Mr. Shire rose. “I won’t keep you. Just thought it proper to let you know I’d be putting the question to Miss Lanford tonight. She’ll probably want to announce the betrothal at the ball. I have a mind to arrive early to settle everything, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Yes, yes, of course you may,” Lady Fuddlesby replied faintly. Mr. Shire took his leave, and her ladyship sat thinking.
Edmund Shire was all that was suitable. He was a wealthy landowner and had a mild-mannered personality. Life with him for Henrietta would be comfortable and predictable.
Lady Fuddlesby’s mouth turned down at the corners. Henrietta would be bored with the country gentleman in a week. The girl was too high-spirited to settle for such a colorless man. More important, she was sure her niece was in love with the Duke of Winterton.
Her ladyship was so lost in thought, a growing noise outside the doorway startled her into rising to her feet. Recognition of the owners of the voices caused her heart to pound.
“I tell you, Chuffley, I shall see her. Go back downstairs and leave us alone,” Colonel Colchester ordered sharply. He entered the drawing room and closed the double doors in Chuffley’s dismayed face with a snap.
Lady Fuddlesby stared at the military man’s determined face. Finding her voice, she uttered, “Good afternoon, Colonel. What brings you here before the ball?”
Colonel Colchester came to her side, pulling her down to sit next to him on the sofa. “This damned quarrel between us brought me here. I apologize for letting Matilda play her tricks the other night. Should have sent her on her way with a flea in her ear. But for God’s sake, Clara, I thought you trusted me.”
Lady Fuddlesby’s face brightened when she looked into the colonel’s dear brown eyes. She reached over and clasped his hand warmly. “Oh, Owen, can you forgive me for being so silly? I let an
incident from my youth cloud my judgment. Of course I trust you.”
The colonel continued to hold her hand while dropping neatly to one knee on the floor in front of her. “Clara, you must know what is in my heart. I love you. Will you do me the honor of being my wife? Er, with Knight’s permission, of course,” he added with a tender smile.
Lady Fuddlesby’s mouth dropped open. Then tears of joy formed in her eyes. Her lips curved into a wide grin. “Yes, Owen. Oh, yes, I shall, and Knight will not have anything to say about it.”
A smile broke out on the colonel’s face, and he rose from his kneeling position to press his lips to Lady Fuddlesby’s. Drawing back a minute later, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small jewel box.
Lady Fuddlesby gasped aloud at the sight of the ruby surrounded by diamonds sparkling up at her. “How lovely,” she breathed, when the colonel slipped the ring onto her finger.
The colonel proceeded to show her how lovely he thought she was, which took up quite a quarter of an hour. By the time the colonel left to go home to change for the ball, Lady Fuddlesby’s head was in such a whirl of happiness, she had entirely forgotten about Mr. Shire’s plans to offer for her niece.
* * * *
Henrietta, sitting listlessly while Felice fussed over a few finishing touches to her hair, was therefore surprised when Sally entered the room saying, “Mr. Edmund Shire is in the drawin’ room wantin’ to see you, miss.”
“Thank you, Sally.” Henrietta dismissed the housemaid, thinking Mr. Shire wanted a few minutes before the ball to tell her about his trip to the country. “I believe I must be ready, Felice.”
Felice’s gaze ran over her. With a nod she said, “Yes, mees. You will break the gentlemen’s hearts tonight.”
Impulsively Henrietta gave the Frenchwoman a quick hug. “Thank you, Felice. Hopefully, by the end of the evening we will have the paste ring in Lady Fuddlesby’s jewel box and the real stone on Lady Mawbly’s hand.”
Henrietta hurried down the stairs without another glance at her reflection, not wanting to see if the lack of sleep over the past few nights had resulted in shadows under her eyes.
She did not know the faint shadows only added to the ethereal sight she presented. She wore a white silk gown with a white lace overdress. The bodice of the dress was low, and trimmed with pearls. Pearls marched up the front closure of the short puffed sleeves, beneath which her arms were encased in long white kid gloves. Lady Fuddlesby had been true to her word and had sent Felice to Henrietta’s room with a delicate diamond necklet and matching earbobs that twinkled in the candlelight.
