Mary Blayney - [Pennistan 03]

by Strangers Kiss

  “What happened between them?”

  “The duel that Rowlandson ridiculed in his cartoon. Meryon challenged him. It was Meryon’s young groom who was killed, accidentally.”

  “Oh dear heaven, William. The poor boy.” She gripped her hands together. “What were they dueling over?”

  “You will have to ask Meryon. It is only now that the ton realizes that Meryon was the other party.”

  “Ask him? I will not. The question is, should I tell him that I am Bendas’s daughter?”

  “No.” William spoke with conviction. “How many times must I tell you that he puts his family before everything else? If he knows, he may try to find a way to use that knowledge, and the rift between you and Bendas, to his advantage.”

  “All right.” She drew a breath. “You are making him sound like a villain. I thought you liked him.”

  “I do. Very much. But on this we are at odds. Grandfather was exonerated and, for the Bendasbrooks, the incident is over. You understand that I must do all I can to protect the dukedom.”

  “What an awful position you are in, William.”

  “Father more than me. One thing I promise you is that there will not be another Bendas-Meryon duel. I will not let it come to that ever again.”

  “It does make the business about that handkerchief seem silly.”

  “Because it is, Elena.” William’s attitude made it clear it was not something he wanted to discuss.

  “Perhaps the Duke of Meryon will leave early as well.”

  “Not unless he has a wish to irritate Prinny. No one, with the possible exception of those as old as Bendas, will leave before the Regent does.”

  She played with the flowers, trying to improve their arrangement, and did not say anything.

  “Will you be able to sing with both Bendas and Meryon there?”

  “Of course.” She shrugged away his concern. “Singing is my great consolation, as riding is yours, William dear.”

  He understood that comparison and they rode on in silence.

  Her father and the Duke of Meryon. And most likely a dozen other dukes, including the royal dukes. Thank goodness titles had long ago ceased to impress her. Mutual hatred was something else entirely. It would be best if she avoided both Meryon and Bendas.

  ———

  FOR THE DUKE OF MERYON the trip to the palace took less than five minutes. In fact he could have reached it even more quickly on foot. The palace was brightly lit for the event, every window glowing.

  Once inside Meryon knew that it would take an amazingly long time to work his way from the entrance to the banqueting room. And he knew better than to insult the Regent by arriving after he did. It was going to be a long evening.

  His escort directed him down a passage. “Your Grace, the royal dukes will be in attendance as well as one hundred guests. Many of them are single women, both never married and widowed.”

  Prinny was playing matchmaker? Meryon wondered if he was a consolation prize for the young ladies who did not catch the royal dukes’ eyes.

  “I do believe there will be some dancing after dinner.”

  Which translated into “do not plan to leave before dawn.”

  Meryon estimated that approximately half the guests had arrived before he did and were lined up on either side of the red carpet that bisected the room. There were two long tables on either side of the carpet set for an elaborate meal, and a head table for the Regent and his personal guests.

  Introduced to the master of ceremonies by his escort, Meryon was then announced formally to those already present. The crowd quieted at the thump of the master’s staff followed by, “His Grace, the Duke of Meryon.” The master of ceremonies’ voice was wonderfully sonorous, reaching to the far ends of the room. His announcement was followed by bows and curtsies from the assembled and a buzz of welcome as conversation resumed.

  Meryon made his way through the crowd, exchanging greetings. Most of this group was comfortable with the pomp and it would not keep them from having a good time. He saw Kyle and was halfway to his friend, who was talking with two fresh-faced women, when he spotted the Duke of Bendas.

  The man was as old as dirt and tottered through the path the crowd made for him, leaning heavily on a stick. Ignoring the fact that everyone was standing, he demanded a chair be brought for him.

  Meeting him in public was bound to happen, Meryon knew that, and he should have realized that Bendas would be invited this evening.

  Meryon waited for Bendas to recognize him. The old man was no more than five feet away when he stopped and jerked back as though he had run into a brick wall.

  “Good evening, Your Grace.” Meryon stepped into his path, pleased that the conventional greeting sounded anything but cordial.

  “I heard you were back from Germany.” Bendas eyed him up and down as though finding fault with his attire.

  Despite the fact that Bendas was misstating the obvious, the insulting perusal and the one sentence told Meryon something. Bendas was near blind. He was squinting his rheumy eyes and his neck was stuck out as though waiting for the executioner to strike.

  Besides that, the old bastard kept track of where the Duke of Meryon was, or had been, and could not remember that it was France and not Germany.

  Meryon forced himself to relax his fist and nodded at the old duke’s mention of Europe.

  “Speak up, man.” The duke raised his stick. “I cannot hear you.”

  “Yes, I am returned from France as I think this will be a pivotal year in Parliament.”

  “Humph” was all the old man said, which meant that Bendas either could not hear him or agreed but did not want to admit it.

  “How is your sister?” He asked that with a sly grin that made Meryon fist his hand again.

  “She is well.”

  “Tell me her name.” The old duke raised his stick in a way that could only be construed as threatening.

