‘Miss Highsmith,’ he said, as soon as he reached her side. ‘A word with you, if you please.’
Thoroughly startled by this sudden and rather forceful invasion, Stephanie’s questioning eyes flicked towards Fenton. Surely, the fool had not been so naïve as to share their plans with his cousin, she thought in a panic, as every little cog in her brain spun wildly in a frantic endeavour to conjure up some sort of a solution that might rectify the potential damage. From what she had gathered about Viscount Catford’s friend, she knew that it would require more than the usual amount of blandishment and cajolery on her part if she meant to save this perilous situation, since every one of her previous attempts to ensnare Maitland’s interest had been met with complete indifference.
Rising from her chair, she plastered on her most winning smile and, holding out her hand, said, ‘Perhaps we might take a little promenade about the room, Mr Maitland?’
Surprised, but none the less relieved that he was to be given the chance to question her without interruption, Maitland responded to her smile with a satisfied grin and, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow, escorted her through her crowd of envious and gaping admirers.
‘Maybe a little refreshment would be more in order, at this point,’ he suggested, leading her over to one of the side salons where parts of the buffet were laid out. ‘A cooling glass of champagne, perhaps?’
‘Oh, how very clever of you!’ she cooed, fluttering her eyelashes up at him in feigned admiration, an action that had the effect of setting his teeth on edge and his toes curling up in revulsion. ‘I absolutely adore champagne!’
He settled her into a seat and, after signalling to one of the footmen to fetch them some champagne, he took his place beside her.
‘May I ask how long you have lived at Highsmith House, Miss Highsmith?’ he then asked, quite bluntly.
Stephanie was clearly taken aback. ‘H-Highsmith House?’ she stammered. ‘What is that to the purpose?’
Maitland smiled. ‘I merely wondered if you had any knowledge of the building ever having been used as a convent—or religious seminary, even?’
It was beginning to dawn upon Stephanie that there seemed to be a distinct possibility that her concern for secrecy had, in this instance, led her to the wrong conclusion. Still, she thought, giving an inward shrug, it would certainly do no harm to keep her little band of love-struck devotees on tenterhooks for a few more minutes. In any event, she reminded herself, after tomorrow, who knew when her next chance to revel in such unconcealed adoration would present itself? Besides which, the champagne was very refreshing, after the heat of the ballroom! She would allow him five minutes of her precious time and not a second more. Taking a sip of her drink, she eyed him over the rim of the glass, and resigned herself to answering what seemed to her to be a perfectly ludicrous question.
‘As far as I am aware, Mr Maitland,’ she replied, ‘Highsmith House has been in my family for several generations so why you should think that it might have once been a convent, I simply cannot imagine.’
He gave a quick nod. ‘Never mind—it was just a thought. What I really wanted to ask you was whether you knew where the chapel records might be kept?’
A puzzled frown crept across her brow but then, after staring at him in some amazement for several seconds, her face cleared and she began to chuckle. ‘Oh, I see now!’ she said mockingly. ‘This is all to do with that ludicrous search of yours, isn’t it?’
Then, placing her unfinished glass of champagne back onto the table, she rose to her feet. ‘Allow me to assure you, sir, that neither Highsmith House nor its chapel hold the answer to your mystery,’ she said, with a petulant flounce. ‘It has never been either an abbey or a monastery or a convent, nor have we ever harboured monks or nuns in any shape or form—’
Then, suddenly, she stopped, and a slightly disconcerted expression flitted across her face. As two scarlet spots of colour appeared on her cheeks, she bit her lip in embarrassment. ‘Not unless one counts old Mother Mattie, that is,’ she added lamely, her voice dropping to almost a whisper.
‘Mother Mattie?’ Maitland was all attention. ‘A nun?’
‘Well, some sort of novice, at any rate,’ answered Stephanie, as she subsided back into her seat, feeling somewhat foolish. ‘Her real name is Marthe Matthilde, but the villagers couldn’t get their tongues around the French pronunciation, so she has been known as Mother Mattie for almost as long as I can remember.’
