The Last Waltz: Hearts are at stake in the game of love... (Dorothy Mack Regency Romances)

by Dorothy Mack

  “I had no idea Lord Creighton was betrothed,” admitted the older woman. “What is she like?”

  “Very beautiful and exceedingly fashionable.”

  “Her title would indicate that she is a widow.”

  “It had not occurred to me before, but of course that must be the case,” conceded Adrienne, looking rather doubtful. “She seems very young to be a widow.”

  “How young?”

  “At a guess, four-or five-and-twenty, but you know I am no good at this sort of thing.”

  “Perhaps her husband was a military man who was killed during the Peninsular campaign.”

  No response to Miss Beckworth’s speculation was demanded of Adrienne, since a maid arrived at that moment with Jean-Paul’s meal, and all attention shifted to the little boy. For the first time in over a sennight, his nurses had no need to coax him into taking a little nourishment. To their satisfaction, he wolfed down everything on the tray, even requesting another serving of the chefs special lemon pudding.

  While Becky was involved in making the patient comfortable after his meal, Adrienne drifted back to her own room to do some mending, and if the truth were known, to forestall any further discussion of Dominic’s fiancée. They were to have the dubious pleasure of entertaining Lady Tremayne at tea tomorrow. That would be soon enough to think about the ravishing brunette. Adrienne’s cogitations failed to supply a logical reason why she was so persuaded that knowing Lady Tremayne would not prove to be a pleasure, nor did she succeed in banishing the woman from her thoughts. Her brain was imprinted with a clear image of the lovely brunette’s faint smile with its hint of condescension and those strange amber-coloured eyes that remained cool and watchful even when she was displaying all of her perfect teeth in an engaging smile. The motions of the needle going in and out of the cloth had lost their even rhythm this afternoon.

  Adrienne was grateful for the distraction provided by one of the footmen, who knocked with a message from Lord Creighton which had just been delivered from army headquarters. Evidently the business of setting a new date for this famous betrothal dinner had not occupied a great deal of his time, she mused idly, giving the young footman an absentminded smile that caused him to straighten his shoulders, a reaction completely lost on Adrienne, who was busy perusing the note’s contents. It seemed the earl planned on dining at home this evening and desired the company of herself and Miss Beckworth at dinner.

  A thoughtful Adrienne nodded dismissal to the silent footman, who had waited to see if an answer would be required. The door had barely closed behind him before she dashed across the room to the mammoth armoire and peered inside. From the gathering frown creasing her smooth forehead, one would have imagined she had expected her meagre wardrobe to have increased by some regenerative process in the dark confines of the cupboard. She flicked through the few gowns hanging there with reluctant fingers that seemed to fear contagion. The solid armoire shivered a bit from the force with which its door was shut as Adrienne expressed her disgust with the results of her search. Five minutes’ exposure to the exquisitely costumed Lady Tremayne had served to highlight the deplorable state of her own wardrobe. She possessed nothing fit to be worn in the same room with her sartorially perfect cousin.

  Adrienne’s blue-green eyes reflected bewilderment and a wistfulness that approached unhappiness as she gazed around the large room with its handsome appointments and rich fabrics at windows and bed. A sense of unreality threatened to overwhelm her. The improvident Castles didn’t belong in this milieu. What were they doing in a mansion as guests of a relative of whose very existence they had been ignorant less than a fortnight ago? She sighed as her fingers absently assessed the heaviness of the blue brocaded bed draperies, then shook her head to clear it. What a difference twenty-four hours could make on one’s perceptions, she marvelled. Yesterday she had been too engrossed with Jean-Paul’s battle to overcome his frightening illness to give any thought to the incongruity of their present existence, but today the fever had broken and she had met Dominic’s beautiful fiancée. Yesterday she would have declared the peak of her earthly happiness to be her brother’s complete recovery, but today she had permitted the concomitant relief and exhilaration following on the beginnings of this desired state to be dimmed within minutes by her presentation to a woman who would have little or no impact on her life. Could anything be more nonsensical? Clearly she had been suffering from some form of temporary mental aberration.

