over—certainly no one with any good sense wished to remain in Town during the summer—but for Maria never to return! Why, that was inconceivable. How on earth could her aunt expect the girl to finally meet the gentleman she might eventually fall in love with if she did not return to London?

  Maria was a woman of reason, of good breeding, of a very specific constitution. How was she going to find a suitable match out in the country, with so very few of her equals? And worse, however would Penelope enjoy next year’s Season if she did not have Maria? Indeed, her aunt’s mad notion would simply not do.

  “Well, we will simply have to figure a way to convince your aunt to let you finish this Season, then bring you back for the next.”

  But Maria shook her head. “No, I’ve thought it through, Penelope. It’s unfair for me to be such a drain on my poor aunt. I’m afraid she’s right; I’ve spent five Seasons in London and I just did not take. I have no right to put her through this any longer.”

  “But this is why you are going to let me alter your usual mode of dress, why we are going to make you up to be quite a diamond of the first water tonight! Your aunt will see. More importantly, the gentlemen will see. By this time next week, you’ll be turning down proposals left and right.”

  It wasn’t hearty, but Maria finally laughed. A bit. “Now I fear you are mistaking me for you.”

  “It will be no mistake when your aunt realizes what great potential you have to make a brilliant match. She will let you finish out this Season, and begin planning your return for next. Then I will rest easy at night, knowing my dearest friend will be nearby to protect me.”

  “Oh, honestly. Protect you from what?”

  “From absolute boredom, of course! Without you, I wouldn’t dare engage in even remotely interesting conversation. After all, who else could I possibly trust with the truth about such things as false engagements and my terrifying brush with death today?”

  “Your brush with death?” Maria’s noticeably cocked eyebrow said she was rather dubious as to the validity of this statement.

  “Oh, but indeed that’s precisely what it was! If you hadn’t been so quick to start scolding me the instant I walked through the door, I would have surely told you all about it.”

  “Very well, I apologize. Now do tell me about this terrifying ordeal.”

  “I went driving today with Lord Harry.”

  Now Maria’s cocked eyebrow was accompanied by a scowl. “Yes, that is terrifying. Did he think to impress you by driving like a madman in that ostentatious new carriage he’s taken?”

  “He did not take that carriage. Anthony bought it for him!”

  “What? But I thought your brother hated the man?”

  “Yes, that was the plan, wasn’t it? It turns out, though, my brother is so eager to see me married off to any old lout who will have me that he’s quite infatuated with Lord Harry.”

  “Oh, how dreadful!”

  “Yes, isn’t it? You understand my difficulty, Maria. This is why I simply can’t abide talk of you not being here in Town.”

  “Surely when your brother hears that Lord Harry was recklessly endangering you while driving today, he will change his mind about the man and begin actively opposing the match.”

  “Perhaps, although in Lord Harry’s defense he did not purposely endanger me. He had gotten out of the carriage to put the hood up to protect us from the rain, and the horses—the horses Anthony acquired for him—got spooked. They bolted and I was knocked about inside the carriage something awful! I’m sure I will be bruised head to foot, and I did quite fully expect to be overturned and trampled right there.”

  “Oh my! How dreadful for you. I had no idea. Then I suppose it is no wonder you were inclined to let Lord Harry kiss you that way, after he managed to save your life, and all.”

  “Er, it wasn’t exactly Lord Harry who saved me.”

  “It wasn’t? Then how on earth did you stop the horses?”

  “I didn’t. Another gentleman came along.”

  “Another gentleman? Who on earth was he and why were you not kissing him, instead?”

  Penelope smacked her cheeky friend on the arm. “Because I only barely know the man, of course!”

  “It was not so long ago you only barely knew Lord Harry, too.”

  “Well, I was only just introduced to Mr. Markland this morning, just half an hour before he showed up to rescue me.”

  “And how fortunate that he did, since Lord Harry obviously could not be bothered.”

  “He was bothered,” Penelope said, oddly compelled to defend the man. “He was very bothered, indeed. It’s just that he was on foot and Mr. Markland astride. That is the only reason that gentleman managed to get my carriage stopped before Lord Harry did.”

  “Mr. Markland?”

  “Yes, that is his name. We ran across him earlier while he was riding by with his friend, Mr. Ferrel Chesterton.”

  “Mr. Chesterton?”

  “You recall him. We met yesterday when he so boldly introduced himself to me as Lord Harry’s cousin.”

  “Oh, er, yes, I recall that.”

  “And he was with an actress, and introduced her to us, as well! I was quite amazed by such presumption, I assure you. But we saw him today and Lord Harry must be polite, so we exchanged pleasantries and Mr. Markland was introduced.”

