by Dorothy Mack
“Suppose she takes us in dislike after all this?” Adrienne waved an all-encompassing hand at her luxurious surroundings and her charming new dress. “Oh, it is all too horrible to contemplate!”
“Now you are being nonsensical, my dear — idiotish, in fact.” Miss Beckworth administered an admonitory little shake to the shoulder she still held before returning to her chair and her interrupted breakfast.
Adrienne said no more on the subject but she could not be easy in her mind under such a weight of obligation. She went about her duties in a subdued fashion that morning, earning several speculative looks from Monsieur Daubigny as she performed her part in the dances meticulously but without her customary sparkle. Despite her high-flown principles, however, she was still a very young woman and not proof against temptation in the form of lovely clothes. A despised squiggle of excitement rose in her breast at sight of the bandbox delivered from the modiste’s, and she could not resist trying on both the riding habit and the cool-looking dress of lavender and white striped cotton, fashioned high to the throat with the most entrancing little ruff of pleated white lawn under her chin. She had to concede that Madame Henriette certainly knew her business, for both costumes fit perfectly, and it was difficult to say which was more flattering to her skin and hair. She fancied the dress might have a slight edge since its vertical stripes seemed to lend her a little much-welcomed height. Adrienne was barely of moderate height and built along delicate lines like her mother. She always felt dwarfed and insignificant when in the presence of Lady Tremayne, who carried her additional inches and pounds with such queenly assurance.
Not that Adrienne wasted many minutes regretting that her looks paled beside Lady Tremayne’s. Until very recently, she had never been in the habit of thinking about her looks at all, and she was much too excited about her first visit to the opera even to be daunted at the prospect of an evening spent in company with her cousin’s fiancée.
They dined early to be in good time for the performance, though Adrienne was so deep in the grip of nervous anticipation she could not have listed the dishes that had comprised her meal five minutes after consuming them. The only thing of significance that occurred was Dominic’s announcement that he had secured a temporary tutor for Luc, a young line officer whose military duties had been suspended while a broken arm healed. Adrienne cast an anxious eye on her brother, but Luc appeared to have accepted the curtailment of his freedom with a better grace than his female relatives could have anticipated.
To Adrienne’s distorted fancy the meal seemed to stretch out interminably, her companions being bitten with a bug of garrulity that caused each to become uncommonly chatty that evening. She answered at random, squirming and seething with the effort required not to shoo them on their way like so many chickens.
The opera was certainly worth waiting for. For sheer spectacle it outshone Adrienne’s wildest imaginings, and she sat enthralled throughout the production, only gradually becoming aware that she was decidedly in the minority. Sarah Forrester was equally engrossed in the performance, and so, somewhat surprisingly, was Sir Ralph Morrison. Most of the well-dressed people in the boxes, however, obviously came to be seen by their friends. There was a constant stream of visitors to their box during the intermissions, something she had not anticipated. In a way this proved quite helpful, in that Adrienne was relieved from the self-imposed chore of guarding her tongue in the presence of Lady Tremayne. There was actually very little conversation between the two after an initial exchange of insincere compliments on either side.
Lady Tremayne looked stunning as usual in a diaphanous creation of red muslin that Adrienne suspected had been dampened à la Caroline Lamb, so faithfully did it cling to her spectacular figure. Though suspecting there was very little beneath the dress except perhaps an invisible petticoat, the younger girl consciously averted her eyes to keep from staring. She was intent on remaining in the background, not wishing to give her cousin’s betrothed the least cause to complain about her behaviour. Her attitude toward Lady Tremayne could best be described as one of nervous deference, and she only relaxed when the beautiful brunette’s attention was totally taken up with others. Fortunately for Adrienne’s enjoyment of the evening, her innocence protected her from discovering that Lady Tremayne was well aware of her placatory attitude, and more annoyed than gratified by it.
