by Julia Parks
With a signal to Max to join them, he continued, "I am pleased to announce the betrothal of my only child to a fine young man, Maxwell Darby." This caused a gasp from the other guests, and then came a round of polite applause.
Max forced a smile to his lips as he gazed across the congested ballroom. In the sea of faces, one stood out, and his smile faded. Kate, white as a sheet. Then she turned away.
Max remained rooted to the floor while the army of footmen passed among the guests, distributing champagne for a toast. Mrs. Beauchamp joined them on the platform, too.
Putting her hand on Max's arm, she whispered huskily, "At least you will always be close by, my dear Max."
Lacey raised his glass and said, "To the happy couple."
Everyone drank to their happiness. Max downed his in a single gulp. He noticed that Philippa did the same.
Then the moment had passed, and the musicians struck up another dance. Max turned to his betrothed and took her hand without asking for permission. He knew what was expected of him now, and he was grimly determined to comply.
As they headed onto the dance floor, he passed his
father, who said, "Well done, my boy. Now perhaps I can escape."
Max glared at his father and then laughed, a hollow sound. Spying Lady Anne's approach behind his parent, he said spitefully, "I wouldn't speak too soon, Papa. Your day is coming, too."
"How delightful for you, my boy," said Lady Anne, kissing his cheek. She smiled at Philippa and said, "Now, do not be jealous, my dear. It is the father that I am interested in. I hope to soon be hearing the same joyous news myself. Now, Tavistoke, you promised to be my partner at whist. Come along, my dear."
Max and Miss Beauchamp made up a set with three other couples, among them Tristram, who was partnering a chattering girl with frizzy brown hair and a large nose. Tristram looked about as miserable as a young man could without breaking the rules of propriety, but he cocked his head and gave a quizzical frown when he saw Max's black mood.
Standing next to his brother and Miss Beauchamp, Tristram commented, "Allow me to offer my congratulations." Max grunted, and Tristram added, "This has turned into quite an exciting event, has it not?"
Max grimaced, but Miss Beauchamp said, "Oh, yes, Mr. Darby. And is this not the perfect setting? Of course, the Laceys' home is also quite impressive in the daylight. Have you ever seen it then, Mr. Darby? And in the spring, the grounds are simply breathtaking."
Max's head swung around in amazement. Miss Beauchamp was actually speaking? And in complete sentences? What magic had his brother worked?
When she spied him looking down at her, Philippa again ducked her head. The music started, and they were forced to pay attention to the movements of the dance.
Max had no difficulty avoiding conversation. His fierce frown kept his betrothed from uttering so much as a squeak. By the time the music ended, Max's mood had sunk to such a level that he could have cheerfully throttled her or put a gun to his own head. And each time he looked at Tristram, his happy-go-lucky brother who was not betrothed, he wanted to include him in the planned mayhem hatching in his brain.
As Max escorted Philippa back to her mother, she shrank against him, and he looked down at her with a quizzical expression.
"What is it, Miss Beauchamp?"
"Nothing."
She appeared to be tugging on his arm, trying to slow their progress. He stopped and turned to her, saying, "It must be something. Do you not wish to return to your mother?"
She shook her head. Max, who could only agree with this sentiment, turned in another direction and felt the girl at his side heave a sigh of relief.
"Are you going to tell me what that was all about?" he asked.
"It was not my mother, but the man beside her. I did not wish to dance with him."
Max frowned until he recalled who had been standing beside Mrs. Beauchamp. "Palmer? What is wrong with Palmer?"
"He ... I do not like the way he studies me." Biting at her lower lip, she continued, "Like I am a mouse, and he is a cat. It is most disconcerting."
Max smiled down at the girl, his first real smile for her, and she was not immune to its effect, for she returned it, shyly.
It brought out the knight errant in him, and he said,
"I'll take care of Palmer. You need not worry about him ever again."
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Darby."