‘And she still resides at Highsmith House?’ asked Maitland eagerly.
Stephanie shook her head. ‘Not any more,’ she replied. ‘She was with us for years but then, just a year or so back, it seems that she had a hankering for a place of her own, so Grandmama set her up in one of the estate cottages.’
Maitland could scarcely believe his luck. It hardly seemed possible that, after all those days of fruitless searching, the answer could well have lain right at his fingertips the whole time! He leaned forwards. ‘I take it that this Marthe Matthilde worked in the—er—how shall I put it—?’
‘Refuge for unmarried mothers!’ she returned bluntly. ‘There is no need to beat about the bush— everyone in the whole area is perfectly well aware of its function! And, yes, Mother M—I mean Marthe Matthilde, was actually Grandmama’s right-hand man— well, woman, I should say!’ she corrected herself, and let out a tinkling half-laugh. ‘Still is, to a certain extent, I suppose.’
But then, having spotted the sullen-faced Fenton leaning against the room’s doorpost watching them, she rose swiftly to her feet, saying, ‘I’m afraid that’s about all I can help you with, Mr Maitland. My grandmother has always made sure that I am kept well away from that part of her life and I promise you that I really do know nothing about chapel records and all that sort of thing!’
Seeing her get up, Fenton darted forwards, his face alight with eagerness. ‘Allow me to take you back into the ballroom, Miss Highsmith,’ he said, holding out his arm.
Stephanie heaved a sigh of annoyance. ‘I believe I told you not to bother me this evening, Jer—Mr Fenton!’ she returned impatiently. ‘Mr Maitland is perfectly capable of seeing me back to my seat. Why don’t you go and dance with one of those delightful young ladies who keep giving you the glad-eye?’
‘You know perfectly well that I have no desire to dance with anyone but you,’ mumbled Fenton, casting her a hurt look.
‘Well, I can’t help that!’ Stephanie shrugged, giving the appearance of complete indifference although, in reality, she rather enjoyed the sense of power with which such admissions always filled her. Then, turning towards Maitland, she held out her hand, ‘May we go now, sir?’ she asked him prettily, totally ignoring Fenton’s crushed expression.
Flashing his cousin a quick look of sympathy, Maitland stepped forwards and offered Stephanie his arm. But then, just as he was about to lead her out of the room, he turned his head towards Fenton and said, ‘Stay here for a couple of minutes, if you would, old chap—Miss Highsmith has just provided me with some information that I feel might be of immense value to us.’
Some fifteen minutes later, having deposited Stephanie back amongst her faithful attendants, in addition to having acquainted Fenton with a quick resumé of what he had recently learned, Maitland went in search of Georgianne. From his seat in the anteroom, having caught several glimpses of her gliding past the open doorway on the arm of one or another of her dance partners, he was grimly determined to pursue Catford’s suggestion that he should ask her to dance.
He approached her, just as her current partner was leading her off the floor.
‘Ah, Miss Venables,’ he said, sweeping her a courtly bow. ‘I believe this next dance is mine?’
Momentarily confused, it took Georgianne several seconds to recover her composure but then, flicking open the dance-card that hung from a ribbon on her wrist, she was about to shake her head in denial at his claim when, upon observing that the next dance was, in fact, a waltz, a sudden mischievous whim leapt into her hea
d. Why not? she thought, in stubborn defiance, thrusting every one of her previous good intentions resolutely to one side. This could be the very last chance she would ever get to feel his arms about her once more and, even though it was true that they would be on a dance floor, surrounded by dozens of others, it was a final indulgence that she simply refused to deny herself!
And so, to Maitland’s joy and astonishment, she flashed him a smile and replied, ‘I do believe you are right, Mr Maitland!’
Chapter Nineteen
Scarcely able to believe his good fortune, Maitland stepped forwards and, gathering her into his arms, swept her into the dance. For the first few minutes or so, it was enough for him to feel the soft warmth of her body so close to his own as, in perfect unison, they dipped and swayed together, their footwork echoing the compulsive rhythm of the music. But then, as he became more and more aware of the unmistakeable scent of jasmine rising from her hair, his pulse quickened and, almost unconsciously, his hand tightened its grip around her waist, pulling her even closer to him.
