by Mary Balogh
Her lips formed a soundless O, and she glanced at Eunice and even made a small gesture toward her with one hand. But then she smiled.
“Thank you, Lord Heyward,” she said and set her hand on his sleeve as he led her farther onto the floor of the drawing room, from which the Persian carpet had been rolled back earlier in the evening.
His grandmother was beaming at him, Edward could see. Alma, who was with her, was smiling and nodding in his direction. His mother was looking hopefully at him. So, actually, was Lady Palmer. And for the first time he could feel encouraged rather than trapped by their obvious approval of this match. If only it were not a waltz! Or any dance at all for that matter.
“Perhaps,” Lady Angeline said, “you would prefer to sit and talk, Lord Heyward. Or perhaps you would like to stroll outside.”
The French windows were open though there was no one outside.
“Shall we compromise,” he suggested, “and dance outside?”
Perhaps his legs would feel more like legs—one left and one right—if he waltzed in the darkness without any critical eyes upon him.
“Oh,” she said. “Very well. But I am surprised you did not ask Miss Goddard. She is your friend, and I am sure you would not wish to see her be a wallflower. Your mother and sisters would understand if you danced with her.”
“A wallflower?” he said as he led her through the doors and out onto the cool terrace, which was illuminated only by the candles within the drawing room. “Eunice has had a partner for every dance so far. She is going to dance this one with Windrow.”
“I do not like that,” she said. “And you ought not. He is not a man to be trusted.”
“Not even in a drawing room full of fellow guests at a house party?” he asked her.
“But if they should venture beyond the sight of everyone else,” she said, “I do believe you ought to be concerned.”
He had been given the strange impression both yesterday and today that Windrow was actually interested in Eunice—perhaps because she was no easy victim to his charms. Nothing would come of it, of course. Eunice was far too sensible to encourage him, even if she appeared to be enjoying his company right now. She was laughing at something he had said. Eunice should laugh more often. She looked younger and lovelier than he remembered her looking at any time since he had known her.
And then the music began and he forgot about Eunice and Windrow and everyone else in the drawing room. He set a hand behind Lady Angeline’s slender waist and took her right hand in his left. He felt her other hand come to rest on his shoulder. Her eyes were large in the darkness. They were looking directly into his.
He even forgot that he could not dance, or, rather, that he did so with extreme awkwardness. And that the musicians were not particularly skilled.
He had been wrong about the candlelight. The sky was clear overhead. The moon was waxing toward the full. A million stars twinkled with varying degrees of brightness. The air was cool but not cold. They moved into the steps of the waltz.
It was the only time ever he had enjoyed dancing. Perhaps because he did not even realize that was what he was doing. They moved as one, in and out of the beams of light cast by the drawing room candles, and they twirled beneath the stars until it seemed that it was they that were whirling in bands of light while the two people beneath them stood still.
Her body was warm and supple, her hand clasped in his. She wore a perfume—or perhaps it was soap—so faint that it seemed more the fragrance of her. It wrapped about him like a soft shawl, warming him against the cool of the evening.
They did not speak. It did not occur to him that they might. It did not even occur to him that they were not conversing. The silence was eloquent enough with its background of music and voices and laughter.
And when it was over, they stood a foot apart—less—and gazed at each other.
“Lady Angeline—” he said softly.
“Thank you,” she said brightly as he began to speak. She smiled dazzlingly. “That was very pleasant, Lord Heyward. It is chilly out here, is it not? I shall be glad to get back inside.”
And the spell was broken.
Was it possible that it had been one-sided, that only he had felt it? Had she been feeling chilly all the time they danced and anxious for the music to end so that she could go back indoors?
He did not believe so.
But she was edgy. She did not trust him, perhaps, to be more than the dull, plodding suitor who had acted out all the platitudes and clichйs of a marriage proposal a month ago and had admitted, when pressed, that he was proposing only because he had kissed and compromised her the night before.