  “I see. And…was the actress with them today?”

  “No, thankfully. We spoke with only the two men.”

  “And this Mr. Markland, did he appear to be of good character?”

  “He saved my life, so I would hardly describe him in derogatory tones,” Penelope said, laughing at her friend’s very obvious concern for decorum. “But yes, he did seem to be of good character. Good enough, at least, to not be on excellent terms with Lord Harry, I gathered.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, but it hardly signifies.
He is of an age with Lord Harry and surely they’ve met here and there. Perhaps Mr. Chesterton has informed him of Lord Harry’s unflattering reputation; I cannot say what is between the men.”

  “So you did not like Mr. Markland?”

  “I can’t say one way or another. He did cut quite a dashing figure out there, though.”

  “Quite as dashing as Mr. Chesterton?”

  “As Ferrel Chesterton? Heavens, I did not realize I should have taken my watercolors out there to capture the event in such careful detail for you, Maria!”

  “I am merely concerned for you,” Maria said. “I’m worried what sort of people you are surrounded with these days, that is all.”

  “Well, fear not. Once my dealings with Lord Harry are over, I doubt I’ll see anything of this Mr. Markland or that rude Mr. Chesterton. Certainly neither gentleman is worthy of being in our fine circle, Maria. You just wait; once I have gotten what I need out of Lord Harry, Messrs. Markland and Chesterton will not even linger in our memories.”

  Maria seemed to doubt this, too. “I can only hope you are right, Penelope.”

  “Of course I’m right. Now, let’s see if I’m right about this gown for you. Shall I call in the maid and we will see if it flatters your figure as I suspect it will?”

  “If you believe there is anything that might flatter my gangly figure, you are most welcome to try,” Maria said, sounding at last slightly more herself and less like her aunt.

  Penelope rang the bell eagerly. How wonderful it would be to finally do what she’d long wished: to make Maria sparkle. Now that the girl was at last willing, Penelope would see that Maria Bradley arrived at Lady Burlington’s ball tonight looking like a new woman.

  Oh, but what fun this would be.

  Chapter Ten

  He’d been right. Lady Burlington was, indeed, up to something. What it was, he still had no clue. Every fiber of his instinct told him she knew more about the stolen artifacts her husband had “collected” than the usual uninvolved wife.

  He’d tried to be subtle, but since his arrival with Ferrel half an hour ago, he’d watched Lady Burlington like a hawk. True, she’d been an adequately attentive hostess and made a grand show of enjoying her guests, but Harris had noticed a certain distraction about her. More than once he’d caught her glancing at the clock, watching time as if she expected someone. Or something. And the secret way she kept her eye on the now-locked door of the treasure room spoke volumes, as far as Harris was concerned.

  If he wanted to get those items back into his possession, he was going to have to figure out what was going on and figure it out quickly. Once that collection was broken down and sold off in pieces, his hope of ever ransoming Professor Oldham would be slim, if not nonexistent altogether. But how was he going to catch her up in her schemes?

  Indeed, he knew the easiest course. Lady Burlington had made it plain enough she’d be more than agreeable to any advances he might make. Hell, he’d been very nearly forced to make more than advances with her the other night when she’d found him lurking about. At the time it had seemed the best way to cover for himself—pretend he’d been drunk and gone off looking for that sort of entertainment.

  But tonight he simply did not think he had it in him. The woman was attractive enough, but still…he could not seem to dredge up any desire for her. Not even in pretense. What a sorry scoundrel he was turning out to be! Of course he must do what needed to be done. Even if the thought of it sent shudders of disgust wracking through him.

  He was caught off guard midshudder when his eyes fixed on a figure entering the ballroom. Miss Rastmoor had arrived. She looked stunning.

  He had no trouble drumming up interest for her, unfortunately.

  She was radiant in a white gown that showed off her milky skin in a way that made Harris wish perhaps it did not. And did the girl really need to show off quite so much of that skin? Those youthful bonbons that nearly spilled from her gown would be impossible for any man not to notice, let alone imagine what he might rather be doing beyond simply noticing. Miss Rastmoor had a bosom to be envied. And there, just above those rounded treasures, was the scarab. He wished he could claim his lustful stare had fixed on that object, but knew he’d be lying.

  Miss Rastmoor was dazzling, and he was far from immune to it. To make matters worse, her gaze caught on him and she broke into a smile that very nearly lit the room on fire. At least, he sensed there was a fire somewhere.

  She’d arrived with her mother. Harris had not had the pleasure of meeting the woman, so of course he would be required to do so now. He knew from the way she was eyeing him, even from across the room, an introduction would be impossible to avoid. He made his way through the crowd toward them.

