Belle Of The Ball

by Joan Overfield

  Belle could only gaze at him, confused and dazed by turns. She'd never felt such emotions in her life, and she wasn't sure if she could deal with the wildness they invoked. Waging her own battle for control, she managed to draw a deep breath.

  "No," she said quietly, her chin coming up with pride. "I was wrong to say such things. I know you would never do anything to bring disgrace on either my good name or yours. You are much too honorable for that."

  Marcus almost laughed, wondering if she had any idea how close she'd come to losing a great deal more than her good name. Even though they hadn't even kissed, his passions were inflamed, and the strength of that passion left him aching with need. "You seem to swing between extremes, Miss Portham," he said with a self-deprecatory smile. "You need to learn moderation, for that is where the truth lies. I am neither saint nor sinner, I am simply a man."

  And I am a woman, she longed to scream, although shyness and fear held her silent. She wondered what he would do if she were to say the provocative words, and then decided she couldn't take the risk. If he turned around and she saw pity in his eyes, something inside her would surely die. She bit her lip and reached deep down inside of herself for the cool self-possession that had served her so well in the past.

  "I am aware of that, my lord," she said evenly, relaxing as she felt the comforting shell of ice forming about her. "And it is to that man I wish to make my apologies. I said terrible things to him, things which I knew to be a lie even as I was saying them, and I am hoping he will find it in himself to forgive me. Do you think he will?"

  He could sense the coolness in her voice, even as he heard the sincerity of her words, and knew without turning around that she had retreated behind her facade. Part of him was tempted to whirl around and take her in his arms, melting that facade so thoroughly that she would never be able to erect it again. The other part of him knew that if he did that, he would never let her go, and the admission made him clench his teeth in pain. He took a steadying breath before turning around to meet her gaze.

  "I am sure he will," he replied, not trusting himself to touch her again. "And as I recall, he said some rather horrible and untrue things himself. Is it too much to hope he has also been forgiven?"

  The shell encasing Belle cracked slightly. "Perhaps he wasn't far from wrong," she said, her voice shaking. "Perhaps all I have to offer a man is my money. It is all anyone else has ever wanted from me."

  The pain in her voice drew him forward to lay both hands on her slender shoulders. "He was an ass," he told her firmly, ducking his head to meet her troubled eyes. "Then and all those years ago when he called you by that unforgivable name. He was an ill-mannered, bitter young man full of champagne and himself, and you were right to slap his face."

  "But I—"

  "No, Belle," he interrupted, knowing the time had come to make a full apology. "There are no excuses for my actions that night, none at all. Only know that I have regretted them ever since, and if there was any way I could undo the damage, I would gladly do it. You are a lady, and I cannot apologize enough for forgetting that."

  His heartfelt apology for that night was almost Belle's undoing. She'd long ago recovered from her original anger over the incident, and although the name he had given her occasionally stung, she had come to take a macabre pride in it. She had even done her best to encourage her reputation as an Ice Maiden, using the image to keep the rest of the world at arm's length. Knowing that, she felt like the worst sort of hypocrite, listening to his words of self-loathing, and she knew she couldn't allow him to continue blaming himself. She ducked her head and turned away. "My lord, there is something I—"

  "How long have we known each other?"

  Of all the replies she might have expected, that wasn't one of them, and she glanced back over her shoulder. "I beg your pardon?"

  "How long have we known each other?" he repeated, enjoying the puzzled look on her face.

  "I am not sure," she said, wondering what he was hinting at. "Seven years, I suppose, perhaps eight. Why?"

  "Then we're not strangers?"

  "Of course not! But I fail to see what that has to do—"

  "A moment ago, before we had resolved our differences, you called me Marcus," he explained, his hands coming up to turn her gently around. "If you could extend that courtesy to a man who was your enemy, could you not do the same for me?"

  She colored brightly, unable to meet his gaze. "I never regarded you as an enemy," she grumbled.

  He smiled at the top of her head. "Didn't you?" he asked provocatively. "Well, no matter. We are friends now—at least I hope we are—and I should like you to call me Marcus, as all my friends do."