  The cloud of dissatisfaction disappeared from Adrienne’s countenance as the natural buoyancy that characterized the Castles surmounted the strangely oppressive feelings that had tormented her since the brief incident in the study. It would be delightful to have dinner with their splendid new cousin and to hear all the latest social and military news from one in a position to know. Her step was jaunty as she went back to the armoire to take out the first gown her questing fingers contacted. It was certainly beyond question that the Castles were out of their element in Dominic’s house, but it would be sheer lunacy not to enjoy the benefits, however temporary, of their stay.

  When Marie came in a few minutes later to assist Miss Castle to dress for dinner, her kind heart was pleased to note that her young mistress was humming a lively air as she greeted her with a sunny smile.

  CHAPTER 7

  Saving the unavoidable absence of the youngest Castle, the earl found himself dining with all members of his newly enlarged family for the first time that evening. Abruptly released from the burden of fear, the youngsters’ spirits bubbled over, infecting their host and threatening the bounds of decorum on more than one occasion, until restrained by a timely word from Miss Beckworth. The calm good sense and quiet charm of this lady, glimpsed briefly by Lord Creighton at their first meeting, was again in evidence. He noted with satisfaction the absence of tension in the line of her jaw and the softening of her lips in repose, which, with a new sparkle in the clear eyes, took several years from her age. As his smiling glance played between the gentle Miss Beckworth and the vibrant brother and sister, he realized how little he merited the solicitous sympathy Pamela had extended on the misfortune of having his house overrun by strangers. It would not be overstating the case to admit he was in full expectation of deriving considerable enjoyment from the novel experience of having such lively relations in residence.

  The youngsters bombarded him for news of the current doings in military and social circles. Luc, displaying a surprising grasp on the situation for one so young, questioned him closely on progress in bringing the available artillery up to a respectable figure.

  Lord Creighton smiled lazily at the eager boy before raising his wineglass to his lips. “No commander ever feels his needs are being treated adequately by the War Office. If the Duke gets half of what he has demanded he’ll consider himself well-served, though I wouldn’t bruit that about, young Luc.”

  “Of course not, cousin.” An expression of haughty pride made Luc look older suddenly. It was gone à l’instant, but the earl was not sorry Adrienne had been absorbed in conversation with Miss Beckworth at the time. Her present peace of mind concerning her brother, only recently acquired, would be jolted by signs that he was growing up more rapidly than she could wish. By the time her attention returned to the men, Luc’s face wore the familiar half-adoring look of boyish eagerness as Lord Creighton mentioned that King William had at long last placed his Dutch-Belgian army under the field marshal’s command.

  For the first time since their arrival at the earl’s mansion, Adrienne was eating with enjoyment. She glanced up from the côtelette d’agneau glacée she had been demolishing with relish to encounter Dominic’s smiling gaze. There was in his attractive smile an element she would have been hard pressed to put a name to but which caused her to pause involuntarily. Before she could become conscious of embarrassment or curiosity, Dominic was speaking easily:

  “Thanks to Moulton, I have been most fortunate in securing the services of an adequate cook, do you not agree, cousin?”


  “Oh, more than adequate, sir,” Miss Beckworth protested before Adrienne could speak, “and most obliging too, considering the increased and varied demands that our precipitate arrival has placed on your kitchen.”

  “I am happy to hear that my kitchen staff are resourceful,” replied the earl, bowing slightly in Miss Beckworth’s direction, “since I plan to give a small dinner party next week to formally announce my betrothal. Do you think, ma’am, that you would have time to confer with the chef concerning the menu? I would not dream of asking if it would deprive Jean-Paul of any attention. You must be quite truthful in telling me this, please.”

  “I would be delighted to assist you in this matter, sir. Now that Jean-Paul is finally on the mend, we shall soon get into a more comfortable routine. When is your dinner to be?”