  Meryon reached out and casually pulled it from his weak grip. He leaned closer as he made to hand the stick back. As he wrapped Bendas’s hand around the head of his cane, he squeezed a little more tightly than was necessary and whispered, “Do not tempt me.”

  Bendas took his stick and tried to stare Meryon down. Bendas looked away first.

  “Two special acts before Parliament, Your Grace?” Meryon went on. “You must think the land is very valuable. What does your son say about the change to the entail?”

  “None of your damn business.” Bendas looked around for rescue but none of the crowd listening so avidly wanted the confrontation to end.

  Meryon turned toward two earls who were nearby. “You should take a look at the parcel, Sanders; it’s close to your seat and you know how valuable that land has proved.”

  “Stop your tongue, you arrogant—”

  Before Bendas could truly insult Meryon, the orchestra sounded a chord and the master of ceremonies thumped the floor four times.

  Everyone stopped mid-sentence, jostled for position, and turned to the door as the master announced: “His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales!”

  Meryon knew that Olivia would want to know every tiny detail of the food service. Despite her endless attempts to educate him, he could say not more than the food would have been quite tasty if it had been served warm. He settled for the dishes that were best at room temperature and feasted well.

  He had arrived too late to move the place cards around and could only thank him when the Marquis Straemore told him that his wife had done the fiddling and they would dine together.

  The Marchioness Straemore sat to his right, and the lady to his left was the widow of a duke, an older woman who was nothing less than flattered to be included. “What I should like to do most of all tonight is dance the waltz. Do you think they will play one? It is everywhere now but I have no idea what the Regent thinks of it.”

  The marchioness made outrageous observations about the likelihood of the royals marrying any of the ladies present. Finally her husband removed her win
eglass, as if that was the reason she had been so frank.

  Before the marchioness could do any more than give her husband a look of annoyance, the orchestra played the now familiar chord announcing the next part of the festivities.

  “Peers of the realm and ladies and gentlemen.” The master of ceremonies’ commanding voice began, and in a moment the footmen stopped clearing and the master had the attention of the entire assemblage.

  “Good evening once again. By His Highness’s request the lady singer Signora Elena Verano will entertain us with songs before the dancing portion of the evening begins.”

  12

  THE MASTER OF CEREMONIES’ announcement that Elena Verano would sing drew a round of delighted oohs and ahhs.

  When Elena Verano traded places with the master of ceremonies, she curtsied to the Regent and then to both tables. Meryon nodded as though the curtsy were aimed at him alone.

  As she had the other night at the Harbisons’, she waited, letting her eyes search the crowd, without lingering on any familiar face. Her glance invited them to forget trial and tribulation, lie and deception, fear and failure, and live in this moment of music. Meryon returned her smile when her gaze met his so briefly.

  She looked even more beautiful tonight. The deep green of her gown set off her fresh pink cheeks. She wore her dark hair up, as she had the first time he saw her.

  Signora Verano could not possibly sing as perfectly as she had the other night, even if she had lessons from the great Signor Ponto every day. Meryon tried to relax and then realized that he was nervous for her.

  In a show of perfect timing, the very moment before the crowd grew restless, Signora Verano began. She sang a capella, a song he recognized as a traditional ballad. He had expected something Italian or operatic at least, but this was neither. She sang of love used, abused, and casually tossed away. His heart sank. This had nothing of the power he had heard before.

  She sang the song with humor and the crowd was amused if not impressed.

  Her expression as much as her voice invited the audience to share her disdain for anyone who did not understand that love toyed with us, especially when we tried to toy with it.

  She finished. Polite applause did little to distract the audience from the abrupt departure of the Duke of Bendas. His muttering was unintelligible and the constant hushing sounds from his escort only made him louder. “Stupid song. Badly sung. Let me out before she gives me a headache.”

  Meryon clenched his fist and wanted to use it to pummel the useless fool.

  “I want to beat up that fool duke. He should at least wait until she does another song.” The marchioness rose a little and Meryon was afraid that she really was going to confront him.

  “I feel exactly as you do, my lady, but surely the Signora has experienced harsher critics.”

  “Yes, it is the fate of all who perform,” the marchioness agreed.

  Signora Verano showed them all how to handle a difficult audience. She curtsied to the old man. When he had left the room she began her second song without showing the slightest upset at his caustic comments.

  Meryon straightened as the first notes filled the room. Why had she started with the other when this song matched her voice so perfectly? He loved music but was embarrassingly unfamiliar with composers and such details, yet he knew enough to recognize she was singing it brilliantly.

  If the song the night before had been filled with euphoria, this one promised passion. In the softest of voices that still managed to reach to the corners of the room, she whispered of a hope for love offered and shared. It did not so much touch the heart as tell them that love had touched hers.

  She repeated the words, her voice no longer a whisper. The longing for love so clear, it hurt to watch her beg.

  Again, she sang the same words with even greater heart, so that the offering and the wanting became a desperate need.

  She finished with a soaring finale that was a passionate demand. The song ended with an abruptness that left the audience on the top of a peak with no way to climb down. Meryon wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything before.