At the increased pressure, a startled gasp escaped Georgianne’s lips and, conscious of the impropriety of his action, she was about to reprimand him for his flagrant disregard of the rules of the dance but, on raising her eyes to meet his, however, her heart almost stopped in its tracks. Maitland was gazing down at her with an expression of such—what was it?—wistfulness?— longing?—that her head was in such a whirl that she found it difficult to think clearly.
In her confusion, she missed the beat and stumbled, causing him to grasp her to him even more tightly before he swung her out of the path of another pair, gradually relaxing his hold as he did so. Not unlike Georgianne’s own, his breathing was becoming more and more rapid with every movement.
‘Sorry about that,’ he muttered through gritted teeth. ‘Wasn’t concentrating.’
‘That was all my fault and well you know it!’ she pointed out softly, having finally regained her composure. ‘Taking the blame for my constant faux pas seems to be growing into something of a habit with you, Mr Maitland!’
Registering the smile that accompanied her words, Maitland sent up a fervent message of thanks to whosoever might have been responsible for Georgianne’s apparent change of heart and at once relaxed.
‘As it happens, Miss Venables,’ he said with a satisfied grin, as he skilfully guided her through a reverse turn, ‘as far as I am concerned, you have no faults!’
‘Oh, very smooth, sir!’ she chuckled.
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ he replied, feigning a smug expression. ‘I’m flattered that my dancing ability meets with your approval!’
She smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling with laughter. ‘I was not referring to your dancing skill, sir, as you are perfectly well aware—although I do have to admit that you are a considerable improvement on my previous partner.’
As she whirled around the floor in the warm security of his arms, she could not help but feel both pleased and sad that—even after all that had happened to blight the tenor of their former friendship—they had both slipped back into the sort of teasing repartee that had formed so much a part of that earlier relationship. She felt so very much at ease with this man—so absolutely right!—and, if she could just persuade herself to put aside the bitter fact that there was no future in loving him, she could at least enjoy this uplifting camaraderie for the brief time that was left to her.
Maitland, for his part, was simply glad that Georgianne’s earlier animosity towards him seemed to have evaporated. He was heavily conscious of the fact that she had had every right to take offence at his taking advantage of her the other morning. Nonetheless, since she appeared to have decided to forgive and forget his appalling lack of self-control, there was no real reason, as far as he could see, why he should deprive himself of these final few hours of her company. Now I understand how Cinderella must have felt, he thought, his lips curving in a wry smile as he shepherded Georgianne skilfully across the floor. At the stroke of twelve—or at whatever other hour the Greshams chose to end their ball—he would find himself saying his last goodbyes to them all and then have to do his utmost to put her out of his mind. This particular aspect of the situation would, as he well knew, be devilishly hard to accomplish. Nevertheless, he would just have to force himself to get on with his life and, if the heavens were just, tomorrow might well bring forth plenty to occupy him and then, before he knew it, it would be Monday morning and he could be on his way.
Skirting the edge of the floor, he tightened his grip once again and, as the musicians rendered their last pulsating chord, he swung Georgianne into a swirling flourish that left her at once breathless and laughing.
He was just about to lead her back to her seat when the resounding clang of the dinner gong rang out across the room. Looking over at the musicians’ podium, from where the sound had erupted, he was intrigued to see Catford, along with his parents and two or three other members of his vastly extended family, standing on the podium.
‘Dear friends!’ cried the earl, holding up his hand for silence. ‘If I might have your attention for one moment, please!’
At his words, the hub of conversation in the crowded ballroom drew immediately to a close as all heads were turned in the direction of the stage.
‘What can this be, I wonder?’ he asked Georgianne, who seemed to be just as puzzled as he was.