'"You are welcome. Now, here comes my brother, and since it is the waltz they are striking up, I think he would be a safe partner for my future bride."
This speech made her drop her gaze, but he was happy to think that she had at least confided in him in this small matter. Perhaps he had not made such a horrendous mistake. Perhaps they could iearn to rub along together reasonably well.
"Tristram, I am charging you with looking after my fiancee for the duration of this waltz. Are you willing and able?" he quipped.
"More than willing, Max. Philippa, will you do me the honor?"
"Oh, yes, thank you, Tristram," she said, going happily with him onto the dance floor.
Watching chem with a puzzled gaze, Max felt a bony hand on his shoulder. He cringed when he realized it was the Marquess of Cravenwell.
"Well done, my boy. Make certain you do not let Beauchamp bamboozle you with the settlements. It won't do you any good if he ties everything up for any offspring she may produce."
"Must you be constantly harping about money?" asked Max.
"It has always amused me how people without money insist that it is not the most important thing in the v/orld. Those of us who have it know that it is." Cackling at his own witticism, the marquess strolled away.
Max saw Tristram waltz by with Philippa and frowned again. Funny that they addressed each other by their Christian names. He shrugged.
Then he watched as Kate spun by in the arms of Palmer. Her face was fixed with a glassy smile—one that had started out as polite but had faded as it froze there. Then her eyes met his, and he could have sworn he saw tears there.
Max fought the nearly overwhelming urge to race forward and tear her out of Palmer's arms. Each time they passed, the feeling grew, until, finally, he had to turn away.
Blindly, he walked through the onlookers, answering their congratulations with a terse nod. He felt as if his throat were closing, and his chest were about to burst. A ripple of laughter made him pause, thinking he was the target of someone's amusement.
He turned to face the small knot of girls who had no partners and were merely watching the dancers. They were all but schoolgirls, and he started to turn until two words caught his attention— Miss Tattersall s. As this was followed by titters of laughter and pointing toward the dancers, his attention was caught. Kate swept by again, her face full of misery.
"Can you imagine why any respectable female would want to go there?" said one miss.
"What can one expect of the daughter of an Irish horse seller?" said another with a giggle.
Max let out a growl of disgust, and the girls scattered.
Across the ballroom now, Kate's eyes again met his. He waited, watching as Palmer guided her around the edge of the floor. Reaching out, he neatly yanked the unsuspecting Palmer away from Kate. With two smooth steps, Max took his place, pulling Kate into his arms and continuing the waltz with hardly a ripple in the movements of the other dancers. Only a few people saw the astonishing swap, but those who did immediately
commented on the transformation of Miss O'Connor's face. Her smile could not have been brighter.
And wasn't it odd that Mr. Darby's smile appeared more genuine than it had when his betrothal was announced?
Most odd, said those in the know.
Eight
"Never let it be said that the Darby men have too much sense for their own good," said Tristram, looking from his brother to his father the afternoon following the Laceys' ball. "You, Papa, made a perfect cake of yourself, losing all that money at whist and then allowing Lady Anne to settle the debt for you."
"Someone has to talk sense to you," said Tristram.
"But I am not half as bad as that brother of yours," said the viscount.
"And may the devil take you, old man," muttered Max. "At least I did not embarrass myself in front of all my friends. You will be lucky if you are allowed to play anywhere after that scene."
"And at least I am not going to get myself killed in some idiotic duel!" yelled his father. "How could you be so stupid, boy? Haven't I taught you better than that?"
"You? Teach me? When did you ever teach me anything except by showing me the road not to travel?"
yelled Max. "Besides, I am not going to get myself killed. You know perfectly well that Palmer is no match for me with pistols or rapiers."
"So you will only be thrown in prison for killing your man," said the viscount.
"It seems to me," said Tristram, "that is what brought us to London in the first place, trying to keep you out of prison, Papa. Now, let us quit squabbling and see what can be done."