  Signora Verano accepted the cheers and shouts of “Brava!” graciously, and before the crowd was quite finished with their applause she sang her last song, an agreeable, humorous series of words that might well have meant nothing but sounded so euphonious there was no doubt they belonged together.

  Singing with a speed and assurance that was staggering, she finished with a little chirrup as though one last word must escape her lips. Laughter mixed with applause as she walked the length of the tables to curtsy deeply to the Regent, who was standing and clapping wildly.

  Meryon stood as the others did, feeling a totally misplaced pride in her performance. When the clapping faded the prince raised his glass of brandy. “To Signora Elena Verano. The lady who has warmed our cold English spring with a voice that calls the flowers to life.”

  Elena smiled and curtsied again, turning to face the rest of her audience as they chorused “Hear! Hear!” Her charming expression asked, “What can one do in the face of such extravagant praise?”

  “Signora,” the prince called out, “join us for the dancing. As a matter of fact we will count on you to demonstrate the way Italians dance the waltz. Straemore, you and your wife have been to France recently, please join the Signora on the dance floor and I must find someone to partner her.”

  The marchioness all but danced over to the Regent and whispered something to him.

  “Of course, my lady!” The prince took her hand and kissed it with enthusiasm. “Meryon, the marchioness tells me that you are an exceptional dancer. Partner the Signora and show us how it is done.” He took another long drink of brandy, which was undoubtedly the fuel for his creativity, and named four other couples to join the rest on the floor.

  Meryon set his glass down and wondered what devilment was afoot that would bring the two of them together again, this time in a place as public as their first two meetings were private.

  ELENA SMILED, THOUGH what she really wanted was to run from the room. Her father’s reaction had unnerved her and though she had known that seeing Meryon again was inevitable, it only added to her uncertainty, especially when she was sure that the duke wanted to dance the waltz with her as much as he wanted marzipan for breakfast. With William’s warning racing through her head, she would now think twice about every gesture he made. And the handkerchief. What must he think of that?

  Meryon came to her without demur. If she ever needed proof that he was a gentleman then this was the incident she would cite. He bowed and offered his hand with as much civility as he had promised, as if they had never met, kissed, argued. It helped steady her some.

  “While I was in France last year,” he said, sounding like a tutor preparing a student for a lesson, “I observed that the French dance the waltz with more intimacy than the English. I imagine the Italians do as well.”

  Elena curtsied and rose. “Yes, but I have only danced it once or twice, and only with my husband.”

  “It will remind you of him.” He spoke with some certainty and before she could answer he added, “I apologize for the prince’s thoughtlessness.”

  “Oh no, not at all, Your Grace.” Dancing was the least of the memories she treasured. “It is only that I am not very experienced.”

  He smiled a little and Elena wished she had chosen a different word.

  “The prince is busy with his matchmaking.” The duke glanced toward the head table. “I think it will be a few minutes before we begin.”

  She followed his gaze and saw one of the royals arguing with his brother over whom he should partner.

  “Your Grace,” she began and then the words came tumbling out, “my ward, Mia Castellano, the girl who was with me today—she borrowed my handkerchief and then left it in your coach. Her governess has been filling her head with all sorts of nonsense about how to attract a gentleman. I apologize for her behavior. She is young and inclined to romantic fancies.
” Stop, Elena, she commanded herself. Stop babbling.

  “Your handkerchief.” Meryon looked intrigued but sounded as though he knew nothing about the item. “In my coach. If I find it I’ll be sure to send it back.”

  “You did not find it?” Elena closed her eyes, mortified. Now he would think she was a fool.

  “No, not that I know of,” he said slowly, “but I will have the groom look for it.”

  “Thank you.” And then the words tumbled out again. “As embarrassing as it is to explain something like that, I am relieved that you did not find it. I would never want you to think I would resort to such trickery to claim your attention.” There, she thought, please let that be the end of it.

  “No such trickery is necessary.” He stopped her heart with his smile. “Some generous angel has given me a second chance, Signora Verano.” He bowed to her a little. “I would very much like to know how you would signal interest in a gentleman’s attentions.”

  “I want no one’s attentions, Your Grace.” Especially yours.

  “Now, you see, I cannot tell if that is an honest protestation or flirting.”

  “I hate flirting.” She did not raise her voice, but the effort to keep her voice down made her words sound more fervent than she intended. At least no one was paying any attention to them. They were all watching the bickering at the prince’s table.

  “I rather like flirting,” he countered. “I think of it as an invitation designed to protect one’s own interests.”

  “I hate it,” she insisted, sounding to her own ears like a child refusing a treat. She wanted more than anything to leave the room. Which would attract attention.

  “As long as you do not hate me, signora.”

  Oh, she thought, this is awful. He did not realize that he was flirting with his worst enemy’s daughter. “You are being quite unfair, Your Grace. I find this an unpleasant conversation but I cannot leave the floor without causing gossip.”

  “My apologies, Signora Verano.” Surprise replaced his teasing tone. Surprise and a small glint of bafflement at her distress.