Belle Of The Ball

by Joan Overfield

  "You might wish to look into that, Belle," he said, crossing one booted foot over another as he leaned back in his chair. "Low risks and good returns. It could make you a fortune."

  "I already have a fortune," she reminded him with a chuckle. "But I promise to keep it in mind."

  "Are you sure? For two thousand pounds you could realize three times that in less than five years time; sooner, if this steamboat I have been hearing so much about is a success."

  "What on earth is a steamboat?" Georgiana demanded with a suspicious scowl. "It sounds a dreadfully vulgar thing to me."

  "It is a boat propelled by steam rather than by wind or oar, ma'am," Simon explained good-naturedly. "It was invented by an American named Robert Fulton, and 'tis said it will revolutionize travel and commerce by the end of the decade."

  "An American, hm?" Georgiana replied with a sniff. "Well, that would explain its vulgarity then."

  Julia leapt into the silence that followed with an eager description of her new ball gown. Simon listened with every indication of interest, his expression grave as he offered his opinions when pressed. When that subject had been exhausted, she tentatively mentioned Toby, and a cold smile touched Simon's mouth.

  "Ah yes, the young poet who has swept you off your feet," he said, his expression unreadable. "When am I to meet this paragon of masculine virtue?"

  Belle choked on her mouthful of tea. Paragon of masculine virtue? Toby? It was all she could do not to laugh aloud, and she hastily composed her features.

  "Now, Simon." Julia was regarding her brother with a chiding frown. "You know full well I said no such thing. I said he was all that I have ever wanted in a husband, and you know it."

  "My mistake." He inclined his head. "But I would still like to know when I am to meet him . . . and his cousin. The earl of Colford, is he not?"

  "Yes," Belle answered before Julia could speak. "He and I have known each other socially for a number of years, and I would be happy to vouchsafe for him. He is a most worthy gentleman."

  Julia and Georgiana looked pleased and shocked by turns. Georgiana was the first to recover, her teacup held poised in her hand as she said, "Yes, the earl is quite a top-of-the-trees fellow, and Mr. Flanders is not without his charms. We are hoping you will agree to the match, as Julia seems quite determined to marry him."

  "Are you, brat?" Simon turned to Julia.

  "Quite determined, Simon," she said softly, her gaze meeting his. "With or without your permission."

  He remained silent for a moment and then slowly nodded his head. "In that case, I had best meet the fellow. Cousin Belle? Do you think you might be able to arrange something?"

  "Of course, Simon," Belle agreed, eager to help now that she knew Julia's heart was truly engaged. "I shall invite them for tea. Julia's ball is next week, and they are hoping to make their announcement then."

  "We shall see," Simon said noncommittally. "We shall see. In the meantime let me tell you about another American invention I am thinking of investing in. It is called a cotton gin, and it will make cotton growing more profitable than ever . . ."

  Marcus was about to set out for the park with Lady Bingjngton when the footman arrived with the note from Miss Portham. He read it quickly, his expression darkening as he handed it back to the waiting servant.

  "Is there an answer, my lord?" the young man asked anxiously. "The boy was told to wait for an answer."

  "Have him tell Miss Portham that both Toby and I would be honored to meet Mr. Dolitan," he said, slapping his riding crop against the top of his Hessians. "Then I want you to go up and pry Mr. Flanders out of his study. Use force if you must, but I want him dressed and waiting when I return from my ride."

  The footman broke into a wide grin. "Aye, my lord," he said. "I'll do that."

  Marcus pulled his hat on and stalked outside, where a postboy was waiting with his stallion. After tossing the lad a shilling, he leapt up on the animal's back and began riding toward Hyde Park, where he had arranged to meet Lady Bingington and her stepson, Lord Wilbert. The ride had been set up last week, and he wondered if it meant the lovely widow was finally considering his suit.

  Lord, he hated the necessity for this courting dance, he thought, his expression closed as he nodded to a few of his acquaintances who were already out enjoying the afternoon sun. He liked Charlotte well enough, and he respected her, but left to his own devices, he would never have thought of offering for her. Marriage had always been someplace in the hazy future for him, and when he envisioned his prospective bride, he'd always pictured her as younger, shyer, with golden hair and eyes . . .