Shaking her head, Georgianne made no reply. Instead, hoping against hope that what she had most feared had not come to pass, she tried craning her head, in a desperate attempt to see if she could spot Stephanie or, at the very least, the taller Fenton, anywhere near. Unfortunately, what with the press of people surging forwards to hear what Lord Gresham had to say, it would have been as much as she could do to keep her balance had not Maitland put a protective arm across her shoulders and pulled her towards him, which had the instant effect of making her forget everything but the feel of his warm, lean body so enticingly close to her own.
There was an expectant hush, as the earl, with a broad smile on his face, drew the blushing Lady Alice forwards and motioned to his son to join them.
‘Ladies and gentleman,’ he began, ‘it is with the greatest of pleasure that my wife and I announce the engagement between Lady Alice Chetwynd and our dear son Edwin!’
After a moment’s stunned silence, the room was filled with the deafening sound of applause, accompanied by jovial calls of ‘bravo!’ and ‘well done!’
Maitland who, utterly bewildered, was finding it quite impossible to comprehend what the earl had just said, stared down at Georgianne in confusion, his heart flipping over with sorrow when he registered her anguished expression.
Every vestige of colour had gone from her face and she was biting at her lower lip, in a vain attempt to fight back the tears that were already glistening in her eyes.
‘Pray excuse me!’ she gasped, tearing herself from his grip and, before he could stop her, she had thrust herself through the crowd and was gone from his view.
What in God’s name is going on? he asked himself as, turning back to the musicians’ dais, he was just in time to witness the extraordinary spectacle of his ex- army comrade placing a ring upon Lady Alice’s finger. A simmering anger began to fill his chest, causing him to pay scant attention to the earl’s smiling explanation that the two families had deemed it necessary to keep the betrothal secret until Alice had celebrated her eighteenth birthday which, ‘as many of you will know, occurred only yesterday but, fortunately, well in time for our own little function!’
Fastening his eyes on the somewhat complacent expression on Catford’s face, Maitland clenched his teeth and balled his fists in fury. It was beyond his understanding how any man with a shred of decency in him could stand there with such a self-satisfied smirk on his face, after serving such an unpardonable insult to the woman he had professed—in Maitland’s own hearing—to love most dearly?
It had been plain to see that Georgianne had been even more shocked by the unexpected announ
cement than he himself had been. Her obvious distress had struck Maitland to the quick, but he was forced to face up to the fact that, however much he might wish to seek her out and offer her his support and commiseration, it was doubtful that she would welcome either his company or his interference in so personal a matter. His rage almost at boiling point by now, he determined to tackle Catford the moment he stepped off the podium.
Had he but known it, Georgianne’s sudden uncharacteristic bout of self-pity had actually been brought about by the realisation that, not only was Stephanie— who, despite her capricious and often irritating ways, had always been a good friend to her—about to disappear out of her life for ever, but that Catford, too, the dearest and most beloved of her cousins, had also found himself a life partner, whereas she herself was condemned, through no fault of her own, to a future filled with nothing but loneliness.
Having fled to her room where, although a few moments spent in quiet contemplation soon restored her to her normal good sense, she still could not bring herself to return to the ball. After having behaved so abysmally, she cringed at the thought of being obliged to face Maitland again, for she could not begin to imagine what he had made of her vulgar and unseemly display of bad manners. He might well have gained the impression that she was suffering a fit of pique at having been kept out of the family secret or, even worse, jealous of Lady Alice’s good fortune!
She paced backwards and forwards over the bedroom floor for a good half-hour, castigating herself for the unforgivable manner in which she had fled the party. Quite apart from the atrocious way she had treated Maitland, she was growing conscious of the fact that Catford must be wondering why she had not joined the rest of the guests to offer the newly betrothed pair her congratulations.
Undecided, she stood, with her hand on the bedroom door, willing herself to make the effort to return to the ballroom. But then, having reached the conclusion that, with more than a hundred and fifty other people to contend with, her cousin would surely be far too occupied to remember whether or not she had formed part of that number, she made up her mind that she would wait until all the guests had departed before approaching the viscount and his fiancée. That decision taken, she wandered over to her window, which overlooked the back of the house, and gazed across at the myriad of lights flickering from the scores of Chinese lanterns that festooned the trees in the park.
The Major and the Country Miss Page 19