What an insufferable ass he had been—as well as an utter simpleton.
It was no wonder she did not trust him now.
The only question was, was it too late to redeem himself? Had his cold manner then killed all her love for him? If she had loved him, that was. But she had loved him this afternoon. He had no experience by which to judge such things, but one did not need experience. He had felt her kiss and her arms about him. He had gazed into her eyes.
“Yes,” he said now and offered her his arm.
Five minutes later she was dancing with Windrow and sparkling and laughing up at him, and Edward felt that he could cheerfully kill the man. But he was dancing with Eunice, and he determinedly gave her his full attention.
“Are you enjoying the house party, Eunice?” he asked.
“Oh, of all things,” she said, which seemed an extravagantly girlish thing for Eunice to say. “I have never before been to a house party, you know. And I am twenty-three years old.”
Ah, he thought as he smiled fondly at her, the butterfly was emerging from the cocoon, was it? The solemn, bookish girl was suddenly realizing that there was life to be lived and that it must be done now because time moved inexorably onward. He just hoped she had not pinned all her hopes for happiness upon Windrow, though he did not believe she would be so foolish. He was not about to utter any advice, however. Eunice was quite mature and sensible enough to order her own life.
“And you,” she said. “Are you enjoying yourself, Edward?”
“I am,” he said and smiled.
“You see?” she said softly. “I was quite right, was I not?”
He was not really sure what she meant, though he thought he knew.
“Yes,” he said. “You were.”
She smiled warmly back at him.
Chapter 18
BY THE MIDDLE of the following afternoon Angeline was in despair—for more than one reason.
The least important—oh, it was very much the least—was that she had seriously underestimated her leftover feelings for the Earl of Heyward after she had rejected his marriage offer. She had been angry with him at that time and horribly disappointed, so of course she had convinced herself that she did not love him at all and that she was loving all the busy activities of the Season and the attentions of numerous other gentlemen. She had even persuaded herself that she was on the brink of falling in love with two or three of them.
It was all nonsense, of course. For she had fallen in love with Lord Heyward the first time she set eyes upon him, and she had not fallen out of love since. It would be done, but it had not happened yet. And yesterday had not helped at all. Why had he not gone to Miss Goddard’s rescue as she had been confident he would, instead of insisting upon helping Angeline get rid of the nonexistent stone in her shoe? And why had they not remained with the group afterward? Why had he kissed her? And why had she allowed it? Why had they waltzed on the terrace last evening instead of inside the drawing room? Even that would have been bad enough, but being outside was disastrous. She had never been so deliriously happy as when they were dancing, and never so deeply in the grip of despair as when she came to her senses afterward.
For he had then danced with Miss Goddard, and it had been another waltz because that was what everyone had wanted, and they had talked the whole time, never taking their eyes off each
other’s. She had glowed with obvious happiness, and his eyes had smiled warmly at her the whole time even if the rest of his face had been in repose.
Oh, they were meant for each other. There was no doubt in Angeline’s mind—and surely there could be none in the minds of his mother and sisters either, or in that of his grandmother. And she could not resent the fact, because she liked Miss Goddard exceedingly well and genuinely wished for her happiness.
Why, instead of teaching her poetry and drama and needlework, had her governesses not taught her the most important lesson anyone could learn—that life was really not going to be easy after one was free of the schoolroom?
And there was the second, and more important, reason for Angeline’s despair. For she had pledged herself to bring Miss Goddard and the Earl of Heyward together. She had even gone so far as to tell Miss Goddard what she was doing so she could help bring about her own happily-ever-after. She had agreed to do it, had she not? That meant she wanted the Earl of Heyward, that she loved him. Angeline was so happy for her that she sank one rung further down the ladder of despair.
And the answer to that was to redouble her efforts. Though they were not working nearly as well as she had thought they would. Well, not at all, in fact. Goodness, she had schemed to have both Miss Goddard and Lord Windrow invited here, only to discover that Lord Heyward did not seem unduly alarmed by the attentions Lord Windrow was paying the woman he loved. It was all very frustrating.