  He jerked in horror at the image, causing his horse to whinny in protest. He eased up on the reins at once, murmuring a quiet apology to the disgruntled animal. What the devil was the matter with him? he wondered, reaching up a shaking hand to brush the copper-colored hair out of his eyes. Belle was the one who had suffered the blow to the head, not him. So why was he the one to be suffering from delusions? And a delusion it was, to think Belle would consider marrying him, he told himself sternly. It was madness, and the sooner he put it from his mind, the better.

  Lady Bingington and Lord Wilbert were waiting for him at their prearranged spot, and he doffed his hat with an easy smile. "Good afternoon, Lady Bingington, Lord Wilbert. I hope you are ready for a good gallop in the park. I need something to blow the cobwebs from my mind!"

  "You and Mater may proceed ahead of me," Lord Wilbert said with an affected lisp, regarding Marcus through a pair of watery blue eyes. "I shall follow at a discreet distance. Mind you don't take any fences, Mama."

  Lady Bingington exchanged a laughing glance with Marcus. "Yes, Hoppy, I shan't," she said, and then she and Marcus wheeled their mounts and went cantering across the grass.

  "Hoppy?" Marcus asked once they were out of earshot.

  "The nickname his brothers use when they wish to plague him," she said with a rich laugh. "He is next in line to the earldom of Hoppleigh, hence the diminutive form of address. He pretends to hate it, but I think he secretly likes the ridiculous name. He doubtlessly feels it has a certain je ne sais quoi."

  "It has something, all right, if one doesn't mind being mistaken for a toad," Marcus agreed with a chuckle.

  They rode along Rotten Row, exchanging greetings with friends and discussing a variety of topics. By the end of the ride he had decided to call upon her formally. Until now he'd been careful to avoid anything smacking of courtship, but now the time for caution was past. His debts were growing more pressing, and it was time he made his offer.

  "I was wondering, Lady Bingington, if you were going to be at home tomorrow," he asked, his tone and manner formal.

  "Yes, my lord, I am," she answered, making no attempt to hide her confusion. "May I ask why you wish to know?"

  He drew a deep breath, realizing he was about to take the most important step of his life. If she agreed to his calling upon her, it would mean he was irrevocably committed to marrying her. If not, it would mean he was free . . .

  "If you and your family will be at home, I thought to call upon you," he said, his gray eyes meeting hers. "I would like to speak to your stepsons."

  There, he'd said it, he thought, his shoulders tensing as he waited for her answer. He could see by the expression on her face that she understood his unspoken meaning. Now all that remained was determining what she would do.

  Lady Bingington remained silent, her lovely face giving away nothing of her most inner thoughts. She looked at Marcus for a long moment, and then slowly inclined her head. "Very well, my lord," she said, a note of quiet acceptance in her voice. "I would like that very much. Shall we say three o'clock?"

  "Are you sure m'cravat is all right?" Toby demanded for the third time in as many minutes. "Don't know why I let that fool of a valet tie it in a Mathematical. The Oriental's all the rage now. Dolitan will take me for a quiz."

  "He'll take you for a Bedlamite if you don't calm down," Marcus growled, fighting the urge to slap Toby'
s hands away from his cravat. He'd been plucking at it since they'd left the house, and it now hung in limp disarray about his fleshy throat. Hopefully Dolitan didn't care a fig about such things, he thought sourly, else he would refuse Toby on that basis alone.

  "Don't think he'll quiz me, do you?" Toby demanded, abandoning his appearance for another worry. "Was never good at examinations, you know. Barely made it through Oxford."

  "I know," Marcus replied, shuddering as he recalled the battle he'd waged to keep the dons from tossing out their indifferent pupil. "But don't worry, I much doubt Julia's brother will ask you to conjugate Latin verbs."

  "I brought my poems with me," Toby said, patting the leather folio on his lap. "Thought he might be impressed. Most people are, you know, when they meet a real poet."