  “I thought next Thursday, if that is convenient for you and Cousin Adrienne?”

  Adrienne, who had kept her eyes on Becky’s serene features during this conversation, glanced up in surprise. “Me?” she echoed blankly. “What does your party have to do with me? I won’t be there.”

  The earl’s eyes narrowed, but his voice was as pleasant as ever. “Of course you will be there. Why should you imagine otherwise?” He watched the dimpled chin elevate as she girded herself for battle. Wide aquamarine eyes met narrowed blue ones squarely.

  “We didn’t come here to do the social bit, as you must know, Cousin Dominic. My job is to nurse my brother. Besides,” she finished on a strangely triumphant note, “I cannot dine with your friends; I have nothing suitable to wear.”

  “Adrienne —”

  “That’s easily remedied,” Lord Creighton replied equably, over Miss Beckworth’s interjection. “I am persuaded there is ample time to have a gown made by Thursday week.”

  Adrienne gasped. “You cannot be seriously offering to buy me a gown — it would be most improper — nor can you expect me to expend our limited resources on such frivolity.”

  “Adrienne, you are forgetting —”

  “One moment, ma’am,” interposed his lordship, raising a hand to stop Miss Beckworth, while he looked pointedly at Moulton, who was standing by the server affecting deafness, his back obligingly to the diners. “Shall we continue this discussion later in the saloon?”

  “I must get back to Jean-Paul.”

  “Yes, of course.” Ignoring the girl’s flat statement, the older woman rose from the table after a quick glance assured her that Adrienne and Luc had finished eating.

  Miss Beckworth wasted no time in rounding upon her female charge once they were established in the saloon, waving her to a seat when Adrienne reiterated her intention of returning to her brother’s bedside. “Luc will like to sit with Jean-Paul for an hour or so, will you not, Luc?”

  Happy to avoid what he suspected would turn into an uncomfortable discussion, Luc hastily agreed and took himself off.

  “Now, what was that little scene all about?” inquired Miss Beckworth, seating herself calmly in a green velvet bergère and fixing the young girl with a penetrating eye as she reluctantly subsided onto a matching chair.

  “It was certainly not my intention to create a scene,” Adrienne muttered defensively before going on the attack. “Can you really expect me to allow Lord Creighton to purchase a gown for me?”

  Miss Beckworth continued to gaze calmly at the indignant girl. “You told your cousin that you had nothing suitable to wear,” she said in a musing tone, her eyes sharpening as faint colour rose in Adrienne’s cheeks. “Your blue gown may not be in the first stare of fashion, but it is certainly suitable.”

  Adrienne bit her lip and directed her eyes to the fireplace for a moment. “There is something I didn’t tell you, Becky. Do you recall the gentleman who rescued me on my last visit to a gaming establishment? The one who would have seen me home had I not been able to give him the slip? It was Dominic,” she finished baldly. “Oh, he didn’t recognize me,” she promised, as understanding and consternation flashed across Miss Beckworth’s countenance, “but I daren’t be seen in that dress, lest it should jog his memory.”

  “So that is the reason for your incivility just now?”

  “I could never allow Dominic to buy me a dress in any case, but I would have handled the situation differently if I’d had any warning. Now that I’ve had time to consider a little, I believe we can scrape by without raising a dust. I’ll go on up to Jean-Paul, and you may simply tell Dominic that I was mistaken and do have a gown for the dinner party. That will avoid an argument tonight. On the night of the party, I’ll develop a headache and send tearful regrets,” she declared blithely as she headed for the door. “It should not be too difficult to avoid going into society for the brief time we’ll be here,” she added, turning back toward the door and nearly colliding with the substantial figure of her quiet-footed cousin, who had entered while she was speaking. His hands shot out to grip her upper arms and restore her balance as the startled girl stumbled.

  “I fear you are labouring under a misapprehension, Cousin Adrienne,” he said kindly, dropping his hands when she was safely upright once more, “if you think your stay here is going to be short.” He extended his hand to the dumbfounded girl, who automatically put hers into it, allowing him to lead her back to the chair she had recently occupied.

