Miss Tolliver told him quite pleasantly that she did not expect him to understand it, but the earl's money had nothing to do with her decision to wed. "There are some things more important than money, Charles."
"Well, yes—" He thought deeply, then objected. "But it takes money to buy those things!"
Miss Tolliver shook her head at him. "Charles, Charles, Charles. No matter what the situation, I can always depend on you to say something incredibly asinine."
"Now see here—" he said in a huff, but Miss Tolliver would not see.
"Just remember, Charles," she told him, walking from the room. "All things in moderation. All things. Even settlements."
It was a considerably crestfallen Sir Charles Tolliver who met with the Earl of Manseford later.
During the next two weeks Miss Tolliver learned that it was the dowager countess's grand plan to have a ball to announce their wedding, based on that lady's belief that once 200 of their nearest and dearest friends knew of the bridal plans, Miss Tolliver would hesitate even more to draw back. The invitations had been sent out without Miss Tolliver's knowledge to that end, but now that dear Margaret knew about the ball, why, that was all right, too. Now she could start earlier to help with the many details that accompany such an affair.
Miss Tolliver thanked the countess with becoming meekness for her graciousness in allowing Miss Tolliver to spend her days indoors soothing cook and housekeeper, while outside the sky was blue and the weather warm, and other people— just some other people, you understand—might have rather spent their time riding, driving, or walking in the garden. The countess, who held that all sunlight was injurious to the complexion, patted Margaret's hand and told her she was not one of those people.
"Posted and riposted," Miss Tolliver murmured, and asked just who comprised the guest list for the coming gala.
"Now you mustn't be thinking that none of your friends will be invited," the countess told her, patting her hand again, "for your aunt and brother supplied us with a great many names on your behalf. Such as—Cressida Fallsworth." At random the countess picked up a card of acceptance that had arrived that morning.
"Cressy Fallsworth!" Miss Tolliver sat bolt upright. "I detest Cressy Fallsworth!"
The countess gazed at her in surprise. "Lord Mortimer Raleigh?" she ventured, selecting another of the cards.
Miss Tolliver's consternation grew. "Mortimer Raleigh proposed to me the first year of my coming out, and I told him at that time that I would never—positively never— marry. And you invited him to my betrothal ball?" Worriedly she asked to see the list supplied by her family. The names that came from her brother were quite unexceptional—even if, she noticed in amusement, they were people much more acquainted with Charles than with herself—but her Aunt Henrietta's list was composed solely of persons Miss Tolliver always found it difficult to decide if she disliked more or less than visiting the toothdrawer.
When Henrietta was taxed about this, she gazed at her niece in surprise, and said it could not be so. After all, she told them, when the countess first approached her she had sat down and made two lists; one of the people Margaret most liked, and one of the people she most did not like. Then she had thrown the one list away.
"But why—" her niece started.
Aunt Henrietta's surprise deepened. "Why, so I wouldn't get confused, my dear!"
"But you did get confused!" the countess told her indignantly. "You gave me the wrong list!"
"I did?" Aunt Henrietta picked up Lazaurus and prepared to drift from the room. "I certainly didn't mean to! How extraordinary!"
Miss Tolliver's rueful eyes met the countess's indignant ones. "My dear countess, it promises to be a most— unusual—party!''
"But why would all these people come if you don't like them?'' the countess almost wailed as she indicated a pile of acceptances.
Miss Tolliver smiled and said that an invitation to a ball at Willowdale must mend a lot of relationships. With a snort of disgust, her elderly companion hoped that being in costume would make it all all right, adding, "You must just try and guess who the most objectionable of the people are, my dear, and avoid them."
"But in dominoes and masks they'll all look alike!"
The countess shrugged philosophically, and suggested that Miss Tolliver avoid everybody. Privately Miss Tolliver thought that would be a trifle hard to do at her own engagement ball.