  Marcus managed to answer without laughing, although it was a close thing. He was more afraid Mr. Dolitan would concern himself with Toby's financial situation, and then show them the door when he learned how desperate things really were. He knew most Cits would consider themselves lucky to be aligned to such an old and noble family as his, but from the little he'd learned of Simon Dolitan, he doubted a bankrupt title would hold much sway with him.

  They arrived at Miss Portham's in less than twenty minutes and were immediately ushered into the formal salon, where the family had gathered to receive them. After the introductions had been made, everyone took their seats, Toby siting beside Julia, and Marcus beside Belle. Georgiana and Simon sat across from them, eyeing the two couples with varying degrees of interest. There was an uncomfortable silence before Belle took the lead.

  "We were discussing America just before you arrived, my lord," she said, turning to give Marcus a tentative smile. "Simon is setting sail for Charleston at the end of June, and he has been telling us the most remarkable stories."

  "Indeed?" Marcus inquired politely, eyeing the other man with veiled curiosity. Like his sister, Mr. Dolitan had wheat blond hair and sapphire blue eyes, but his harsh, remote features held no hint of Julia's gentle shyness. He looked every bit as hard and dangerous as he was reputed to be, and Marcus steeled himself for the coming confrontation.

  "A fascinating country," Simon replied, returning Marcus's measuring stare. "I was there two years ago and have been anxious to return."

  "Simon is going to invest in a steamboat!" Julia exclaimed with a nervous smile. "He says that soon all boats will be driven by steam. Didn't you, Simon?"

  "Not all, imp." Simon's expression softened as he smiled at his younger sister. "But most of the ones engaged in commerce shall certainly be affected. That is why I am interested," he said in an aside to Toby and Marcus. "I own several mills in the North, and shipping my products to market has always been a problem. This could change everything."

  The conversation became general after that, and Belle allowed a quarter hour to pass until she set her cup to one side. "I am sure you gentlemen must have a great deal to discuss," she said, rising gracefully to her feet. "Come, Georgiana and Julia, we shall retire to the library."

  Julia's lips trembled and for a moment it looked as if she might protest, but Toby reached out to take her hand. "You go with your cousins, my sweet," he said, giving her hand a paternal pat. "Men's business, don't you know. Don't worry, I shall be with you in a cat's whisker."

  Once the ladies had taken their leave, Simon wasted little time in getting to the matter at hand. "So you intend marrying my sister, do you, Mr. Flanders?" he asked quietly, fixing Toby with an incisive look.

  "I . . . yes, Mr. Dolitan, I do," Toby stammered, nervously licking his lips. "I adore her, and will do all that I can to see she never lacks for anything."

  "And how do you intend doing that?" Simon asked coolly, his eyes never leaving Toby's face. "Other than a small annuity from your father's estate, you haven't a living to speak of."

  Toby tugged on the collar of his cravat. "That's not precisely so, sir," he said, frantically wishing he were anywhere but here facing this cold-eyed devil. "I'm m'cousin's heir, you know, and stand to inherit an earldom. A fine estate and one of the oldest titles in England. Belle would be a countess, and—"

  "I think Mr. Dolitan and I shall continue this conversation, Toby," Marcus interrupted, seeing the cold sneer forming on Mr. Dolitan's mouth. "As head of the family, it is my duty to discuss our finances with him. You may go."

  Toby hesitated, torn between relief and the niggling suspicion that this was more his affair than Marcus's. "Are you certain, my lord?" he asked, cousin. There had been something in his face when he'd greeted Belle that made him wonder, especially since Belle had the same expression in her eyes whenever she looked at him.

  They spent the next half hour hammering out their financial differences before arriving at a marriage settlement acceptable to them both. Finally they were content, and as they rose to their feet, Simon offered Marcus his hand with a grin.

  "It is probably just as well they don't allow gentlemen to sully their hands with trade, my lord," he said, his eyes dancing with amusement as he shook Marcus's hand. "I should hate to face a skilled negotiator like you in a matter of business. I have a feeling you'd make a dangerous opponent."

  "Thank you, Mr. Dolitan," Marcus said, pleased by the compliment. "Coming from you, that is praise indeed."