Angeline went out riding in the morning with a group of other guests. Miss Goddard was not one of them, however, so there was no chance to implement anything. For some distance she rode between Lord Windrow and Tresham, and the two of them talked of going fishing with some of the other men after breakfast. Lord Windrow also mentioned the fact that it was his mother’s birthday and that he really ought to ride over to his home later to dine with her and spend the night before returning tomorrow.
“Will she not come here?” Angeline asked. “I am sure Cousin Rosalie would be delighted to have her, and we could all give her a grand celebration.”
It was perhaps not quite the thing to invite someone to Rosalie’s house, especially for a birthday party, without first consulting Rosalie herself, but Angeline was sure she would not mind.
“Alas,” Lord Windrow said, “my mother is not strong, and she is something of a recluse. If I am to see her on her birthday, I must go to her.”
“You will upset the balance of numbers here if you do,” Tresham said, “and doubtless throw Rosalie into consternation. Such things matter to the ladies.”
“Far be it from me to do anything so dastardly,” Lord Windrow said, smiling at Angeline. “I shall think of some solution. Tell me, Lady Angeline, is there a color not represented in your rather splendid riding hat? It would be a shame if there were. It would be sitting all alone on a palette somewhere, feeling rejected and dejected.”
Tresham barked with laughter.
“If there is such a color,” Angeline said, laughing too, “let it come to me in the form of a feather or a ribbon and I shall add it to the rest.”
“Ah,” Lord Windrow said, “but how can one improve upon perfection?”
Angeline enjoyed the ride, as she always did. She rode back with Ferdinand, and he gave her a blow-by-blow account of a bare-knuckled boxing match he and a group of friends had ridden twenty miles from London to watch a week ago. It had gone fifteen rounds before the champion had finally knocked out the contender, and by that time both their faces had resembled raw meat. It was the best, most enjoyable fight he had seen for ages. Angeline scolded him for going, and begged for every detail he had omitted.
“But don’t you ever fight anyone like that, Ferdie,” she said. “Have some regard for my nerves.”
But really the morning was wasted, for of course most of the men did go fishing after breakfast and did not return until just before a late luncheon. The second day of the house party was already more than half over. And Lord Windrow was indeed going home to Norton Park to see his mother on her birthday—he spoke of it again at the table. Her campaign would have to proceed without him, Angeline thought, at least until tomorrow. Not that she was having a great deal of success with him here anyway.
Matchmaking clearly was not as easy as she had expected it to be.
However, something happened after luncheon to cause her to brighten quite considerably. Miss Goddard linked an arm through hers as she was about to wander into the drawing room, where the Misses Briden were settling at the pianoforte to play a duet and a number of the other guests were going to listen to them. Miss Goddard led Angeline to the conservatory instead, where they sat on a wrought-iron seat among the potted plants.
“Edward needs to be jolted out of his complacency,” she said. “Yesterday’s plan did not work well, did it? He could see, both during the afternoon when I walked alone with Lord Windrow and last evening when I danced in the drawing room with him, that I was in no danger whatsoever. In both cases there were other people within sight or at least hailing distance all the time. And Lord Windrow is a guest here at Hallings and would not behave badly here. He is a gentleman, after all.”
“Then our plans will not work at all,” Angeline said with a sigh. “Not here at least. I so thought they would if I could just get you all here, where you are in daily contact with one another. Oh, what is the matter with Lord Heyward? I know he loves you, and of course you love him. That was perfectly clear when you danced together last evening. Why does he not simply declare himself?”
“He is clearly in love,” Miss Goddard agreed. “I do believe he needs only a nudge in the right direction and all will be well. Everyone will live happily ever after.”