It was difficult. Miss Tolliver, in the soft blue domino she had draped around her so that the long, loose cloak covered her hair and gown, surveyed the crowd before her and sighed. His lordship, standing against the wall in his scarlet domino (his grandfather, his grandmama had assured him, wore just such a one at their engagement ball, a statement that effectively forestalled any further argument that he would rather wear black) engrossed in conversation with whom she guessed must be Chuffy Marletonthorpe, was easy to identify. The countess she could readily recognize by her size and the brisk way she moved, plus the fact that she was closely shadowed by two gray dominoes, Caroline and Cassandra having returned—despite their mother's vigorous objections—for the event with the pleasing news that Cousin Elizabeth was, upon Caroline's departure, becoming a keen lover of coffee, and upon Cassandra's leaving, about to fall into a great decline.
Aunt Henrietta was easy—she was the small pink domino carrying a rooster. And Charles, she believed, was the puce domino—how like Charles to choose puce!—making frequent forays into the supper room, where a rich supply of viands and the earl's best champagne flowed freely.
Gillian, she decided, was the tall man in dark green; his golden hair gave him away. Peter, she knew, had declined being present, the thought of 200 people he did not know enough to make him decide he would rather spend the evening in another wing. She had to guess at John, but thought him the slightly portly figure in charcoal gray tugging uncomfortably at his mask while he listened with painful duty to a most talkative feminine figure in gold. There was something about that figure that said "Cressy Fallsworth" to Miss Tolliver, and she turned to move the other way, knocking against a black domino as she did so, and offering a smile and a soft "excuse me."
"Ah, Margaret, Margaret, Margaret," said a melancholy voice, and her heart sank. She knew that voice.
"Why, Mortimer! How nice to see you!"
The figure in black shook his head from side to side, reminding her—as if she needed reminding—of how ponderous he had always been. "Margaret, Margaret, Margaret," he repeated.
"Excuse me, my dear," said a welcome voice to her left, "but I believe this is our dance."
Gratefully she looked up into the scarlet domino's face, and with an "Oh, yes—please, Mortimer, excuse me," she glided off on the earl's arm, answering "Later!" to Mortimer's astonished objection that he needed to talk to her.
As they moved through the steps of the dance, the earl smiled teasingly down at her. "Your past is coming back to haunt you, Miss Tolliver?"
"No such thing!" she answered primly. "Not the past— more of a strange nightmare!"
"I hope—" there was that teasing smile again "—that soon you will have reason for much sweeter dreams."
Movement in the dance parted them again, preventing Miss Tolliver from retort. It was just as well. She did not know what to say.
The next few hours were busy ones for Miss Tolliver. There were so many black dominoes at the ball that she could not avoid them all; and each time she turned around she seemed to walk straight into the one that contained Mortimer Raleigh. And each time he begged a word with her, only to find her spirited away by this partner or that, until his face and voice grew more melancholy with each meeting.
So when, about midnight, a note was delivered into Miss Tolliver's hand as she stood by one of the open windows fanning herself, waiting for his lordship to return with a glass of lemonade, she was not surprised to read it and find "The black domino urgently requests a few moments of your time this evening. Please meet me by the small pond in the gardens at 12:30
a.m. Please, dear Margaret, do not fail."
With a sigh she decided she owed him that—after all, Mortimer had tried for years, in his stuffy way, to please her, and although she had done her best to prevent his continuing to care, he had remained as faithful as a—the word dog sprang to mind, and she tired to banish it, only to find that an image of a large and sad-eyed St. Bernard so fit her would-be suitor that she could not help but giggle. But, mindful that the announcement of her engagement was to be made at I a.m., when all masks were removed, she determined to spare Mortimer no more than fifteen minutes of her time. Mortimer would understand that, she knew; he was a stickler for punctuality.
When the earl returned with her lemonade, Miss Tolliver chatted easily with him for several minutes and then, after inquiring the time and having him consult his large pocket watch, she excused herself, saying tranquilly that the lace on her gown had torn slightly while dancing, and she wanted to slip away to mend it before the tear grew bigger. The earl agreed and watched her go, only reminding her that they had an interesting announcement to make at 1 a.m., and he hoped she would return by then. She smiled and said she believed she could make it, and was almost out of the room when the earl, chancing to glance down, saw the small piece of paper Miss Tolliver had thought was safely tucked into the edge of her chair; apparently her movement had dislodged it.