The viscount hunched his shoulders, but he leaned forward to listen. Max, however, folded his arms and remained aloof, glaring at his father and brother in turn.
Finally, he said, "I shan't kill the bastard, though he richly deserves it. Miss Beauchamp says he makes her feel like a mouse, and he is the cat. Palmer's a nasty fellow all the way around, and if you are trying to get me to issue an apology, you can forget it, for I won't."
"Spoken like a five year old," said Tristram. When Max stood up, he said hastily, "No, no, do not run off. We have some repair work to do. First of all, Papa, I want to show you something."
Tristram pulled out his sketchbook and opened it. With a few quick strokes, he had outlined a table with cards strewn upon it and a man and woman sitting across from each other.
"That's very good, son, but I don't see ..."
"No, you would not. Max, would you care to tell our father about the stir I created last year, selling my little drawings to the scandal sheets?"
"I never knew that," said the viscount. "Selling them, you say?"
Max laughed at the memory and said, "It was quite a stir. He drew a picture of Adele Landis, the heiress
Monty was courting. You know, our Clarissa's cousin, the shrew."
"Oh, yes, but what about Tristram's drawing?"
"It depicted a spider, with Adele's face, on her web. Trapped there, too, were Monty and Benchley, struggling to get free," said Max.
"But what about the one where I drew her as Medusa? That made quite a splash, too," said Tristram with a laugh as he continued to draw. When he was satisfied, he held it out to his father. "See, Papa, this will put everything in a new light. You will no longer be seen as a kept man."
"I'll be seen as a kept husband!" protested the viscount, throwing the sketchbook to the floor. "What are you thinking, showing me looking at Lady Anne like a lovesick puppy?"
"Only this: If people think you are truly in love with her, no one will question your marrying her and accepting her money."
"He has a valid point, Papa," said Max, unable to contain his laughter anymore. His brother joined in while their father fumed.
"That's all well and good for the two of you to laugh, but you're not having to marry the blasted bulldog."
"Papa, she is a very nice bulldog, uh, lady, and I think she genuinely cares for you. Why don't you just give in?" said Tristram.
Turning the tables, the viscount said, "What do you have in mind for Max? Everyone thinks he's a madman, announcing his betrothal to one girl and then getting into a duel over another one. There's nothing you can do about that with your blasted drawings."
"Oh, I think there is. The real problem is how people perceive this challenge. I mean, Max, here, is not going to kill Palmer. Are you, Max?" asked Tristram.
Max pondered this question a second and then shook his head. "I suppose it would be suicide to kill him, so no, I won't do that, though I may wound the blackguard."
"Right, though not mortally. So what I will do is publish a drawing that shows Palmer as a cat, perhaps a tiger, menacing poor, innocent Philippa, who will be a very pretty little mouse. That should do the trick. In the background, I will put Max, not easily identifiable, except as a man with a dueling pistol or sword."
As he spoke, Tristram drew the picture, and when he was done, both his listeners had to agree that it would probably be enough to defuse the situation Max had created after stealing Kate away from Palmer.
"Very well, my boy. Draw your pictures and see that they are published just as soon as possible. I do not enjoy being the brunt of people's jokes. And as for Max here, I really do not wish to see his chances with Miss Beauchamp ruined. At this point, her father would have every right to pull his consent to the marriage. And you, Max, you had better smooth things over with that girl yourself—only the way you can do it," said the viscount with a leer.
"Then are we to wish you happy, Papa?" asked Max.
"No, pray do not bother. I am not happy, nor am I likely to be so ever again," came the glum reply.
"Cheer up, Papa. Perhaps you can do something to disgust Lady Anne, and she will throw you over for someone else."
"Who else would have her?" said the viscount, reaching for his hat and heading for the door.
When he was gone, Max slouched in the chair, his chin resting on his chest. He watched as Tristram continued to perfect his sketches.
"You are a deep 'un, Tris."