  "All your friends?" Lady Bingington's smiling countenance danced in front of Belle's eyes.

  "Most of them," he corrected, savoring the slight note of jealousy in her voice. "The others call me Colford, which you might also do, if it pleases you."

  That sounded acceptable to Belle, and she raised her head again. "Very well . . . Colford," she said, noting for the first time the green and gold flecks in his light gray eyes. "And as a friend, may I ask you a question?"

  "Of course."

  "Do you always go about collecting your apologies dressed to the nines?"

  At first Marcus couldn't understand her meaning, and then he remembered his attire. "Ah, you mean this." His hands lifted as he held his arms out at his side. "I was on my way to the theater when I stopped to see you. Which reminds me, I had best be on my way, else my party will think I have forgotten her."

  "Ah, you are referring to Lady Bingington." Belle managed a wise nod. "Well, I shouldn't worry if I were you. Although I am not well acquainted with Her Grace, I am told she is possessed of a most understanding nature. I am sure that once you explain your long-winded Tories to her, she will forgive your tardiness."

  "Whigs," Marcus corrected, wondering now if he'd imagined that jealous note in her voice, and wondering also why it should matter. "It was the long-winded Whigs that delayed my arrival."

  Belle's impish smile hid the pain eating at her. "My mistake, Colford. Now, hurry off before you miss the ovations. I hear Kean is doing Hamlet. You wouldn't want to miss that."

  The next morning Belle was up and about long before her cousins were stirring. Even though she'd retired shortly after Marcus had taken his leave, she was still awake when Julia and Georgiana had returned shortly before three. She was bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, but she wasn't about to let that keep her from her appointments. She'd received a rather urgent missive from Mrs. Langston regarding Amanda Perryvale, and she wanted to make sure all was well with the little girl.

  The children were in their classrooms when she arrived at the Academy, and there was no one about as she slipped into the headmistress's study. She surprised the good lady enjoying a quiet cup of tea, and waved aside her stammering apologies with a smile.

  "You needn't think I intend you to slave from sunup to sundown, Mrs. Langston," she said as she took her seat before the desk. "In fact, a cup of tea sounds utterly delightful. Is there enough for me, do you think?"

  "Of course there is!" the headmistress exclaimed, shaking her head and muttering to herself as she poured Belle a steaming cup of the fragrant beverage. When she was sure her benefactress had all she required, she settled back in her own chair.

  "I am so glad to see you have recovered from your accident," she said, studying Belle anxiously. "I was worried when I heard you'd been run down. And in front of your own house, too! "Tis a miracle you weren't killed!"

  "It wasn't quite so serious as all that," Belle said, hating the need to continue the deception. "A horse bolted from its owner, and I was knocked down when it brushed past me."

  "That's what comes from letting those foolish young men keep their rag-mannered nags in town," Mrs. Langston pronounced with a knowing nod. "It was only a matter of time before there was a tragedy. I knew it."

  Belle took a hasty sip of tea, wondering if Mrs. Langston was also possess
ed of prophetic bones. In the next minute she was dismissing the frivolous thought, focusing her attention on the reason behind her visit. "Mrs. Langston, you wrote there was a problem with Amanda Perryvale. What is it? I trust she hasn't fallen ill?"

  "Oh heavens, no!" Mrs. Langston looked horrified at the very suggestion. "This is a modern academy! We should never allow our students to become diseased!"

  "Then what is the problem?" Belle asked, gritting her teeth to control her impatience.

  Mrs. Langston set her teacup aside with a sigh. "It is her uncle, or rather the man we think is her uncle, but who insists he is not. I fear he may bring action against us."

  "What?" The teacup rattled precariously in Belle's hand. "Do you mean he has threatened us?"

  "Yes, or at least his solicitor has. I received a letter yesterday stating that if we persist in our attempts to contact the duke, a charge of blackmail will be laid against us."

  "Blackmail!" Bell was on her feet, her eyes flashing with fury. "How dare he accuse us of anything so monstrously untrue?"

  "Well"—Mrs. Langston nervously cleared her throat—"it may have something to do with the letter Miss Pringle sent him."