He started to call to her, realized she was too far away, and, with a shrug, determined to give it to her later—and to tease her about it, too, he decided, after a quick glance at its contents. Like Miss Tolliver, the earl knew the note must come from Lord Mortimer Raleigh and, like Miss Tolliver, he felt he had nothing to fear there. The earl knew Lord Raleigh from his clubs in town and thought him a dull dog and a high stickler. Giles had watched in amusement Raleigh's efforts to confront Miss Tolliver all evening; and if she now chose to give him the opportunity—and to spare him embarrassment by meeting him in private—well, it was all right with the earl. As long, he would tell her with mock severity—oh, he could see her eyes spark now—as she did not plan to go on meeting strange men at odd hours after they were married.
And so the earl went pleasantly on, mingling with his guests, gaining experience in why Miss Tolliver did not favor Cressida Fallsworth and several of the others on her aunt's list. He was standing by the refreshment table exchanging a jest with Gillian and John, both of whom had repaired there for sustenance, and turned with a smile when a hand touched his sleeve.
"Sir!" said a voice, and the earl's smile started to fade. "If you please, where is Miss Tolliver?"
The earl's eyes narrowed. "Raleigh?"
"Yes, sir!" Lord Raleigh struck a pose of outraged drama."It is I! And I ask you again, where is Miss Tolliver? I must speak with her."
"I thought," his lordship said slowly, setting his champagne glass down with a snap, "that she was in the garden, meeting with you."
"In the garden—" Lord Raleigh's jaw worked several times. He gave them to understand that if that was the earl's idea of a jest, it was not his, for he would never do something so improper as to meet a betrothed lady—or any lady—in a dark garden at night. And further, he said, he was aware of how insidiously the earl had kept Margaret from him that evening, and he wanted—he wanted—
What he wanted was never known, for the earl, with a grim "Follow me" to his brothers, was out the door. They, after one swift glance of surprise, followed swiftly.
"But where are we going?" Gillian managed to ask as they strode purposefully through the ballroom, attracting considerable attention as they crossed the dance floor.
"To the garden," the earl said through clenched teeth. "To the pond. If anything has happened—" Once out of the ballroom he started to run, and his brothers ran with him.
Long before they reached the garden pond they heard sounds that made it clear something had indeed happened. Excited women's voices and the crowing of a rooster intermingled with an oath or two, and John and Gillian again exchanged glances as they forged ahead. When they rounded the last hedge, it was to find Miss Tolliver standing at the edge of the pond, one hand on her hip and a martial gleam in her eye. With the other hand she held a large rake, apparently left there by one of the gardeners. To her left was a sputtering Aunt Henrietta, and at her feet danced an indignant Lazaurus, crowing and clucking in the most scolding way.
In the pond sat a thoroughly soaked Harry Marletonthorpe, his black domino wrapped around his legs in a manner that made it difficult for him to rise; an action made even more difficult by the fact that every time he tried it, Miss Tolliver used her weapon in hand to knock him down again.
At this sight the earl stopped suddenly, grinned, then moved forward with a leisurely stroll until he stood by his betrothed, gazing down at the seething Harry.
"Good evening, Marletonthorpe," he said, polishing his quizzing glass before raising it to peer at the man in the water. "That is, if you think it a good evening. Some people might find it a trifle—ah—damp."
He took the rake from Miss Tolliver with a pleasant "I don't think you'll be needing that anymore, my dear," and smiled at a bristling Aunt Henrietta who bustled up to him with a terrible frown to tell him severely that he had some very odd friends—very odd indeed—and that Lazaurus was not used to such goings on, and never would be, and that if he didn't change his ways, well, she just couldn't answer, no, she couldn't—
The earl raised a hand in self-defense and with a smile for her alone, asked Miss Tolliver to tell them all what had transpired that evening.