The steady stream of visitors, almost exclusively male, gave the earl’s box the distinction of being the most popular in the theatre that night. That Lady Tremayne was the main attraction was readily apparent, for she gathered admirers like flowers gather bees. Adrienne herself received a great deal of flattering attention from a number of aristocratic sprigs of fashion as well as the ubiquitous military officers, who sought introductions to Lord Creighton’s attractive cousin. It would be idle indeed for a newly launched bud to deny all pleasure in such a gratifying state of affairs, nor did Adrienne, a naturally friendly soul, make the attempt. She did feel, however, that she owed the members of her party the lion’s share of attention and civility. During the course of the evening, she had ample opportunity to observe that Lady Tremayne did not share this belief, if her behaviour was any indication. Certainly she had begun the evening at her fiancé’s side, but Dominic’s duties as host demanded that he make introductions and cater to the needs of all his guests. By the time the first interval was over he was displaced at her side, and thereafter changed seats frequently to accommodate a number of persons in the course of the production. Lady Tremayne appeared perfectly content to do without his attentions; indeed it would have taken a far ruder person than Lord Creighton to insinuate himself between her and the more pressing members of her court. This was only gradually assimilated by Adrienne in the gaps in her own conversations. She noted that Dominic unobtrusively saw to the comfort of his guests, stepping into the breach should Miss Forrester or Becky be stranded conversationally at odd moments, and good-naturedly but effectively clearing the box of excess humanity when the temperature and the curtain began to rise.
Adrienne was besieged by young men begging permission to call. Unprepared for such an event at first, she looked beseechingly at Becky and Dominic, who calmly stated their pleasure at the prospect. By the second interval, she felt herself equal to granting the requests herself. Initially she was a bit surprised that none of their callers appeared to be interested in discussing the programme, though their opening remarks were generally questions as to how she was enjoying the performance. She never managed to get beyond a general statement of her favourable reaction before the subject was abandoned by its perpetrator in favour of compliments or personal questions.
There was only one bad moment during an evening that lived up to its promise of enchantment. Major Peters had, with quiet persistence, managed to regain a seat beside Adrienne after each interval. Toward the end of the performance, he promoted a moment of comparative privacy in which to invite her to go riding in the park with him the following morning.
Adrienne bestowed an apologetic smile on the dark-eyed officer. “I’m so sorry to be obliged to refuse, sir, but I’m afraid I don’t ride.”
“Well, that is easily remedied,” Major Peters said, returning her smile. “I shall be most happy to give you some tutelage. It won’t take long to attain enough competence to enjoy a quiet ride in the park.”
Dominic, from his place on the other side of his cousin, entered an objection. “Sorry, old chap, but I have already promised to teach Adrienne to ride myself. I’m taking her out in the morning now that her habit is ready.”
“I’ll come along too so she’ll learn twice as fast,” returned his old friend imperturbably.
Lady Tremayne then demonstrated her ability to monitor other conversations while conducting her own by breaking off a bantering flirtation with two Belgian officers to propose gaily, “And if I come along too, Miss Castle will learn three times as fast. We shall make her an expert rider in a week.”
Before she could disguise the alarm that spiralled
through her being at the thought of Lady Tremayne witnessing her initial efforts on horseback, Adrienne’s eyes had sought her cousin’s in mute supplication and her lips had parted involuntarily. This panic lasted no longer than a fraction of a second before she dropped her eyes to her tightly clasped hands and pressed her lips together, but Dominic must have understood because his amused voice glided into the hiatus.
“Haven’t you ever heard the maxim ‘Too many cooks spoil the broth’? I shudder to contemplate Adrienne’s confusion, not to mention that of the horse, if she had to try to follow the instructions of three teachers at once. Thank you all for your kind offers of assistance, but since my cousin is my responsibility, I shall engage to be her instructor until she is competent enough to go out with others.”
“Well, since Creighton has elected to put aside our standing engagement to ride together in the mornings in favour of instructing the young, I expect I shall be needing another escort,” said Lady Tremayne with a dazzling smile directed at the Belgian officers.