Henrietta entered the drawing room, properly leaving the door open behind her. Mr. Shire, dressed in a sadly out-of-fashion evening coat of a mustard color, rose from his seat, a smile of greeting on his face. “You look well, Miss Lanford, if a trifle pale.”
Ignoring this dubious flattery, Henrietta inquired politely, “How was your trip to the country, Mr. Shire?”
“Everything went just as I had hoped,” he replied, his manner enigmatic.
Indicating that he should be seated, Henrietta thought it was unlike the open, friendly Mr. Shire to be mysterious. Her feelings heightened to nothing short of shock when she seated herself and found Mr. Shire on one knee in front of her.
“Miss Lanford, I have been to see your father, and he has given me his permission to ask for your hand in marriage. What do you say? Shall we announce the betrothal tonight?”
She merely stared at him, tongue-tied. He had taken her completely by surprise. That should not have been true, she considered, when many betrothals were announced by couples less acquainted. And Mr. Shire had shown her marked attention from the first time they’d met.
How happy Papa would be if she made a match of it with Mr. Shire. She could well imagine her father eagerly giving the country man his permission to ask for her hand. How disappointed Papa would be if she refused Mr. Shire’s offer, and came home at the end of the Season unwed.
Pushing such thoughts from her mind, Henrietta said, “Please do get up, sir. It cannot be a comfortable position.”
“That’s one of the qualities I admire about you, Miss Lanford. You’re so practical,” he praised her.
Henrietta turned her head away, a sad smile on her lips. She did not want to be practical. She wanted her fantasies to come true. She wanted the duke.
Accept him, you silly gudgeon, screamed her brain. One more evening with the duke, demanded her heart.
At the moment she turned back to Mr. Shire and opened her mouth to speak, Lady Fuddlesby floated into the room on a cloud of happiness—pink no doubt, as was her gown.
Lady Fuddlesby held her breath for a moment, waiting for the couple to make an announcement, and when they didn’t, let out a sigh of relief. Smiling broadly, she exclaimed, “Oh, my dear Henrietta, I have the most exciting news. You are to wish me happy. The colonel has proposed and I have accepted him.”
Forgetting Mr. Shire, Henrietta rushed forward to embrace Lady Fuddlesby. “Aunt! I am so very pleased. Of course, I wish you many years of happiness together.”
Mr. Shire glared at her ladyship over Henrietta’s head, feeling Lady Fuddlesby should not have barged in on them, knowing the nature of their conversation. His annoyance only grew when he heard the lady’s next statement.
“Come with me now, dear. The guests will be arriving at any moment, and you must be beside me to greet them. You will excuse us, Mr. Shire,” she said, bustling Henrietta from the room.
When they were safely in the hall, Henrietta turned to her aunt, informing her, “My lady, you saved me from answering a proposal of marriage from Mr. Shire.”
“Did I get there in time?”
“You knew then? He had asked me and I was about to give him an answer.” Henrietta chuckled wryly. “What the answer was, I confess I do not know.”
Lady Fuddlesby nodded wisely. “That is quite all right, my dear. Mr. Shire will keep while you mull the matter over. He came to me earlier in the day to tell me he had your father’s permission to
approach you, and in the joy of Owen’s proposal, I forgot to tell you.�
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Her ladyship failed to mention how, when Felice had let fall the information that Mr. Shire was downstairs requesting an interview with Henrietta, the purpose of his visit came rushing back to her. She decided she would try to interrupt the proceedings before her niece could accept or refuse the man. That way, her ladyship reasoned, she could put it about at the ball her niece had received an offer but had not yet accepted. Tongues would wag, and the Duke of Winterton would be certain to hear of it. Perhaps the information would jar the impossible duke into coming up to scratch. Oftentimes men had to be prodded a bit before they knew what was right in front of them.
The two ladies made their way to the hall, where they spent the next half hour greeting the guests. Henrietta stiffened when Lady Clorinda arrived with Lord and Lady Mawbly.
“Good evening, Henrietta,” Clorinda said in a condescending sort of way.