  "Miss Pringle?"

  "One of our new teachers. I believe I may have mentioned her the last time you were here."

  "Yes, I remember." Belle resumed her seat and picked up her teacup. "Thomasina Pringle, I believe you said?"

  "Yes." Mrs. Langston nodded again. "A dear girl, and terribly sweet, but rather . . . er . . . determined when it comes to doing what she considers to be right. When the last letter she sent to His Grace imploring him to call upon Amanda was returned with a stern note insisting he had no niece, I fear she took it amiss, and she wrote a second letter threatening to reveal to the papers what she termed his callous indifference. The note from the solicitor arrived the following day."

  Belle's eyes widened with dismay. "Oh dear," she said weakly, swallowing the lump in her throat.

  "Yes, it is rather disconcerting," Mrs. Langston agreed. "I was hoping you might write His Grace a letter and assure him our reputation is above reproach. He hinted we did this sort of thing all the time," she added with an indignant sniff.

  "Oh, did he?" Belle's anger stirred again. "In that case, I should be delighted to respond to him. May I see the letter, please?"

  Mrs. Langston happily fetched the letter from her desk. "I am sure this is all a dreadful misunderstanding," she said, handing the missive to Belle. "Once cooler heads have prevailed, all will be smoothed out, and naturally I shall insure that Thomasina ceases her activities where Amanda is concerned."

  "Ah yes, Miss Pringle," Belle replied, deciding she simply had to meet the other lady. "Where is she?"

  "She is in her classroom." Mrs. Langston nervously bit her lip. "You're . . . you're not going to dismiss her, are you? She really is the dearest thing, and the children adore her."

  "I shan't dismiss her," Belle promised, rising to her feet. "But I do intend having a word with her. I simply cannot have my teachers blackmailing our student's families."

  She found Miss Pringle in a classroom surrounded by a group of children who were listening wide-eyed as she read from the book cradled in her hands.

  " ' . . . awful specter. Dark it was, and writhing and moaning as if in mortal pain. Esmerelda took a tremulous step closer, the torch she held clutched in her hand provided but a meager light that scarce pierced the shadowy darkness of the secret chamber. She advanced closer, closer, drawn as if by an unseen tether. Suddenly one of the shadows detached itself from the wall, its clawed hands reaching out as Esmerelda, innocent of the danger, passed within its reach. Just as she passed its cave, a scream rang out and . . .' There, I believe that is where we shall stop today." And she closed the book with a snap.

  "Oh, Miss Pringle, no!" one young lady cried, lowering the hands that were shielding her face to cast her teacher a pleading look. "You can't stop there! What happens next?"

  "You shall just have to wait and see," Miss Pringle said, her hazel eyes sparkling behind the lenses of her wire-rimmed glasses. "And you all know what the payment will be, don't you?"

  "Four pages of mathematics," one of the boys grumbled, rolling his eyes in disgust. "You're a hard'un, Miss Pringle."

  "I consider it part of my charm," she answered wryly, reaching out to tousle his hair. "No faces now, or I shall add an extra page of Latin to the tally."

  Suddenly one of the children spotted Belle standing in the doorway and leapt to his feet. "Visitors!" he called, snapping to attention like a miniature soldier. The other children quickly followed suit, and even Miss Pringle rose, the book held in her arms as she dropped a curtsy.

  "Good day, ma'am," she said, her cultured voice polite but wary. "I am Miss Pringle. May I help you?"

  "Indeed you may, Miss Pringle," Belle said, smiling warmly. "I am Miss Portham, one of the guardians here, and if possible, I should like to have a word with you."

  Miss Pringle raised her chin, but other than a slight tightening of her full lips, she revealed no sign of trepidation. "Certainly, Miss Portham," she answered calmly. "Only allow me to set the children to their tasks, and I shall join you in the front parlor."

  Rather amused at the summary way she was being dismissed, Belle merely inclined her head, and began making her way toward the door. She paused en route to greet a few of the younger students, handing out smiles and candies with equal generosity. A few minutes later she was in the parlor, where Miss Pringle soon joined her. The other woman wasted no time in getting straight to the heart of the matter.