In chorus these gentlemen responded instantly and gallantly with the expected invitations to Lady Tremayne. At the same time, Adrienne summoned up a small voice to implore her cousin not to change any of his plans for her sake. Before their voices had quite ceased, the earl smiled at his fiancée and said in his quiet, calm manner, “My dear Pamela, I plan to take Adrienne out before breakfast. I shall be available for our usual ride at ten.”
Lady Tremayne’s smile was firmly in place as she said sweetly, “Thank you, Dominic, but now that the weather is growing so warm, I have decided to ride earlier in the day.”
“As you wish, of course, my love,” replied the earl, bowing slightly.
Adrienne’s eyes made a quick circuit of the box. Was she the only person suffering from a distinct feeling of embarrassment, as if she had blundered into a private discussion? Becky and General Forrester were speaking quietly together, giving no indication of having heard any part of the recent exchange. Sarah was searching (or pretending to search) in her reticule for something, and Major Peters was staring over the rail of the box at some undefined point of interest. Sir Ralph’s gaze was directed at his sister with the same intensity that had unnerved Adrienne at the betrothal dinner when she had been the target. Lady Tremayne seemed impervious to it, however. She had resumed her laughing conversation with her two admirers, excluding the others.
The incipient rising of the curtain for the final act of the opera signalled the end of the little drama that had been played out in the earl’s box. Adrienne sat staring unseeingly at the stage, utterly appalled that, once again, she seemed to be the unwitting cause of dissension between Dominic and his promised wife. Perhaps she was mistaken, though. She stole a glance at her cousin, but his face revealed nothing save polite interest in what was occurring onstage.
Lady Tremayne’s expression just before the opera had recommenced had been, oddly enough, one of satisfaction. Adrienne sighed silently. Her experience of lovers was almost non-existent, but it was being borne in upon her gradually that her cousin and his fiancée behaved like no lovers she had ever read or heard of. A stranger would certainly not have been able to pick out the betrothed pair on the evidence of tonight’s events. The disinterested observer would have noticed that Lady Tremayne had accorded the earl less of her favour than almost any man who had visited their box, and that in his turn, the earl had made no effort whatsoever to secure her undivided attention. Had Adrienne not witnessed that passionate embrace in the library, she would never have believed their mutual regard was sufficient to produce an engagement. To the forthright girl this contradiction between feeling and demeanour was strange and unnatural.
It was with relief that she was able to turn her attention back to the characters on the stage. Their emotions might perhaps be judged a bit excessive, but at least they were comprehensible to the ordinary person. The performers emoted and sang their way to their appointed ends. Adrienne allowed herself to be carried along on a tidal wave of melody, pleased to be able to defer thinking about her cousin’s betrothal, which, she acknowledged, was all to the good, since it was absolutely none of her affair in the first place.
CHAPTER 13
Adrienne opened her eyes to sunshine and anxiety. She lay perfectly still for a few moments, trying to account for a feeling of oppression, and all too soon recalled that the hour of her first riding lesson had arrived. She groaned and rolled over, burying her face in the pillow in a vain attempt to block it out of her mind. Never in her life had she experienced the slightest desire to see the world from the top of a horse, and after the scene at the opera last night, she was even less inclined to participate in the activity today.
In the carriage on their way home from the theatre, she had laboured to make an opportunity to convince Dominic that she really would prefer to cancel any plans for riding lessons. Her cousin had engaged Becky in a long discussion of the merits of the performance, courteously inviting her own contributions but diverting each hesitant attempt on her part to introduce the subject of riding lessons. Not until he bade them goodnight at the foot of the stairs had she, in desperation, blurted out her dismay at the idea of depriving Lady Tremayne of her fiancé’s company on her daily ride. Dominic had followed Becky’s retreating back up the stairs with his eyes before making any response to her words at all. Then he had taken the gloved hand she had in her agitation laid on his forearm and raised it to his mouth for a brief salute while his fingers pressed lightly on her parted lips. His eyes were gentle yet compelling as he told her to banish any thought of Lady Tremayne from her mind.