It seemed, Miss Tolliver said, that Harry Marletonthorpe had sent her the message she believed came from Mortimer Raleigh—she paused, suddenly self-conscious, but the earl nodded and told her he knew all about it. She smiled in relief.
And when she had met Harry by the pond, it became clear that his motives were nefarious; having heard from his brother Chuffy that the earl and Miss Tolliver would be announcing their wedding at 1 a.m., he—Harry—had meant, by fair means or foul, to prevent Miss Tolliver's appearance at that hour.
"And all," Miss Tolliver said indignantly, "to embarrass you, Giles!"
There was something about the glint in the earl's eye that made Harry, about to rise, think better of the idea, and the earl nodded his approval of the other man's judgment before he begged his betrothed to continue.
"Well," Miss Tolliver told him, "you can imagine that I was not pleased! I told Mr. Marletonthorpe that he was a despicable toad—"
"—most true," the earl murmured, watching Harry.
"—and that I did not mean to stay talking with him one moment longer. Then he grabbed me—"
"He what?" Three voices interrupted her as the earl, John, and Gillian all stiffened.
"Well, yes," Miss Tolliver said, "it was most foolish of him, but he did grab me. And as I was struggling with him—"
"You struggled?" The earl's words were silky-soft, but Harry shifted uneasily in the water.
"I did," Miss Tolliver affirmed. "And just as I was doing so, Aunt Henrietta and Lazaurus came around the shrubbery (it seemed Lazaurus had grown tired of the festivities, and thought a nice walk and search for worms or beetles would be just the thing), and Lazaurus came at once to my rescue."
The earl looked down at the still-ruffled rooster. "Lazaurus?" he repeated.
"Yes." Miss Tolliver spoke with great fondness of how the bird had rushed forward to peck and scratch the back of Harry's legs and when that gentleman—no, she corrected herself, nobleman; there could be such a difference—was startled, and loosened his grip on the lady to ward off the angry rooster, she was able to push Mr. Marletonthorpe into the pond.
"Ah." The earl smiled. "The capable Miss Tolliver."
Her return of his smile was interrupted by the still- frowning Henrietta, who informed the earl that Lazaurus was seriously upset.
"Lazaurus," she told all and sundry, her head bobbing up and down to emphasize each word, "does not like bad men."
"No," the earl agreed
, his gaze returning to the dripping Harry. "I find I am not too fond of them myself. But I suppose one must do the gentlemanly thing. . ."
With a sigh, he reached down a hand to pull the wet Harry from the pond. Mr. Marletonthorpe, much relieved, grasped it and, with Giles's help, was able to rise, unwinding the cloak from his legs as he did so. John, Gillian, and Aunt Henrietta stared at the earl in disgust, while Miss Tolliver watched him in surprise.
"Now you are on your feet, Harry?" the earl questioned, and Marletonthorpe, running a wet hand across his even wetter nose, nodded.
"Good." With great satisfaction the earl aimed his famous right at that nose, knocking Mr. Marletonthorpe down again.
"Bravo!" John shouted.
"I knew you couldn't let him get away with it!" Gillian seconded. The earl silenced them with one motion.
"I probably should have done that long ago, Harry," he said to the man nursing his nose in the water. "It might have done us both some good. But now—well, I do not believe you were invited to this party, and we can certainly dispense with your presence from it."
And so saying, he turned with a bow to his affianced wife, offered her his arm, and proceeded to walk away, with Aunt Henrietta, John, and Gillian following.
"You know," Miss Tolliver said, smiling up at him as they strolled back to the house in the moonlight. "I think it is a very good thing that we are to wed."
"You do?" The earl's eyes were warm as he gazed down at her.
"Yes." Miss Tolliver smiled first at him, and then at the brown bird strutting self-importantly before them. "After all, Lazaurus likes you!"
There was a pause, and the lady grinned. "Truth be told, so do I!"
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