"How so?"
"A year ago, if anyone had told me that it would be you, time and again, who would come up with solutions to our problems, I would have said they were all about in the head. Now I begin to think you are the only one among us who has any sense at all."
"That is kind of you, Max, but I think you exaggerate."
"As you wish, but I thank you for your help in the matter. I wish I could think of some way to repay you."
"The morning paper has arrived, gentlemen," said Barton, entering the room and placing it on a table.
Max leaned forward and turned to the announcements. There it was, the announcement of his forthcoming nuptials to Miss Philippa Beauchamp. His heart sank. It was official now. There was no backing out of it, not with honor.
With a sigh, Max closed the paper and sat back again.
Perhaps he should just let Palmer find his mark.
Kate was almost at the end of her tether. She had gone out riding in the park with her groom until Bobby had protested that Mr. MacAfee would surely think he was shirking his duties at the stable. Finally, she agreed to turn Early Girl back home.
Unfortunately, as they neared the entrance to the park gates, four or five riders rode through the opening, eyeing both her and the mare with wide grins. One of them, a young man named Varner to whom her father had sold a horse, pulled up and greeted her.
"Good morning, Miss O'Connor," said the young man with a nod.
"Hello, Mr. Varner," said Kate, pulling Early Girl to one side to allow them to pass.
Mr. Varner had other ideas, and said, "Allow me to introduce you to my friends—Mr. Ammons, Lord Westbrook, and Mr. Sellers."
"How do you do, gentlemen?" Seeing that Mr. Varner was intent on keeping her from passing for some reason, Kate asked cordially, "I see you are riding Windswept. Is he behaving himself?"
"What? Oh, yes, a fine horse. And what of you, Miss O'Connor? I could have sworn I saw your father selling that very horse yesterday at Tattersall's. To Mr. Darby, if I recollect properly. How is it you are riding her once again?"
Kate's smile failed to reach her eyes as she said, "I'm sure I don't know anything about that, Mr. Varner. Perhaps it was another of his horses. You know I do not keep up with my father's business."
"Really? That is not what Mr. Palmer was telling us at the
club last night after he challenged Mr. Darby to a duel. You must be terribly flattered, Miss O'Connor," he said before tipping his hat and riding away with his friends.
Their raucous laughter filled the air, and Kate kicked her heels against Early Girl's sides and rode quickly home.
After hurrying up to her room, she threw off her habit and changed before going downstairs in search of her father. As usual, he was in the breakfast room with several newspapers spread in front of him.
"Papa! I have just heard the most horrific tale!"
"Here now, Kate, sit down and calm yourself. What is it?"
"It is about Max and Mr. Palmer!"
"The duel, you mean?"
"You knew?"
"Your uncle and I went to his club after the ball and learned of it. It is no affair of yours," he said, returning to his papers.
"No affair of mine?" she cried, pushing his papers away and planting herself in front of him. "Why do you think they are fighting the duel? It is because that... that deuced pudding-heart, Palmer..."
"Language, young lady," said her father.
". .. has spread the tale of my going to Tattersall's. Max found out and hauled him off the dance floor last night—while I was dancing with the lout!"
"Wait a minute. You went to Tattersall's? After I had told you under no circumstances would I allow a daughter of mine to do such a foolish thing?"
Kate nodded, and her father shook his head, his jaw muscles working furiously as he digested this bit of news. She would be ruined by that alone. Never mind that Darby—a man just betrothed to another—had dragged her name into the dirt by his scandalous behavior at the Lacey ball the night before.
"Papa?" she said softly. "Papa, are you all right? You are white as a ghost. I... I'm sorry, Papa."
He shook his head again and looked up at her this time. "What are we to do?"
"I don't know, Papa. I want to talk to Max, to tell him not to be so foolish as to fight a duel over this, but I cannot very well go next door and ask to speak to him. Will you do it for me, Papa? Please!"