  “Here he is, Mamma,” she was saying when he drew near. “This is my darling fiancé. See? He’s not nearly so objectionable as you keep implying.”

  Harris bowed. “It is truly my honor to meet you, Lady Rastmoor.”

  “I had always assumed I would be introduced to my future son-in-law before he actually went and affianced himself to my daughter,” she said.

  He held back any number of things he had to say regarding his own wishes for a mother-in-law who might not leave him wondering when the snakes would suddenly sprout from her head. Instead he gave her a charming smile.

  “And I had always assumed the Lady Rastmoor I’ve heard so many wonderful things about would be a woman of more advanced years. Surely I would have taken you for my future sister-in-law.”

  He wasn’t quite certain if he’d hit the mark, but the lady held off from any further outward insults. The cold dislike in her eye did not much fade, however, and left him oddly off-balance. What did he care, after all, if this woman approved of him?

  Penelope broke the tension between them. “Oh, I just know you two are going to become the best of friends. Now Mamma, can you please spare me? I know we only just arrived, but I have the feeling Lord Harry would like to ask me to dance.”

  He would? Well, given that his other option at this point was to stand here being examined—and no doubt found lacking—by this very formidable parent, he supposed he would. Yes, indeed. A dance with Miss Rastmoor was infinitely more appealing than maternal scrutiny.

  The gorgon gave her begrudging approval, and Harris led Miss Rastmoor off to the dance floor. Couples were just gathering for another set; his fiancée’s timing had been perfect. As they took their place opposite one another for a rousing country dance, Harris realized he’d rather been hoping it might be time for a waltz. Miss Rastmoor truly would have made quite a pleasing armful tonight.

  “You appear little harmed by your ordeal this morning, Miss Rastmoor,” he said as they waited for the music to begin.

  “I am quite fine, thank you,” she said, scanning the crowd around them. “I was very lucky it did not turn out to be as bad as it could have. But fortunately Mr. Markland came along and all was well.”

  Bloody hell. If anyone had to come along and rescue her, why did it have to be Markland? And why did she have to look so bloody thrilled about it as she spoke the man’s bloody name?

  The music started up just at that moment, which was probably a very good thing. Harris couldn’t be entirely certain the bit of harsh profanity that ran through his mind at that point was entirely confined to his mind. He may have actually spoken the words aloud.

  “What was that?” Miss Rastmoor said, leaning in toward him.

  “Er, nothing,” he said, hoping the next string of words that ran through his mind truly did stay in there. Not surprising, they were less harsh yet every bit as profane, as he found himself—once again—helpless to pry his gaze from the expanse of gently rolling femininity surrounding that scarab. The fact that Miss Rastmoor was leaning provocatively toward him did not help redirect these wayward thoughts.

  But now it was time to drag his attention back to the matter at hand. They were announcing the dance, preparing to begin. He was finding it unbearably difficult to concentrate, though.
It seemed there were other, more enticing, matters he’d much rather have at hand.

  “You were never in any great danger, my dear,” he said, following suit with all the other gentlemen and bowing to his partner. “I was close behind. The horses would not have run far.”

  She gave a very pretty curtsy, but laughed at him. “They very nearly spilled me over in the short distance they did run, sir. I realize that for some reason Mr. Markland is not in your good graces, but please allow me to be quite obliged to the man.”

  More internal profanity.

  “Of course I am grateful you were not harmed,” he said, deciding it best to leave the conversation at that. “And I see you are wearing your lovely scarab again tonight.”

  “I don’t care that everyone sees me in it again and again,” she said, as if he’d accused her of some enormous breach of fashion. “I rather like it.”

  “And so you should. It is very nearly as lovely as you are.”

  She smiled again, moving forward and brushing past him in the first steps of the dance. He wasn’t quite certain where the sudden rush of warm air he felt came from, but had to admit he rather enjoyed it.

  “Ah, you do know how to flatter, sir.”

  “I know how to do a good number of things, Miss Rastmoor.”

  She eyed him with one arched eyebrow. “I don’t doubt that at all. Pity dancing isn’t one of them. You should have turned to the left, Lord Harry.”

  And so he should have. Quickly he corrected his error, but not before it was obvious to everyone around them. Damn, but he’d best find some way to keep his mind on what he was doing and not on what he’d rather be doing. If he was to be making a fool of himself with mental wanderings tonight, he ought to at least be wandering through his plans to get that scarab into his possession.

  “I suppose I should have warned you that I’m an abominable dancer,” he said.

  “It makes no difference to me,” she said. “But perhaps you should have warned the lady whose gown you just trod on.”

  He had already begun to curse himself again when he realized she’d been funning. “I believe you are determined to make me look bad, Miss Rastmoor.”