Henrietta raised her chin. She reflected Lady Clorinda was the one who looked like Haymarket Ware in her gown of seafoam-green gauze. The bodice was designed in such a way as to give the appearance the gown might fall from the lady’s shoulder at the least provocation. A diamond necklace of considerable worth circled Clorinda’s neck, making the one Henrietta wore appear an ornament for a child.
Returning Clorinda’s superior gaze, Henrietta asked sweetly, “Lady Clorinda, it appears you have forgotten your shawl. May I have a servant fetch one for you?”
Clorinda glared at her, then flounced away without answering. At least we are open about our animosity, Henrietta thought.
Finally the moment she had unconsciously been waiting for was upon her. The Duke of Winterton arrived with his godfather. Henrietta thought no matter what happened in her life, she would never forget a single detail of the duke’s magnificent, aristocratic face.
Her heart pounded in her chest when his tall figure, faultlessly dressed in Spanish blue, turned away from Lady Fuddlesby and strolled to her side. There was a spark of some indefinable emotion in his gray eyes while his gaze took in her ensemble. “Miss Lanford, no angel can be as divine as you appear this evening,” he said smoothly, raising her gloved hand to his lips.
Henrietta’s bearing was stiff and proud, but her spirit was in chaos. Somehow she must contrive not to let him know the effect he had on her. She had to conquer her involuntary reactions to that captivating look of his.
Curtsying, Henrietta managed to smile brightly. “If anyone is of the cosmos this evening, it is surely my aunt. She has been in heaven since she and the colonel decided their future.”
Glancing toward where his godfather and the lady stood with their heads together, the duke nodded with satisfaction. “I am happy for them. They are well suited.”
Unlike the two of us, a nasty voice sneered in Henrietta’s head.
The duke lowered his voice for just her ears. “Speaking of Lady Fuddlesby, I must tell you Lord Mawbly has been unsuccessful in obtaining the paste ring.”
Henrietta nodded her head. “I surmised as much when Lord Mawbly arrived earlier. It seems as if his nerves can no longer stand the strain.”
“You may very well be right. Lord Mawbly even bribed his wife’s abigail attempting to retrieve the ring, but according to the woman, Lady Mawbly has not once removed the blasted thing from her finger.”
“What are we going to do?” Henrietta asked, her ivory brow creased with concern.
The duke inclined his head at Sir Tommy and Lord Sebastian, who had appeared in the doorway, waiting their turn to go through the line. “We will contrive something, Miss Lanford. Promise me a waltz?”
“Yes, your grace.”
He made his way up the stairs, leaving Henrietta to stare after him sadly. A waltz. It would most likely be their last. If she married Mr. Shire, she doubted they would be likely to come to Town often. And if she returned home unwed, her father would not give her another Season.
Pinning a welcoming smile on her face, Henrietta greeted Sir Tommy and Lord Sebastian, a heaviness centered in her chest.
Chapter Fourteen
Upstairs, the ballroom looked a confection with its pink silk hangings. Hothouse flowers perfumed the air, and a breeze fluttered through the room from the windows open to the evening air, making the candles flicker.
Lady Fuddlesby had carried through her plans for fountains of champagne, and a table of delicacies was set up at the far end of the large room. An orchestra, hired for the occasion, was tuning its instruments, waiting for a signal from her ladyship to begin the ball.
Colonel Colchester stepped over to the leader and exchanged a few words with him. The colonel motioned for Lady Fuddlesby to join him, and with the commanding air of a man who’d led troops into war, gained the attention of the room.
“Ladies and gentlemen. Before we begin dancing, I have an announcement to make. You may congratulate me. Lady Fuddlesby has graciously consented to be my wife.”
Amidst applause and well-wishers, the colonel signaled the orchestra and led his lady out onto the floor for the waltz. They made a handsome couple, the colonel in a pebble-gray evening coat that went well with his gray hair, and Lady Fuddlesby in her customary pink, her round cheeks rosy with happiness.
Standing next to her son, Matilda shrugged in mock resignation. “I was never serious about Owen. If I had been, I would have won him just as I did your father all those years ago.”
Studying his mother’s hard face, the duke experienced a qualm of displeasure. “If you will excuse me, Mother, I wish to dance with Miss Lanford.”