  "I wasn't blackmailing the miserable creature," she said, her pointed chin jutting forward. "I was merely reminding him of his noble obligations. It's hardly my fault if he took it amiss."

  Her reply was so like something Pip would say that Belle broke into a soft chuckle. "When one is forced to justify one's actions, Miss Pringle, one is acknowledging from the start that one is in the wrong," she said, with a warm smile. "However, if it will help ease your mind, I am not here to give you the boot."

  Miss Pringle pushed her spectacles back on her nose and gave Belle a suspicious look. "You're not?"

  "No. I can't say as I approve of your actions regarding Lord Perryvale, but I cannot fault your reasons for doing so. I am delighted you have taken such an interest in Amanda."

  The scowl on the younger woman's face vanished as if by magic, and her thin face took on a luminous quality. "She is an angel," she said, dropping her distrustful air as she leaned forward in her chair. "One tries not to have favorites among the students, but with Amanda I could not help myself. There is something so very special about her . . ."

  "I have noticed," Belle admitted, recalling her own affection for the solemn-eyed little girl. "She is a taking little thing."

  "That is why I cannot understand that wretch—the duke's refusal to acknowledge Amanda," Miss Pringle said, hastily correcting herself. "What person in his right mind would want to deny kinship to such an adorable child?"

  Memories of her own girlhood rose to torment Belle for a brief moment. "I cannot say, Miss Pringle," she replied with a sad smile, "but I do know one cannot force such a relationship upon another. If His Grace does not choose to acknowledge Amanda's existence, then we have no choice but to honor that decision. I trust I am making myself clear?"

  Miss Pringle's light brown eyebrows met over her nose in a scowl. "No more letters?"

  "Definitely no more letters," Belle said firmly. "From what Mrs. Langston has told me, your literary efforts have already caused quiet enough damage. Threats of suit for slander are not to be taken lightly, you know."

  "I suppose not," Miss Pringle agreed with another scowl, "although I hardly think it can be considered slander when it is the truth."

  Once more her resemblance to Pip brought a smile to Belle's face. She would have to take care the two never met, she decided whimsically, or heaven help the poor duke. "I have your word, then?" she asked, meeting the teacher'
s thoughtful gaze. "You won't pester His Grace with any more letters?"

  Miss Pringle remained silent as she considered the matter. "Very well, Miss Portham," she said at last, setting her slender shoulders in a determined line. "I give you my most solemn vow that I shall never attempt to contact Lord Perryvale by post again."

  It was only as Belle was returning home that the odd wording of Miss Pringle's promise occurred to her. Given the younger woman's rather forceful nature, she wondered if she should have demanded a more concise promise from her. If the girl was half so determined as Pip, she feared it was an oversight she would come to regret.

  Nine

  T he family was enjoying a rare afternoon at home the following day when their tranquillity was disrupted by the arrival of Simon Dolitan, Julia's older brother. Upon hearing his deep voice in the hallway, Julia leapt to her feet, scattering her sewing as she rushed out to greet him.

  "Simon!" she cried, throwing herself into his muscular arms. "Oh, I knew you would come!"

  "Of course I came." He chuckled, giving her an affectionate hug. "What sort of man would I be to miss my own sister's ball, hm? Now, stand back so I can see what a fine lady you have become," he instructed, detaching her arms from about his neck and stepping back to admire her.

  "Well, what do you think?" Julia demanded, tossing her golden curls with a girlish laugh. "Do I look like a countess?"

  Simon's deep blue eyes grew even darker. "You look like a queen," he said, his voice husky. "Mama would have been very proud of you."

  Belle watched the touching reunion from the door, feeling like an interloper. This is how it should be with families, she thought, blinking back tears. The love and support she'd always longed for and yet never had known. The thought made her feel more alone than ever.

  Julia dragged Simon into the parlor, fussing over him until he laughingly threatened to return to the North, if only for some peace and quiet. Conversation became smoother after that, and Simon regaled them with tales of his journey and some investments he was considering.