  “I spoke with Dr. Hume this afternoon after I left here, to inform him of the improvement in Jean-Paul’s condition. We had a long talk about the boy’s convalescence and what to expect. No,” he added in response to the worry that leapt into her face, “there is nothing to fear concerning his eventual recovery, but the period of convalescence is vitally important. He will be on a strict regimen, and travel is out of the question in the immediate future. He cannot be subjected to the rigours of a channel crossing in his present condition.”

  “How … how long?” whispered Adrienne.

  Dominic shrugged heavy shoulders. “A month, six weeks perhaps. It depends on his progress.”

  “Did you know this, Becky?” Adrienne’s russet curls swirled about her head as she turned abruptly toward the woman who had sat silent throughout Lord Creighton’s explanation.

  “I suspected as much,” she admitted quietly. “I also have discussed the matter with Dr. Hume.”

  “So you see,” Lord Creighton reminded the still-disturbed girl, “I will be able to enjoy your company for some little time yet.”

  Adrienne’s searching eyes probed his and were convinced of his sincerity. Some slight relaxation in her stiffness manifested itself in the small smile trembling on her soft mouth. “Vastly prettily said, cousin. You are very good and we are most grateful for your hospitality.” The man watching her saw the dimples smooth out as those same lips firmed with determination. “Though we are compelled to accept your hospitality — your kind hospitality,” she added hastily, noting the quick flaring of his nostrils, “the least we can do to repay you is assure you that our presence won’t interfere with your own life. There is no reason to include us in any of your social plans, especially this dinner next week. I beg you to believe that I would much prefer to concentrate on my brother.”

  “Oh, I believe you,” he replied cheerfully, “but I beg you to believe that this proposed retirement of yours won’t do.”

  “Why not?”

  “My dear cousin, you must give a thought to my situation.”

  “Your situation?” Adrienne cast a suspicious look at his bland countenance. “And what might that be?”

  “Well, you really cannot expect me to allow all of society to think I am so ashamed of my relations that I have forbidden them to show their faces in public.”

  “Why should anyone think that, knowing there is illness in the family? You are bamming me, cousin.” But Adrienne was looking uneasy as she spoke.

  Lord Creighton moved in for the kill. “What else are they to think if you are not present at my table while known to be under my roof?” The irritation on her face told him she had accepted his reasoning. He waited with patience whi
le she scowled absently, her brain scrambling in an unsuccessful effort to come up with a telling argument.

  “Very well, Cousin Dominic,” she said with immense dignity, “I’ll attend your betrothal dinner.” A thought occurred which brought the sunniness back in her expression. “It will be the perfect opportunity to explain to anyone with whom I speak that I will be too involved in my brother’s convalescence to be able to accept social invitations. Then no one can possibly criticize you.”

  He shook his head sadly. “I fear you are not well-acquainted with the mentality of subalterns, Cousin Adrienne, if you think they will meekly accept one glimpse of you as their portion. I anticipate a huge upswing in my popularity amongst the younger officers when it becomes known that I am your temporary guardian.”

  Adrienne had been staring at him in the liveliest astonishment. “Now I know you are joking, cousin,” she said accusingly. “Why should anyone pay me any least attention? I am neither beautiful nor eligible.”

  A fugitive smile flitted across Lord Creighton’s lips. “I shall not allow you to be a proper judge of your beauty, and as for your second criterion, what constitutes eligibility?”

  “A dowry and feminine accomplishments,” she replied promptly. “I have neither.”

  Lord Creighton passed a thoughtful forefinger slowly up and down one side of his jaw while he considered this. “We cannot dispute the lack of a dowry,” he conceded, “but what feminine accomplishments are you lacking?”

  “All of them,” came the blunt rejoinder. “I neither sing nor play on the pianoforte or harp, I cannot sketch or paint, and have no skill at fancy stitchery. I cannot even dance!”