“I’ll take care of Pamela; you just see to it that you are ready at half-after seven tomorrow morning.”
When her lips had moved in protest under his finger, he had increased the pressure slightly. “Shh, not another word. Goodnight, Adrienne, pleasant dreams.”
At the time she had been bemused enough to accept her dismissal meekly, but now it was morning and the cloud of enchantment spun by last night’s exciting performance had dissipated. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, determined to make one last push to escape the dreaded encounter with a huge equine specimen of suspect docility. Even the undeniable attraction of the stylish blue habit failed to reconcile her to her fate. She considered sending a message to the earl pleading an indisposition that would cancel the outing, but even if Dominic believed her it would only postpone the ordeal, and in the light of her previous efforts to avoid the lessons, it was doubtful that he would accept any excuse as genuine. He would label her a pudding heart; in fact, thanks to Luc’s mischievous tongue, that was most likely his opinion at this very moment. The resentment she was experiencing at being coerced was transmitted through the vicious strokes of the hairbrush she wielded like a weapon, until her eyes watered in pain.
At this point, the girl glaring at her image in the mirror over the washstand took herself in hand and resolved that no one was going to guess from her conduct that she was a craven coward. Her motions with the brush became more deliberate as she smoothed down the wild halo of curls she had created. She donned the blue habit with its navy frogging and epaulets à la militaire and gave the crisp lace of her shirt ruffle a twitch to set it more evenly between the lapels of the jacket. A faint hope that the boots Becky had ordered might prove too small was strangled at birth when her foot slid inside easily. She had to concede that she presented a very professional picture in her high-fashion habit and dashing high-crowned hat with its military visor worn tilted daringly toward one eye, but her satisfaction was quickly quashed by the conviction that she would make a greater fool of herself falling off a horse in this costume than in more conventional garb. As a final gesture of bravado, she doused herself liberally with the perfume Dominic had brought back to her from Ghent before it occurred to her that horses might object to perfume. She frowned in concentration as she headed for the stairs, pulling on her navy gloves as she went. Did horses have a keen sense of smell? Her knowledge of that noble beast c
ould be written on an eyepatch, with room to spare.
“In spite of that ferocious scowl, you are a sight to quicken the heartbeat of any man under seventy in that costume, cousin. I trust I am not the cause of your annoyance?” The teasing gleam in Dominic’s merry blue eyes as he gazed up at her from the bottom of the stairs brought Adrienne’s dimples flashing into play, and she spoke her thoughts without censure.
“Dominic, do horses dislike perfume?”
He controlled his twitching lips and replied gravely, “I have never known a horse to refuse to carry a young lady because he objected to her perfume.”
It required all of Adrienne’s courage to stand her ground at first sight of Trooper, her cousin’s huge bay gelding awaiting them outside the front door in the care of a groom. By contrast, the dainty chestnut mare standing quietly beside him seemed no more intimidating than a child’s pony.
“Oh, isn’t she beautiful!” Adrienne exclaimed unprompted.
“Yes, a lovely little lady.” Dominic gave the mare’s neck a pat. “Small but with beautiful conformation and a mild disposition.”
Adrienne laughed as the chestnut nuzzled against the earl’s hand. “She knows you are praising her.”
“She knows I have sugar for her. Here, you give it to her.” Dominic instructed his cousin in the technique of hand-feeding horses and she gingerly offered the mare the treat, which was lipped instantly. Adrienne snatched back her hand with a slight loss of confidence.
“She tickles,” she explained lamely, stretching out her hand again to pet the chestnut’s soft nose. “What is her name?”
“Bijou, which is just what she is, a little gem of a lady’s mount.”
Just then, the door opened and Luc came ambling down the steps to inspect his sister’s mount.