“You are too late, Giles. Mr. Shire has claimed her hand. I should not be surprised by an announcement from that quarter. Lady Chatterton was telling all who would listen her nephew meant to offer for the chit.”
The duke’s dark brows drew together and he stood scowling in the couple’s direction.
Matilda nudged him with her fan and said, “Lady Clorinda is in looks tonight.”
As he tore his gaze away from Miss Lanford, the duke’s eyebrows shot up in surprise when he took in Lady Clorinda’s provocative gown. He thought she looked more beautiful, and more exposed, than ever. Noticing his interest, the lady pointed her bosom in his direction, a smile of welcome on her face.
“Excuse me, Mother,” the duke said. He crossed to a delighted Lady Clorinda’s side, and swept her onto the dance floor.
Being dragged about the floor by a clumsy Mr. Shire, Henrietta noted the duo and heaved a sigh. At least the two had not announced their engagement at her ball. If they were engaged. She had serious doubts about the matter, but reflected, if not Clorinda, then some other pampered daughter of the nobility would claim the duke.
They were promenading about the room when Henrietta realized she was behaving decidedly rag-mannered toward Mr. Shire. He was pontificating on her father’s stables again, and as usual, horse talk prompted her mind to wander.
With a start, Henrietta heard Mr. Shire’s next words. “I should like to announce our betrothal tonight at your ball, Miss Lanford. That is why I hurried back to Town from the squire’s hospitality.”
“Miss Lanford, you’re looking frightfully flushed,” Sir Tommy interrupted, suddenly standing in front of them. “Come with me and we’ll find out if it’s true champagne flowing from a fountain is usually flat. Excuse us, Shire.”
Henrietta saw Mr. Shire’s frustrated face before Sir Tommy whisked her away. Accepting a glass from Sir Tommy, she drank deeply, unaware her throat had tightened during her conversation with Mr. Shire.
“Here, now, Miss Lanford. You’re not going to follow your aunt’s unhappy propensity to wine, are you?”
A giggle escaped her, before she assumed an expression of mock severity. “My aunt never allows herself to become bosky. The other night was an exception. It was a lover’s quarrel which led her to the wine bottle, and as you heard, all has been resolved.”
Sir Tommy’s lip curled in derision. “Ah, yes, love. Never get involved in it myself. Unless, of course, it’s to wager on an upcoming betrothal. Wh
ich reminds me, you wouldn’t want to increase the weight of my purse by letting me know in advance about you and Edmund Shire, would you?”
Henrietta was spared from answering this impertinent question by the arrival of Lord Sebastian. Bowing before her, he took her empty glass and shoved it in Sir Tommy’s hands. “May I have the honor of leading you in the set of country dances forming, Miss Lanford?”
Nodding her assent, she accepted Lord Sebastian’s arm. The gentleman, dressed in a maroon evening coat, appeared pensive. “Hope Lady Fuddlesby will be content with a mere military man,” his lordship commented when the steps of the dance brought them together.
Here was another example of someone considering rank as a factor in settling on a partner in marriage, Henrietta thought. How could she have been in London all these weeks and not been made aware of the enormous importance one’s title possessed? She was bird-witted, she supposed. Aloud she said, “They love one another very much. Surely that must be the first consideration.”
Lord Sebastian snorted. “A romantic, are you? I wouldn’t have thought so with the rumors circulating about you and that bumpkin Shire. The man’s coats are deplorable, Miss Lanford. I beg you to reconsider your decision.”
“Indeed, my lord, I have no idea what my decision is, so how can I rethink it?” The steps of the dance separated them, and Lord Sebastian did not pursue the topic when they were brought together again.
Henrietta decided she must put a stop to the gossip about herself and Mr. Shire as soon as she could excuse herself from Lord Sebastian. As she promenaded after the dance with him, her gaze was caught by the pin his lordship chose to wear in his cravat this evening. Several marquise-shaped stones of a dark pink color surrounded a round golden topaz. The whole combined to make a flower. The pink stones reminded her of Lady Fuddlesby’s ring, although the stones in his lordship’s pin were of a darker, almost purplish hue.
A Crime of Manners Page 20