Angeline felt rather as if someone must have poured lead into the soles of her shoes—or into the base of her heart. He must have said something last evening to make Miss Goddard so confident. She looked confident—she was smiling. Perhaps there was no need to do anything else after all. Perhaps matters could just be allowed to take their course. Miss Goddard had strolled in the formal gardens this morning with the Marchioness of Beckingham, the Dowager Lady Heyward, and Lady Overmyer, and they had all looked perfectly happy with one another when they returned to the house.
But Miss Goddard herself felt that he needed a nudge.
“Perhaps we must wait until after we return to London, then,” Angeline said, “when Lord Windrow is no longer on Hallings land.”
“Ah, but,” Miss Goddard reminded her, “he will not be on Hallings land later today, will he—or tomorrow until about noon. And he has already suggested that I accompany him to Norton Park.”
“To meet his mother?” Angeline was saucer-eyed.
“We have only his word for it that his mother is at Norton Park,” Miss Goddard said, “and that today is her birthday. And ten miles is a long way. I daresay there are inns along the route. I am not at all sure I should agree to accompany him. But he explained that his going alone would embarrass Lady Palmer as it would upset the balance of numbers here.”
“Oh,” Angeline said, her hands clasped to her bosom, “he does have dastardly designs upon you, then. Lord Heyward cannot fail to come galloping after you if you go. But you absolutely must not go alone. Oh, good heavens no. I will come with you.”
“I made it perfectly clear to Lord Windrow that I would not go unless you agreed to come too,” Miss Goddard said. “Of course, he pointed out that then the numbers here would be unbalanced again. But he is not correct on that, for of course Edward will follow us.”
It was perfect, Angeline thought, ignoring the heaviness of her heart. Perfect. Except for one thing.
“There will be a dreadful scandal,” she said, “when it is known that we are gone. Tresham will kill me. At the very least. Even if he never lays a finger on me.”
“Not necessarily,” Miss Goddard said. “Not if we explain that we have been invited to meet Lady Windrow and have each other for chaperons—as well as my maid. Aunt Charlotte insisted that
I bring one, you know, as she felt it would be inappropriate for me to arrive at such an illustrious house party without. It will not occur to anyone that there is anything remotely improper about our going.”
“But why then,” Angeline asked, “will it appear improper to Lord Heyward? Can we be quite sure he will come after you?”
“Well,” Miss Goddard said, “Edward knows something about Lord Windrow that no one else knows. He will certainly be uneasy, and unease will turn to alarm if you leave a panicked little note for him.”
Angeline thought about it. Yes. Oh, yes, she could do that.
“And indeed,” Miss Goddard added, “you would not even be lying. For I really do feel uneasy about the whole thing. Why did Lord Windrow suddenly remember now, after flirting outrageously with me yesterday afternoon, that today is his mother’s birthday? Would it not have made more sense, if that really were the case, for him to have refused the invitation to stay here altogether?”
“You mean,” Angeline asked, saucer-eyed again, “that he really is intending to abduct you?”
“Well,” Miss Goddard said, “I do not believe he would stoop quite so low, but I must admit to feeling some anxiety. Perhaps it is because I know what Lord Windrow did when he met you on the road to London. Though I must confess that apart from flirting with me, he has never given me any personal cause for alarm.”
“We will do it,” Angeline said. “I shall go and write the note now and leave instructions with cousin Rosalie’s butler or a footman to deliver it to Lord Heyward half an hour after we leave.”
She got determinedly to her feet.
“Give the note to me,” Miss Goddard said, “and I shall make the arrangements.”
By this time tomorrow, Angeline thought as she hurried up to her room, Lord Heyward would have proposed marriage to Miss Goddard, she would have accepted, and she, Angeline, would have been put out of her misery.
She could then proceed to enjoy the rest of her life untroubled by an unrequited love. For though he had kissed her yesterday and no doubt would have offered her marriage later, and though he had waltzed in the moonlight with her last evening, Lord Heyward did not love her. He had admitted as much a month ago, and nothing had changed since then. How could it? One could not simply fall out of love once one was in, and Lord Heyward loved Miss Goddard.