  Simon merely laughed, eyeing Marcus with a rueful expression. "Are you quite certain I can't convince you to marry Julia?"

  "Quite certain, sir."

  "Pity." Simon gave a regretful sigh. "You would have made a most interesting brother-in-law."

  The news that Simon had agreed to the match was met with tears of joy from his sister, and relief from Toby. Belle decided the moment called for celebration, and ordered the butler to bring up a bottle of champagne from the wine cellar. Once the health of the happy couple had been toasted, talk turned to the ball. While Julia was describing her gown to Toby, Belle quietly drew Marcus to one side of the room.

  "Thank you for your help, sir," she said, offering him a tentative smile as she studied his face. "I know you had more to do with Simon's agreeing his eyes flickering toward Mr. Dolitan. "Julia is my fiancée, and I still haven't explained about m'poems. I am published, you know," he said.

  "So Julia has informed me." The cool note in Mr. Dolitan's voice made it obvious he was less than awed by this achievement.

  "Oh." Toby rose to his feet and beat a hasty retreat, leaving Marcus and Simon to size each other up in silence.

  "If you are half as clever as I have heard you are, then you already know Colford is in hock up to its rafters," Marcus said without preamble. "But you needn't think that has anything to do with Toby's offering for your sister. He genuinely loves her."

  "I know that," Simon said, his opinion of the earl rising. "That is all that has kept me from forbidding the match outright. I'll not have my sister taken advantage of by anyone. Even," he added, smiling slightly, "by a published poet who may one day be an earl."

  Some of the tension holding Marcus rigid relaxed at the other man's teasing words. "You will not oppose the marriage?"

  "I should, for your cousin isn't at all the sort of man I would prefer for my sister," he said with surprising candor, his dark blue eyes meeting Marcus's. "Now, you, on the other hand, are far closer to what I had in mind when I first agreed to let Belle sponsor her. Don't suppose you'd care to cut your cousin out, would you?"

  Marcus managed to hide his shock. "No, I would not," he said with alacrity. "Julia is as sweet as she is lovely, but she is almost young enough to be my daughter. I assure you my taste in brides does not run to children."

  "That is reassuring," Simon drawled, wondering if the earl's tastes ran to older ladies . . . like his to this marriage than did Toby, and I thank you. Julia would have been shattered had her brother opposed the match. They are very close, you know."

  "So I gathered," Marcus drawled, his eyes flicking to the other side of the room where Mr. Dolitan was regarding his sister with an indulgent smile. "He is rather a form
idable young man, and I should hate like the devil to cross him."

  "Simon had it harder than Julia," Belle answered, thinking of the past several years. "He is related to my mother's side of the family, and although he was raised a gentleman, he's always worked for a living. He even spent a few years with the East India Company before returning to England to open his own mills. I know he's quite wealthy, and with our family connections, he'd be accepted into the ton without hesitation. Unfortunately he doesn't seem to have the slightest inclination to do so."

  "Why?" Marcus asked.

  "Because he is almost as stiff-necked as I am," Belle replied with a laugh. "He is proud of his accomplishments and sees no reason why he should pretend otherwise merely because 'gentlemen' aren't supposed to engage in trade."

  "It does seem rather foolish," Marcus agreed slowly, although truth to tell, he'd never given the matter much thought. "Earning one's living with one's own hands can hardly be a less honorable profession than bleeding one's tenants dry the way many of our fine lords do."

  The amazing observation had Belle choking on her wine, and she sent him an incredulous look. "Why, Lord Colford, never say there may be hope for you after all," she mocked, teasing him in a way she'd have considered impossible a few months ago. "I must write Pip a note at once, and let her know we have a convert. Certainly no proper Tory would ever utter such a thing!"

  "Hellcat." Marcus reached out to flick a tanned finger against her flushed cheek. "For your information, ma'am, Tories care equally for the plight of the poor, even if we choose to go about showing it in a different way. But enough of that now. Is politics all you ever think of?"

  "Perhaps," she murmured coyly, seeking refuge in her wine and wondering what he would say if he knew how many hours she'd spent brooding over him and the disturbing feelings he stirred in her.